The Absence of Olivia

  The Absence

  of

  Olivia

  A novel by

  Anie Michaels

  The Absence of Olivia

  © Copyright Anie Michaels 2015

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  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we used one of those terms.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing.

  Cover design © Sprinkles On Top Studios

  For Kamryn –

  My wish is for you to always be your own first choice.

  Prologue

  It had been forty-seven minutes since my best friend passed away.

  Forty-seven minutes.

  And I already had no idea how to live my life without her.

  I was already lost.

  I had no idea how to move forward, how to live, in a world she wasn’t a part of anymore.

  She was the biggest part of my world since I was fourteen years old. She was the first person I made eye contact with on my first day of eighth grade. My first day at a new school, just having moved to New Haven the week before. I sat down in the first empty desk I’d come to in my first period homeroom class, and she’d been sitting in the desk right next to mine. She turned to me, her long, blonde, sleek ponytail swinging to the side with her movement, and she smiled.

  I couldn’t help but smile back.

  Then she spoke and, we didn’t know it then, but we’d started a lifelong friendship that day.

  Well, lifelong for her. Cut drastically short for me.

  Olivia Marie Wright wasn’t the most popular girl in school, mostly because the most popular girls in school got that way by kissing boys at the bottom of the hill by the soccer field. She wasn’t the smartest girl in school, and she wasn’t the prettiest girl in school. But she was all three – popular, smart, and pretty. And she was the best girl in school. Hardly a person didn’t like Olivia and those who didn’t like her, only disliked her out of jealousy or spite, and Olivia was always the nicest to those people.

  She sang in the choir, was in the school plays, participated in student government, and was even on the drill team. There wasn’t a single thing she wasn’t good at. And I was happy to know the one thing she particularly excelled at was being someone’s friend.

  That very first day she had turned her head to me, smiled, and said, “Hi, I’m Olivia. Are you new?”

  I smiled back, albeit, a shy smile, and said, “Yeah, I moved here last week.”

  “Well, I’ll ask Mr. Marshall if I can show you to all your classes. Usually, they let someone show new students around, and I’d love to help.”

  Thus, a fourteen-year friendship was born. And today, it died, along with Olivia.

  Just yesterday, I sat in her hospital room, holding her frail, cold hand as she looked at me with eyes missing so much light and tried to say her goodbye. She was weak, the cancer taking everything from her right up until the very last moment, so her words were thin and soft; but she’d said them, so I’d listened.

  “Evie,” she whispered, her eyes trying to remain open, but closing every few seconds, just to flutter open again.

  “I’m here, Livy,” I said, scooting forward on the chair, rubbing her hand with a little more force, but still gently. “I’m here,” I repeated, not certain what else to say to her, not even sure I had words to say to my best friend slipping away right before my eyes.

  “Evie, you’re my best friend,” she breathed, “so I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything,” I whispered back.

  Her eyes found mine again, and the dullness of them wasn’t lost on me, the absence of everything bright that had once been in her eyes was nearly as devastating as the condition of her body. There was nothing left of any part of her.

  “I need you to take care of Devon, Ruby, and little Jax for me,” she said, her eyes rolling back in her head as her voice tapered off. Then they fluttered open again, finding me, searching mine. “Promise me.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d asked me to take care of her family after she was gone. However, every other time we’d talked about it, she’d been well enough that it had been something far away, or just some smoky idea that would disappear when you really tried to grab hold of it. When she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer two years prior, she’d almost jokingly, with a smile, asked me to take care of her family if anything should happen to her. Of course, I agreed. Of course. Then, again, when her health turned poor and there was that moment when everyone realized that, eventually, she wouldn’t make it, she’d asked again. And I’d agreed, of course.

  But she’d never asked me before while she’d been lying at death’s door and the request had never seemed so final. To agree to this would mean I agreed to her dying; it would be to accept that the end was really here, and Olivia was really leaving. To agree to take care of her family would be agreeing to give her up, and I wasn’t sure I could do that.

  But I looked at my best friend on possibly the very last day of her life and realized that anything I could do to ease her mind or make her last day easier, I would do, of course. So I nodded, tears streaming down my face, and agreed to care for her family.

  “Of course, Livy. I’ll always take care of them,” I muttered through tears. She smiled, and she looked like she was drifting away from me, which I’d come to expect since the pain medication they had her on was strong. However, a few minutes later, when she opened her eyes again, she looked at me and said the very last words I’d ever hear from her.

  “You’re my very best friend, Evie. Promise me you’ll be happy.”

  I nodded, not able to say anything in response, because I knew there would be no happiness in the absence of Olivia.

