Page 93 of In For a Penny
I laugh and kiss her on the cheek. “Alright, crazy girl. I’ll see you around. Enjoy your party, and please note that I owe you a gift.”
“I’ll hold you to that!” she yells as I walk away toward the bedroom, where I find Oliver sitting on the bed on top of a pile of coats.
“Hello, lover,” I say in a jokingly seductive voice.
His head whips up to look at me, but I immediately see he’s not in a joking mood. “Now’s not the time, Penny.” He looks tired and grumpy, older than his age.
I sit next to him as he sighs frustratedly. “It’s never the fucking time anymore, Oliver. Are we gonna talk about this or not?” We’ve been skating around this topic since he left my apartment to take a walk the night that he found out what happened. It hasn’t been easy on him, I know. But it sure as hell hasn’t been easy for me, and I miss him so much.
“I’d really rather not, to be honest.” He gets up and starts pacing in front of me, but I reach out and grab hold of his hand to stop him.
“Listen. Jesus, I don’t know how many more times I can tell you this. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.”
He looks miserable.
“I just…” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I know. Logically, I know. But my dick doesn’t know that.”
I laugh once in shock. “Excuse me, what?” His face turns beet red, something I’ve only seen happen once to him, and that was during an embarrassing moment for him while having sex. We had just had Mexican food before, and just as he was about to come, he farted the loudest fart I have ever heard in my life (it wasn’t the most pleasant smelling, either). I wasn’t able to finish because I was laughing so hard, but I don’t regret it because it may have been one of the funniest experiences of my life.
“What do you meanyour dick doesn’t know?” I try to contain my laughter because, honestly, what the hell is he talking about? I’m really struggling to stay in control.
He sits back down on the bed, hands on his head, fingers running through his hair. He takes a deep breath, and I pat his back, attempting to be reassuring. He mumbles something I don’t understand, and when I shake him a bit too roughly and tell him to spit it out, he screams, “I can’t bloody finish! Not since the night I found out! Alright?”
It’s dead quiet in the bedroom.
Oliver plays it off like he’s super tough, but I know him better than that. I know he’s been having a hard time, especially if he hasn’t been able to gain relief. “Like, not even alone? By yourself?” I ask in a small voice.
He blows air out his mouth without ever looking at me. “Nope. Nothing.”
“Shit,” I say, genuinely concerned. This is very out of character for him. “Well, don’t you think it’s—”
He lifts a hand to shut me up. “You don’t need to psychoanalyze me, yeah? I know what this is. But I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Uh, dumbass,” I say, punching him in the shoulder. “Maybe if you had talked to me and would stop avoiding me, you would have been able to save yourself from the torture of not being able to come?” I try to speak in a joking tone, but we both know this is a tough conversation that we should have had a while ago. Not just about Tom but about what we mean to each other. “I love you, you know?” I lean my head on his shoulder and hold his hand. “And I am so fucking thankful to have met you and to have a friend like you.” He picks up my hand and kisses it.
“Even if I ruined your life?” he murmurs.
“Are you kidding?” I straighten. “You helpedbringme back to life!” I grab his chin and make him look at me. His eyes are red, and there are deep dark circles under them. “I was an even bigger mess than I am right now! And here I am, not much has changed except for the fact that I now have the strength to say ‘fuck off’to everyone in my life who has ever drained me of energy and just do my own thing.
“If I hadn’t come here to London and the Tom thing would’ve happened with some other asshole, I’m pretty sure I would not have been able to survive it. You taught me to believe in myself and be strong.”
God, we should have done this ages ago. Where have I been?
He looks like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and of course his psyche is punishing him, taking away his favorite thing in the world, that thing that is related to what hurt me. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. It sounds dumb, but it is this second right here when I realize for the first time that what happened with Thomas Delancey affected more people than just me. Tom violated me, made Oliver question his trust in certain friendships, Josh and my other friends were concerned, and I’m sure if you asked some of the girls, at least one of them would sadly say that it had brought up memories of their own experiences, because statistically speaking, at least one of my friends has probably gone through something similar.
He laughs once. “Itoldyou my dick was magic.” We both laugh, and I roll my eyes at him. God, it feels good to laugh with him.
“Seriously, though, dude. We’re good. We’re more than good. We’re perfect.”
“Good.” He kisses my hand again.
“But we’re definitely not having sex again,” I clarify. I meant it when I said that the next guy I sleep with has to betheguy—or at least the right guy for that moment. Not a random person and not a booty call.
“I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m available if you change your mind,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Oliver did always have a tendency to be able to bounce back quickly.
“I’m on aNo Casual Sexpolicy. Sorry, bro.”
