Page 45 of The Casualty of Us
I’m sorry.
The next not being much better.
Can we please talk?
And there’s really only one thing to say to that.
Drop dead, Dimples.
Chapter Twelve
OLLIE - JANUARY 2013
I’ve always liked lists.They’ve even been my saving grace at times.
Ophelia would probably give me endless shit and try to start buying me books or something if she knew…but they’ve always been a solid strategy for me. Always up there in my head, circulating around based on importance.
Can’t decide between two different brands of sneakers? List out the pros and cons for both then, make the call. Can’t figure out what I want to do in life? Make a list of what I’m good at and another of what I like and see where they overlap. Can’t figure out how to ask Ellis Marsden to the eighth grade dance? A list will solve that.
Need some goals for my ten-year plan? Cool. Done.
Marry Marley. Get a degree in something passably useful. Become a quarterback for the NFL. Make sure O is okay at all times. Don’t become a lawyer or a fuck boy.
All in no particular order.
Need to stay sane after my sister is kidnapped while I’m knocked out like a useless fucking child? List. List. List.
Never-ending lists for three days straight, actually, and ever since Christmas Day, my new list has consisted of about five things.
Get back to school.
Murder my roommate.
Murder my roommate.
Murder my fucking roommate.
Possibly maim instead of kill because a murder charge would fuck up everything on all my other lists.
It’s a tough call, though, because I haven’t heard shit from the fucker since it all went down and nothing but my earliest memory has been filling my head since then.
I push through the front door of our dorm after having left O at hers, only stopping long enough to drop the duffel from my shoulder as it slams closed behind me. Some kind of music thrums through the space with a muffled beat and is clearly coming from behind the one closed door. Holden’s head turns toward me from where he’s chilling on the couch with a bowl of cereal in his hand and the spoon forgotten halfway to his mouth.
“Hey, man,” I toss out with a nod while continuing to the destination of demise. “Have a good Christmas?” He stares back, eyes moving between me and Hayes’s closed door, and I hold up a finger. “Give me just a second, and we’ll catch up.”
I stop in front of the door while giving my shoulders a quick roll before grabbing the handle and tossing it open. Finding my target where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed as it flies back to hit the wall. The sound of the impact is muted only by the music blasting through the air about wanting to be sedated.
“Fuck.” His head pops up from where it was resting in his hands. “Ollie.” He stands, lifting a hand. “Hold on, let me—”
“You fucker!” I close my fist while charging the last couple of steps to him and bring it crashing down against his face. “Mysister?!” He falls back against the bed at the impact, but I don’t stop. “You really did that to my fucking sister?!”
“Ollie.” He reaches up for the spot where I nailed him on the cheek. “Ollie, hold on let me—”
“Explain?” I scoff an empty laugh. “Yeah, I hope you have an explanation, Flynn.” I cross my arms to stare down at him, “An explanation for chasing after my sister for an entire fucking semester and then messing around with some other girl.”
“I didn’t…” He sits back up on the bed slowly, and I allow it since it’ll be easier to land another punch that way if I need to. “I didn’t…”
“You didn’t…what?” I snort. “Fucking destroy—”
