Page 198 of The Catalyst

“How fucking long has it been since someone lived in this hell hole?” Ollie grumbles, and I hurry across the entryway to the closest window, throwing it open.

“Probably not in the last couple of years, at least,” I say with a roll of my shoulders, trying to stretch a tight muscle in my back.

We have a lot of work to do for us to be able to function in this space, which I bet will mostly fall on me since a good deal of it is cleaning.

“I’ll see if I can find a broom,” I say. Before I can take a step, Oliver slips off his jacket, lays it on the seat of the old recliner next to me, and literally pushes me into the chair. I groan as I connect with the surprisingly comfortable surface. “What the hell!”

His eyes narrow. “Stay right there, crazy girl. I’ll deal with this.” Then, he takes an elastic from around his wrist and ties up his shaggy curls. Man-buns have never been so hot.

First, Oliver throws open all the windows before turning on the A/C. He changes the filter, which is so disgusting that I nearly puke from the sight of it alone, not to mention the gross smell coming off of it. After finishing with that, he finds the broom and gets rid of all the spider webs.

I argue multiple times that I should be helping, but he always comes back with the “injured pregnant woman” line. That shuts me right the fuck up. I can’t complain too much, though. The sight of Ollie doing something so domestic is awe-inspiring.

I could get used to this.

CHAPTER 78

OLIVER

Did that crazy, old hag expect us to sleep in the cabin the way it was? I bet she did. Or, she just didn’t give a fuck. I can’t complain too much since we won’t have to pay for a hotel every night for six months.

I have no clue what Vera’s plan is, but we have to keep a low profile. I don’t know if my uncle will be looking for me or if anyone outside of my friends will even realize I left with Beth. All I know is we are now slaves to the will of an old Russian lady in the middle of the woods.

Just fucking peachy.

When Gunderson said that her aunt would take us in, I was expecting something much different from this, like an apartment in the city or a house in the suburbs. Not a cabin near the mountains.

I always thought isolation was the best place for a psychotic bastard like me to be. That’s where they kept me in the Arlene Institute. They didn’t have a choice since everyone and their mother pissed me off consistently. Pissing me off has never been a good idea. It landed a lot of kids my age in the infirmary until they decided I needed to spend most of my time in solitary confinement.

I wasn’t lying when I said I had the paperwork to back up the label Grove Hill gave me. I am the town psychopath. Psychiatrists don’t like giving that label to kids, but when my dad died, it was like a switch flipped, and I didn’t give a fuck about anybody. I only had one person I gave a damn about, and that was my mom.

I was honest with the doctors because I didn’t care if I stayed there for the rest of my life. I told them how little I cared about other people’s lives and that if they made me mad, they deserved whatever came their way. They labeled me with antisocial personality disorder and said I was a danger to others. They tried to keep me locked up, but my mom was a one-of-a-kind force and got a judge to order my release. Either that or she threatened Nolan into getting me out.

It took a decade for another name to be added to the list of people I give a fuck about. Nigel. From the time he could walk, he was attached to my hip like he thought I hung the moon or some sappy shit like that. I tolerated it simply because my mom said, “Don’t kill him,” so I listened. With time, I started to like having him around, and my protectiveness grew. I was always the one given the task of babysitting him since everyone else worked, and I was the oldest of my generation.

Then, I developed a kinship with Martin which made three.

Then my crazy girl made four, and our crotch goblin is number five.

Beth lets me know when an hour has passed, and I put down the broom before moving over to her, taking her hand in mine. We walk out the door but leave it open so it can continue to air out while we’re at the psycho lady’s cabin.

I don’t know what the fuck is happening inside me, but it’s like with every single day I spend with my crazy girl, something broken inside me is healing, and I feel…more. She breathes life back into me where I’ve felt dead for so long. Emotions are accessible in a way they weren’t before.

Using common courtesy, I knock on the door as my crazy girl touches her stomach, discomfort clear on her face.

“Are you okay?” I ask, worried as my eyes fall to her tiny bump.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” she trails off, seeming even more uncomfortable.

“What?”

She groans. “I’m pregnant, Ollie. I get bad gas pains sometimes. Jesus.” Her cheeks flame with embarrassment, and I almost laugh. Is she seriously ashamed to talk about her normal bodily functions? This woman never ceases to amaze me, and not always in a good way.

I press a kiss to her temple, and she relaxes. “I love you.” I can practically feel the way her body purrs from me telling her this. She loves it when I tell her how I feel about her, and I can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual. I’ve become fond of hearing her tell me those exact words.

She caught me off guard the first time she said it to me. I was stunned in a way I had never been before. She had the worst fucking timing, too. Not even two minutes later, she blacked out, and I was both confused and overwhelmed by the words. No one had ever said they loved me except my parents, if we’re not including what my friends would say.

I love you, man, but you scare the fuck out of me.

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