Page 61 of Little Stranger

“No.” She moves off me. “I mean… I don’t want to live here… with you. Or anywhere with you. What’s happened since the festival doesn’t change the fact you nearly killed Dad. I don’t forgive you for that.”

My heart sinks. “Why?”

“Why?” she asks, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Are you really asking me that? Because I don’t love you. I’m… We… No, Malachi.”

“Y-You don’t lo-love me?” I stutter the words, but I don’t fucking care. She’s a liar. She’s lying, and I refuse to fucking take it.

I get off the bed and walk over to my combats, pulling my phone out. It takes me less than five seconds to find one of the voicemails she left me, and I play it while she sits up on the bed.

Sniffles, and then… “Malachi, where are you?” She sobs, as if she’s hyperventilating. “I can’t find you anywhere. Mom said you were released a few weeks ago—why haven’t you come for me?”

She’s crying, and I watch as her frown flattens, her shoulders hunching as she listens to herself, and she looks away as the voicemail keeps playing.

“I’m so, so sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have told everyone what you meant to me, and I didn’t. I was scared of the backlash, and everyone said you were vulnerable and that you were sick, that your obsession with me was down to you wanting to own something—someone. Me. And I was scared they were right.”

She sniffs some more. “I want to know if anything was ever real for you. Any of it. If you tell me you love me, that I mean the world to you, then I’ll admit that I feel the exact same. Because I do, Malachi. I love you so much it hurts.”

I shut off the voicemail, and step forward, my body shaking with rage. “It was r-r-real. All o-of it was r-real. Everyth-thing was real. You mean th-the world t-t-to me. But you won’t s-s-say it back, w-will you?”

She lowers her head and shakes it, and I feel like my entire world just collapsed.

Olivia’s slipping through my fingers. What the fuck do I do?

“I am sorry,” I say, fucking up the enunciation but who the fuck cares? “The spider. The knife. The cameras. All o-o-of it. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and blow out a breath. “I need you, Ol—” I stop, my heart racing so fast, I think it might stop.

“I don’t need you,” she murmurs, and I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. “I’m getting married soon, Malachi—I signed an agreement. I can’t back out. I won’t. We have no chance in this life—don’t you see?” She stands, and I gulp and step back as she wraps the duvet around her body. “Society would never accept us.”

I grip the phone in my hand. “Fuck society.” I don’t think my words have ever been clearer than right now. “Fuck everyone against us.”

“You don’t even know how to love properly. Your diagnosis proves that. Why would I give up a marriage for someone who can never feel the same way about me?”

I stay quiet, because she’s right.

My version of love isn’t enough for her—I love her, I do, but how am I supposed to know what’s normal and what’s not? My world revolves around her and always has. And if that’s not a good-enough version of love for her, and I can’t make her happy, then what’s the point?

She goes through the dresser, shaking her head when she sees it’s filled with clothes I bought for her over the last few months. She puts on underwear, slides yoga pants on, then grabs some other items.

She pulls on a shirt, buttons it up to her neck to hide the marks I gave her, then sits on the edge of the bed as she fixes her hair over her shoulder and puts on some socks.

I stay against the wall, my hands behind me, and try to think of everything possible to make her stay. Willingly. I want Olivia to choose me.

Please choose me.

Nobody ever chooses me.

She stands, slips on her shoes, and wipes under her eyes. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you,” she says, her head down. “Mom will want to know where I’ve been the last few days, so I’ll need to lie and make up a story. If you let me leave, I’ll forget this ever happened. Don’t be difficult about this, Malachi. I’m leaving one way or another.”

I can’t answer. I just look at the ground as she moves towards me then stops. “Goodbye, Malachi. Please take care of yourself. Please.”

Something weird is happening to me. My chest is sore, and my eyes feel immense pressure, and they’re… wet. I think I might be crying for the first time in my life.

She opens the door, but I rush in front of her, blocking her exit as I drop to my knees and grab her hands. “Olivia,” I whisper clearly. “Please don’t leave me. Please stay with me.”

Her sadness is all over her face—she’s looking at me like I’m the one breaking her heart, her eyes following a tear as it slides down my cheek.

“Please,” I beg. “Acceptmyv-version of love. Pl-ease. I love you, Ol-l-l—”

Olivia doesn’t tell me she loves me back, or that she’ll stay. She just gives me a warm smile and pulls her hand away before squeezing past me.

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