Page 55 of The Other Half

That bastard hit my girl. I always thought it was disgusting enough that he hit her mother, and I couldn’t even stand the thought of her witnessing that. How could you physically harm the woman you’re supposed to protect and love? But the thought of him hitting his own child? I actually want to kill the motherfucker now.

Class starts, and throughout the entire hour I envision myself pummeling her asshole of a father to death with my fists. I feel like every passing second I become more enraged. I keep looking over at her, but she hasn’t looked my way once.

Finally the bell rings and I leap up out of my seat and practically sprint over to where she’s seated. She looks up at me confused.

“What happened?” I demand.

She gathers her stuff and shoves it in her backpack, and then stands up to leave. “Why would you care?”

“Are you kidding me, Oakley?” I stand in front of her, not allowing her to get to the door.

“Mr. McLeod, Miss Matthews,” the teacher says, “you can have this conversation somewhere other than my classroom.”

I grab Oakley’s hand and lead her out into the chaos of the hallway. “Tell me what happened,” I beg.

“It doesn’t matter,” she breathes. She looks tired, like she didn’t sleep last night. Both of her eyes have dark circles underneath them and she’s not wearing a drop of makeup. Instead of her usual colorful wardrobe, she’s wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants.

I lightly touch where her eye is bruised, and then cradle her delicate face in my hand. I feel the need to lean down and kiss her where she’s injured, but somehow I hold myself back.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” she asks as she backs away from me, her brow wrinkled.

“I didn’t know he was capable of this,” I stammer. “If I did… I wouldn’t have ever let this happen.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “It isn’t your problem.” She turns around and starts to walk away, but I don’t let her.

I grab her hand and swing her around to face me. “Yes it is. No one touches my girl like that.” I pull her body flush with mine. I don’t know how I’ve managed to go weeks without touching her like this, I’ve missed it so much. She doesn’t hug me back, instead her whole body goes stiff, almost like she’s afraid. I let go of her and she backs up, with the same confused look etched upon her perfect features.

The bell rings indicating that third period is starting, and the hallway starts to clear. “Come home with me this afternoon,” I plead. “You can stay with me as long as you want. Fuck it, you can move in.”

“I can’t,” she shakes her head. “My parents won’t let me go anywhere other than school. They’re a lot more strict after having to file a missing persons report.”

I scoff. “Who gives a shit? You said it yourself, you’re eighteen and you can leave.” I grasp both of her hands in mine.

“I have to go to class, Oliver.” She shakes my hands off of hers and turns around, heading down the hallway. I watch her walk away, instantly missing the contact of her skin on mine.

During my chemistry class I try to brainstorm ideas to get her away from that asshole. I briefly consider telling the police or child protective services. Unfortunately I know that a man with as much money and power as he has won’t have to answer to the law like the rest of us do. So I give up on that pretty quickly.

I pull out my phone, needing reassurance that she’s still safe. I know she’s here at school and I have no reason to worry right now, but I can’t stop picturing something even worse happening to her. It’s killing me.

Oliver: You need to get out of there. You should tell the police what happened.

Oakley: I’m fine, Oliver. Don’t worry about me.

Oliver: I know you aren’t fine.

I never receive a reply from her. The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and before I get on the bus to go home I look for her but she’s nowhere to be found. I guess she’s avoiding me, and it’s not like I can blame her.

Chapter 43

Oakley

I don’t understand what Oliver wants. His inconsistency is confusing me so much. And as much as I still crave his love and affection, I don’t want him to only care when there’s something wrong and he has to rescue me. I know that isn’t healthy.

I open the passenger door of Amber’s Honda and hop inside.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as she pulls a cigarette out of her purse.

“Nothing.”

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