Page 40 of Waking Olivia

Of all the things in the world I don’t want to discuss, my brother is first. "You're no better as a therapist than that chick at the health center was if that's where you're going with this."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I had an older brother. He ran away when he was eight.”

"You mean he ran awaypermanently? For good? They never found him?"

"I gotta go," I reply, jumping to my feet.

"Olivia, wait.” He stands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I say through clenched teeth. "They were shitty parents and they did me a favor, so save your sad face for something serious."

"You don't think any of that has to do with your nightmares?" he asks.

The idea makes me feel helpless, and feeling helpless enrages me. I roll my eyes as I turn to walk out. "Does it matter if it does?"

Ibarely remember my parents.

My father is a dark shadow on the periphery of my early childhood, a thing that hung in the background as a threat more than a real person. He took me fishing once, but mostly he had a bad temper, and I stayed out of his way, relieved when he left town. At some point, he was gone, and there was a boyfriend around, a bad-tempered boyfriend. I guess my mom had atype.

And then, one day, there was no one.

I don’t remember being left with my neighbors. I don’t remember anything, really. Small snapshots of early childhood, that transition without explanation into another life, the one under my grandmother’s roof.

My grandmother didn’t want me. I guess I can’t blame her. Who’d want some kid who wakes screaming and flailing in the middle of the night, who bolts out of the house without warning?

Her mind was already slipping, even then. She couldn't remember the name for ice cream. She'd call me Alicia, my mother's name. If I corrected her she’d usually get angry, but sometimes she would cry instead—a heartbroken sound I was desperate to avoid so I eventually stopped correcting her. She got worse, of course, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was me—the running, the nightmares, the fights at school—that had made it so. I couldn’t really remember the times before her, with my parents, but it didn’t seem like a mere coincidence that all the people in my life decided to leave in one way or another.

I storm out of Will’s office, all my earlier goodwill toward him gone. These thoughts are always in my head but he’s brought them front and center today and God, I wish he hadn’t. I go to campus for dinner, feeling edgy and looking for distraction. Landon is there. He slams his tray down beside mine.

"Party tonight, future girlfriend. You in?"

I am. I'll do anything right now to be numb.

Three hours later, the world is a much easier place to exist. With enough liquor in my system, everyone seems entertaining, and right now, everyone seems entertaining as hell. If Landon and his buddy Jason would stop fucking following me, I’d say tonight was almost perfect.

“Stop talking to him,” says Landon the moment Jason leaves my side.

“Why exactly should I do that?” I ask. I don’t actuallywantto talk to Jason, but I’ll be damned if Landon is going to tell me not to.

“Because I’m the one who brought you here.”

“This isn’t a date, Landon,” I sigh. “I can talk to anyone I want.”

“I’m gonna beat his ass if he keeps hitting on you,” he replies. I laugh. Men are so stupid, fighting over me like there’s a chance in hell I’m going home with either one of them.

Time passes quickly, a blur of faces I don’t know but am now best friends with. Being that social is a sure sign it’s time to stop drinking, but I bravely plow on. My talk with Will is still in there, a poisonous thing in my chest and I will continue to drink until it’s forgotten entirely.

Jason appears out of nowhere. “Let’s dance,” he says. Somewhere in the back of my head, a voice tells me that Landon will be pissed, but it’s silenced by a louder voice saying that’s not my problem.

He takes my cup and puts it on the counter before he grabs both of my hands and pulls me onto the dance floor. For such a big guy he's a surprisingly good dancer, and for such a drunk girl I’m staying surprisingly upright. I don't really object to the way our dance turns into more of a grind within a song or two. It's not like everyone else on the dance floor—which is actually just someone's living room—isn't doing the same thing.

And then I’m knocked backward, falling into other dancers, and Landon is on top of Jason. I regain my balance and stand there, surprised and mildly amused, watching Landon and the other idiot beat the shit out of each other.

"Do you always start this much trouble?" says the guy behind me. He’s hot. Way hotter than either Landon or Justin.

I grin at him over my shoulder. “Always."

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