Page 119 of Oliver

“Son.”

“Kenny,” I sneer. Whether this fucker killed anyone is irrelevant. I still hate him for the way he treated Mom.

She slowly lost the glow she used to have, and Maeve suffered for it. Why Mom took her frustrations out on her I don’t know but my twin lost herself because of it too.

All of this is his fault but he’ll never admit it or take the blame.

“How’s your sister?” he asks as though he can read my thoughts.

With a cool smile, I say, “If she wanted you to know, she’d be here.”

“Fair enough,” he says, inclining his head.

There’s a tense silence between us before I grit between my teeth, “Were there two of you?”

His eyes brighten and a smile spreads across his face before he says, “No, son.”

Cocking my head I say, “Then why are you here?”

“Maybe this is where I belong.”

“Stop with the fucking theatrics. What is going on?”

Sighing, he splays his hands. “I don't have to explain myself to you.”

I can feel my right eye twitching and if there weren’t guards surrounding us on all sides, I’d be over this fucking table. Everything is a game to him while lives hang in the balance.

Of course, the fucker doesn’t care. He never has.

“Who’s Charming Charlie?” I ask and he taps his finger against the table.

“Now that’s an interesting story.”

Penny

It takes about an hour before I start to get restless. I think it’s the knee jerk reaction to everything that has happened. The sick photos of Dixie. Bone.

Oliver’s revelations and cruel words. It seems like every time we take a step forward, he runs three steps back. Why?

Is he scared? Maybe he truly doesn’t know how to feel. In this short time of terror though, I’ve seen his need to protect. Why else would I be sitting in his sister’s room?

Whatever the definition is for him, I do think he feels something. Whether that’s enough remains to be seen.

I know how I feel, and it could be born out of this tense situation but if we ever get past this shit, I’d like to know Oliver. I’d like to be the one he comes to when he’s worried or happy.

Maybe someday we can be that for each other?

Beyond that, so much has happened in such a short period of time. Mr. Cook. The boat.

Killing a man, whether they deserved it or not. I know I was headed for death if I didn’t defend myself, but does that excuse my behavior? Fuck. I don’t know. I’ve never been to church. Mom didn’t believe in religion, and we followed along.

Isn’t there something about an eye for an eye in the Bible somewhere?

Gah. I can’t stand my thoughts anymore and tiptoeing to the door, I peek beyond before crossing the hall to the bathroom. Oliver left so damn quickly he didn’t even bother to show me around but luckily, we passed the restroom on the way.

After doing my business, I wash my hands and study my reflection in the mirror. I look terrible, no surprise. Sleep when it’s not eluding me is filled with images that I can’t erase. Every time I think I can relax, something new happens and I’m back to tense and miserable.

I just want a little peace and a long, uninterrupted nap, for fucks sake.

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