Page 34 of Two Marlboros

Taking it in was painful. The nails shoved into my palms ached. Oliver’s texts, our texts....

“You had no right to do that.”

How boldly had he...dared...

...to poke aroundthrough Oliver’s things and mine...

...to soilhis memory...

“I know, I’m sorry, I-”

“Go away.”

“What?!”

He hadsoiledhim, for heaven’s sake!

...he hadstainedhim with his own hands!

I had to think of Oliver, protect him....

“I told you to leave.”

His memory had been uncovered, but I was going to protect it, put it back under glass so it wouldn’t fade, so it wouldn’t discolor...

“Can I at least tell you one more thing?”

“No!”

There was a labored breathing in the room. It was my own. No one was supposed to touch Oliver. On my palms were grooves where I had stuck my fingernails. It hurt like hell. It always hurt.

The look on Nathan’s face was just stupid, and it was the usual look of someone who wanted to pity me. Those big sorry eyes, almost on the verge of tears, full of pity for the poor guy who had lost his love so soon and had freaked out. They could have fucked off, his pity and him.

I didn’t need anything or anyone.

I didn’t need ...

...anything...

...and anyone...

(really?)

My legs gave out and I found myself clinging to the desk. Nathan’s figure was in front of me in an instant. His expression was frowning, again worried for me and pitying me. He held out a hand for me to get back up, but I did it myself, still leaning against the desk, because I still felt myself giving in, partly and mostly because of that feeling of relief that could be nothing more than a deception of my mind.

I met Nathan’s gaze again only to realize how much I no longer felt the need to hide or justify myself, because heknew,and his eyes did not judge me. Not anymore, at least. I could let my heart go back to burying Oliver in some crevice of mymind, without the fear that someone might discover me. I could let the images of his tortured body pass slowly, one frame at a time, clutching my chest and rising in my throat, until they stretched my face and stung my eyes. My breathing became too heavy for someone who wanted to delude himself from crying, for someone who thought he never would.

How much was I revealing about myself to him in that moment? He was seeing all my fragility, without me having made him a part of any of my thoughts. Yet he was crossing me with those green eyes full of innocence, trying to enter mine, to understand me.

“You know...” he whispered suddenly. “You’re not the only one to whom something like this has happened. I mean,” he quickly recovered, as if in a hurry to clarify, “not like what happened to you. But I’ve lost someone important too, and the result is the same.” He hesitated for a moment. “I miss him.”

God, did I miss Oliver.

The feelings I had dormant came back up my throat, blocking my breath and choking me, still clouding my mind, and Oliver was there, in front of me, with that smile -God! How much I missed it - I would never see again; how much did it hurt? How much?

The earth crumbled beneath my feet, and my body sank into a pain that I could no longer bear, that had settled inside me and was now ready to feed on my frailty, and I wasn’t able to resist, and it drag me down, down, into a blackness I did not know...

He held me up, encircled my body with his slender arms and held me tight, so I would not fall. Oliver had saved me, helped me not to fall into oblivion, pulled me up, sat me down on the desk, called my name. Yet Oliver was not blond, for it was not the one who had saved me, not the one who awakened me from what I hoped was only a nightmare. There wasn’t Oliver before me - he was gone.

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