Page 82 of Not Made to Last

Belinda’s shoulders drop. “What exactly are you asking me then?”

“Are you going to report it?”

Her gaze drops, and I know the answer before she voices it. “I don’twantto, but I have to.”

43

Olivia

When I was younger, maybe around ten, I couldn’t sleep one night because my mind was too busy thinking, thinking, and so I got out of bed just for something else to do. My grandparents must have heard me creeping around because they called out for me from their bedroom.

“Can’t sleep?” my grandma asked once I’d opened the door. She patted the space between her and my grandpa, and I climbed onto their bed and under the covers in the middle of them. Even now, when I look back on my life and try to remember the time I felt the safest, I think about that moment.

They were watching TV, something they did together most nights, and a show was on about mind control. It fascinated me to no end. Not because I didn’t believe it was possible, but because it blew my mind that there were people out there who could control other’s minds while I couldn’t even control my own.

And as I sit here, on the front steps of a house my grandparents had handpicked to start their new life, waiting forthe inevitable to occur, my mind wants to play games with me. Games I never agreed to participate in. See, my mind wants me to compare the absolute worst moment of my life to this current one. What is more terrifying? Losing my grandparents or losing my brothers?

The screen door behind me opens, and I quickly swipe at the tears coating my cheeks. “What are you doing out here?” Dom asks.

He’d called while I was driving home from school after my mental breakdown and forced me to pull over and tell him what happened. And because I’m weak and ashamed of my actions, I gave him the footnotes: that the kids at school know about him, and when he asked how I knew that, I held back on what truly happened and simply told him that one of them called meMini Delgado. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, and not in an “I’m sorry that happened to you”way, but in an “I’msorry I exist and that I’m good at what I do”way. He feltguilty… for something he had absolutely no control over.

“I just needed some air,” I answer.

“Here?” he asks, skeptical, and he has every reason to be. We have an entire backyard and my little garden patio where I usually go when I need time.

Space.

Air.

When moments pass and I don’t respond, he steps out onto the porch, letting the screen door close behind him. “Ollie?” He places a hand on my shoulder, and still… I refuse to turn to him. To face him. “Ohana?”

It’s that single word that breaks me, and I drop my head in my hands and release the flood of tears I can no longer hold on to. He’s quick to sit beside me, to take me in his arms and hold me through my sobs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it only makes mecry harder, because he has no clue. No idea of what’s about to happen.

An hour earlier, I’d gotten a text from an unknown number. All it said was:

Unknown

They’re coming at 7.

Last time I checked the time, it was 6:58.

“Talk it out with me, Ollie,” he pleads, rubbing my back in slow circles the way he’d watched my grandma do for me in the past.

“I can’t,” I cry. I wouldn’t even know what to say. But I don’t need to. Because as soon as those words leave my mouth, a police cruiser slows to a stop in front of us.

“Ollie…” Dom says, and the fear in his voice only makes me cry harder.

“I’m so sorry, Dom,” I sob, holding on to him tighter. “I did my best.”

Dominic releases me and stands up, and I keep my head down, refusing to face reality. I stay that way even when Dominic steps off the porch. When I hear the car doors open. Close. And I give in to my mind’s games. To the decision I have to make. The worst moment in my life is this.

Right now.

Because I’m the one who caused it.

“Can I help you, officer?” Dom asks.

“Olivia…” Miss Turner’s voice forces my hand, and I shudder a breath, rub the liquid pain from my eyes so I can see clearer. I get up, take the few steps to stand beside my brother. Holding his hand in mine, I tighten my grip. I don’t want to let go, but at some point, I know I’ll have to.

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