Page 19 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
Fuck.
Other than her sleepy attempt to straddle me, Olive has kept the rest of her body to herself. She has her pillow in a bear hug, clutching the thing to her chest as if scared it might decide to leave her once she’s unconscious.
Any hope I had that a sleep-mussed version of this woman would dampen my obsession is obliterated.
Olive is adorable. And sexy.
Her tank top is gifting me with a decent amount of side boob.
Or, more accurately, torturing me.
This isn’t a cure from her. This is just showing me more of what I’ve missed all these years.
And the chapter continues.
Most people would think I’m mad from the way my mind has fixated on her. But when she came into my life it was like a comet crashing to Earth. She forever altered my topography.
Six years have passed, but the memories never faded.
First week of the semester, junior year, Tim informed me his sister was coming to visit. Her summer break extended a few days longer than ours, and she was looking for a final rager before returning to her rigorous nursing program in Delaware.
When the young woman appeared, she was all tan skin, silky black hair, and mischievous smiles. I didn’t know whether to curse at Tim for not inviting her sooner, or growl at him for not warning me to brace myself. The idiot probably didn’t even realize how attractive she was.
But my friend definitely knew how fun she was. We spent the day exploring and eating barbecue. Then we spent the night finding the best parties. Tim’s girlfriend at the time showed up and stole his attention, leaving me on Olive duty. Not that I minded. At one point, the two of us were on a ten-game winning streak, our duo dominating the beer pong table.
We probably would’ve gone longer if the cops hadn’t showed up.
With Tim missing in action, I snuck Olive out of the house using a tiny bathroom window my shoulders could barely wedge through. We sprinted down side streets, navigating back to my apartment where we collapsed in the entryway, gasping and laughing.
Olive spent the night at my place after getting a text from her brother that he was safe and she should stay put. We watched reruns ofThe Officeon my laptop and talked until 3 AM. Maybe it was the feeling of us being partners in crime, or the remaining buzz from cheap beers, or something as simple as Olive’s disarming smile.
But that night I told her things I hadn’t even told Tim. Like how I wasn’t the one to choose biology for my major, that my dad did because he wanted me to go on to medical school. I admitted how that future terrified me, but I couldn’t see a way out of it. Our conversation echoes in my mind as I watch her sleeping face.
“How often do you talk to your dad?”
“Maybe every other week.”
“How long do you talk for?”
“Half hour or so.”
“An hour a month,” she murmured. Then nodded her head. “Twelve hours a year.” Olive met my eyes then, her gaze no longer fogged by alcohol. “Give him that. Hell, be generous and give him a few full days of visits. But the rest of the days? The three hundred some a year you live without him around? Claim them. Do what you want with them. Because those are yours, Theo. Your hours. Your days. Your life. Not his.”
Soon after speaking those profound words, Olive dozed off, and I followed. I woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a note.
Thank you for sharing some of your hours with me. -O
She was gone.
Already driving back to Delaware. Back to her real life. No doubt completely unaware of how she had changed mine.
I switched my majors, took on different classes, had the worst fight with my dad I’ve ever experienced, over the phone. He cut me off, refused to pay for classes to earn what he referred to as a ridiculous and useless major. So I took on two jobs, giving up my free time to earn enough money to finish with a degree I actually wanted.
And sure, I might not make as much money as a video editor as I would have as a surgeon, but I also don’t live in a continuous depressive state because I hate my job.
Surprisingly, my choice actually brought Tim and I closer together. A lot of the people who called themselves my friends drifted away when I couldn’t go to their keggers or bar crawls. But Tim made sure to eat regularly at the restaurant where I waited tables. He’d join me for late night study sessions at the library. When money was tight, he’d swipe me into the dining hall.
Tim showed me what true friendship was. Which made the fact that I secretly fantasized about his sister awkward. For me at least. I never told him how her visit was the catalyst for the upset in my life. How I wanted to thank her for it. How I wish I had gotten the chance to wake up with her the next morning.
