Oliver: My new screen shot for my phone.
The picture is of me smelling the rose. The one Alex just took.
“You’re sending pictures to Oliver?”
She snaps a few more of me. “Yep. That’s what I’ve been hired to do.”
Me: Why are you having Alex paparazzi my every move?
Oliver: Missing your touch is almost unbearable. Missing everything else too, would kill me. Love you.
Me: Tears … love you more!
Oliver: Nice try, but not possible. Call me later when you’re alone.
Me: O … kay?!
“How were your classes? Any cute guys?” Alex flops back on the couch and twirls her hair around her finger.
“Last I heard, you’re engaged and I’m …” I gesture to the embarrassingly romantic display of roses surrounding us.
“I didn’t ask if you scored us dates for the weekend, I asked if there were any cute guys in your class. You know … on the likely chance that the lecture gets boring, you can strip the hot guy sitting in front of you with your eyes and dirty mind.”
I toss the rose I grabbed earlier at her. “For starters, there is no one sitting in front of me. I have to sit in the front row for my recorder to pick up everything clearly. And you’ve seen Oli, he’s…” I sigh “…perfect.”
“I love that your definition of perfect is a guy much older than you with a tainted past and a wife in the looney bin.”
“I feel bad for her.” I sit on the floor next to Alex with my legs crisscrossed. “Does that make me crazy?”
“You feel bad because of what she did or where she’s at?”
“Both. She didn’t choose to lose her sanity. Can you imagine what it would be like to not have control over your thoughts or to not be able to distinguish reality from illusions? She’s sick, really sick and …”
“Oliver left her?”
I nod. “The problem is even if I can’t imagine it, I understand why she did what she did. I also understand why Oliver despises her so much, but it makes me wonder where couples draw that line. I mean … when you and Sean get married will you vow to love each other through sickness and health?”
“No, absolutely not. Our vows are going to be more like the reading of a hypothetical prenup. ‘I promise to love you in times of acute, non-antibiotic resistant illness and health as long as you don’t try to pass it off as a beer gut and man boobs.’ His will be similar except instead of beer gut and man boobs it will read saggy tits and bingo wings.”
“AKA, you too are in love with a damaged man who loves you something fierce?”
“Basically.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Insanity
Oliver
I never imagined returning to Portland. Then again, I never imagined moving back to Boston. When Caroline and I moved here, I fell in love with everything: the people, the view, the mountains, and the less-than-two-hour drive to the beautiful Pacific coast. We had a great house, I had a promising job, and we were getting ready to start our family—our future.
Now the view isn’t so spectacular, and I think I prefer Boston Harbor to the Pacific coastal beaches. The city feels too congested, and I don’t recognize the people. Since I’ve met Vivian, everything outside of her blindingly beautiful aura seems dull and boring.
I went to see Caroline today. Mental hospitals have to be the epitome of boring. If a patient’s not truly insane going in, they will be before too long. It’s fairly quiet except for the occasional outburst that’s dealt with by quick hands and a syringe filled with a magical sleep-it-off-until-you’re-ready-to-knock-this-shit-off potion. Every activity is planned with military regimen. There’s a short window of visiting hours, especially for Caroline, and so today there weren’t any breakthroughs, at least while I was there. She was heavily sedated, coming in and out of sleep for the first half hour. Then they brought in her dinner with plastic silverware, customary for suicidal patients. She didn’t eat and she didn’t speak—not one word. I didn’t say anything either. I went to show her I’m here, but my presence didn’t seem to encourage her. I left feeling angry and regretting this trip after only one day.
An hour ago, a nurse called and said Caroline ate all her dinner after I left when the nurse told her I’d come back tomorrow, but only if she ate. Apparently, she hasn’t eaten in three days, so now I’m the saintly miracle worker. Fucking fabulous. Whatever, eat, taper off your meds, admit you fucked up, and face the consequences. Then accept we’re over and let me get the hell away from you.
The anger I have inside is brutal. For a while I thought it was fading, but seeing her today I realized it was just time and distance buffering my raw emotions. I didn’t recognize her and not just because she looks horrid from the meds, lack of sun, and ripping out half of her own hair. It was her eyes. There’s no life in them. It’s as if her body is a vessel with a heartbeat, but her soul is gone. I think that’s what happens when you take someone’s life. Maybe that’s what happens before you take their life. Everything good in you has to leave, and then you’re nothing but a human machine acting without emotion. At best, she’ll get rehabilitated enough to not want to kill herself or anyone else, but I don’t believe she’ll ever be able to love or have genuine emotions for another human ever again.
I’m staying in Doug and Lily’s walkout basement. One of the reasons I agreed to stay here is because there’s a separate kitchen and bathroom so I can avoid them for the most part. They, of course, were elated about the nurse’s call and offered one too many I-told-you-so looks for my taste. So now I’m waiting with impatient frustration for Vivian to call me. I’m already having withdrawals from her and I need to hear her soft voice filled with sexy seduction that makes me hard every time she says the words Oli or babe.
Me: Are you alone yet?
I wait a few minutes and just as I’m ready to send another message my phone chimes.
“You’re killing me.”
“Miss you too, babe.”
And … I’m hard.
“So how was your first day?”
“Amazing. Except I pressed pause instead of play on my recorder during my math class.”
“You recorded a math class?”
“No. Aren’t you listening? I tried to, but I didn’t get it recorded.”
I chuckle. “That’s what I meant. You tried to record a math class?”
“Yes, Alex! I record all my classes,” she says with mock annoyance.
“When do you have time to listen to them all again?”
“Duh … while I’m sleeping.”
“What are you wearing?”
“What?”
“You had an amazing day, you’ve reconfirmed your nerd girl status, enough pleasantries, now what are you wearing?”
“Your T-shirt.”
“Hmm … in the back of the closet are my dress shirts. Put one on then pull your hair up, get your black framed glasses and then bring your laptop to your bed and we’ll Skype.”
“Why—”
“Just do it.”
“Um … okay.”
I slip off my pants and shirt and lie back on my bed. A few minutes later her live picture appears on my screen. With one look I’m hard as a brick and I can tell this won’t last long.