  Chapter One

  Spring of Freshman Year of College

  Nothing in the world felt worse than ice-cold soda running down the front of your body. Forget that it was hot outside. Like, blisteringly hot. Forget that there had been many times that week I’d thought about dumping a bucket of freezing cold water over my head. Having diet coke fill your bra cups, ice cubes included, was not how I wanted to cool off. Not only was the sensation alarming, you know, ice cubes in my bra and all, but I was humiliated. My white linen sleeveless shirt was now sticking to the same bra filled with soda and giving everyone in the campus café a sneak peek at my goods. Everyone, except
of course, for the guy who’d run into me, spilling my soda down the front of my chest, and then continuing on his way without so much as a “sorry,” or even a “get out of my way.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” I whispered to myself, leaning forward slightly and pulling the drenched fabric of my shirt away from my body, trying desperately to hide what I’m sure everyone had already seen. My purse strap slid off my shoulder, and before I could catch it, my entire purse fell to the ground, all its contents splaying across the floor in a brilliant display of girl-shit pyrotechnics. Not only had everyone seen my bra through my soaked shirt, but also now, everyone could clearly see I was on my period and had to use moisturizer for people with oily skin. I tried to keep in both a groan of embarrassment and the tears that were currently pooling in my eyes.

  “Here, take my shirt.”

  I heard him before I saw his face, and even in my state of absolute embarrassment, I noticed his voice. Heard its deep timbre and felt the way my body leaned toward it before my head tipped up and my eyes found his. I saw his face first. I saw the way his jawbone was prominent, as were his cheekbones. I saw the blue of his eyes and the way his blond eyebrows only made them look bluer. I saw his lips that were a shade of pink that, alone, would seem feminine, but coupled with all the maleness of the rest of his face, seemed to fit him perfectly.

  Then my eyes wandered and I realized his chest was bare. His chest was bare because he was offering me his shirt.

  “Here,” he said gently, motioning for me to take it from him.

  I finally regained the use of my arms, and opened up the plaid cotton shirt he offered and pushed my arms through the sleeves. I did so while keeping my head low, but not low enough that I couldn’t see his absolutely and ridiculously muscled chest. He had more abs than I’d ever seen up close and in person. More breadth to his shoulders than should have been physically possible. He was wide in a way I couldn’t have ever imagined. But he was also lean. There was no fat on him. He was tight and long and huge.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as I tried to give him a small smile. I probably looked like I had tasted something bad. Instead of buttoning up the shirt, I just wrapped it around me, and stood there in front of him, huddled like a loser, feeling the soda squish from my shirt and drip down my legs.

  Suddenly, his face was gone from my sight and I realized he’d bent down to pick up my belongings. My tampons.

  “Well that guy was a big asshole,” he said, grabbing my purse and opening it up, reaching for all my girl things laying on the floor. I dropped to my knees as quickly as I could and reached for the first tampon I could see, trying desperately to get to them before he did. Luckily, it looked as though he was aiming to collect everything except tampons, so I shoved them in my purse and tried to pretend like I wore hot strangers’ shirts every day while flinging feminine hygiene products on the floor.

  When everything had been collected, we stood up, both still holding on to my purse, him shirtless, me trying not to stare. He finally let go and I watched as he raised a hand to his too-long hair and ran his fingers through it.

  “He should have at least apologized,” he said finally.

  “Who?” I asked, confused.

  “The guy who totally ran you down and then took off.”

  “Oh, right. Him. He was probably in a hurry.”

  “That’s no excuse for being a douchebag.”

  “You know what? I agree. That was kind of a douche move.” I laughed and then laughed a little more when I saw him smile. “Um, thanks, again, for the shirt.”

  “No problem. You were a little, uh, on display.”

  “Oh, you noticed?” I asked him this question in a totally innocent way, hoping that perhaps, even though I felt like everyone’s eyes had been on me, no one really saw much. But when I saw his face turn red, the blush creeping down his neck, I knew he’d seen more than enough.

  “Hard not to,” he said, blushing even deeper, but this time the corner of his mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin I liked way too much.

  “What dorm are you in? So I can return your shirt after I wash it?”

  “It’s no problem; you keep the shirt,” he said easily.

  “Oh,” I said, a little dejected, thinking he didn’t want to tell me which dorm he lived in because he didn’t have any interest in seeing me again. I wasn’t a bad looking girl. I liked the way I looked and tried hard to look my best each day. I was satisfied with my body, only really longing to be a little taller. But I had great hair and knew my boobs and butt were assets the opposite sex found attractive. I didn’t flaunt them, but they weren’t a hardship to have. I had an hourglass figure and was proud of it. So when he’d basically seen my chest through my see-through shirt and didn’t want to see me again, I was a little confused and more than a little hurt.

  A woman wearing the instantly recognizable uniform for the campus café showed up with a mop and bucket. Obviously there to clean up the mess my soda had made, she shoved in between us with a huff and a few choice words about spoiled college kids. I stepped around her and gave him another smile.

  “Well, thank you…oh, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Devon,” he said, reaching his hand out.

  I kept one arm wrapped around my middle, making sure his shirt stayed in place, and shook his hand. “My name’s Evelyn, but people call me Evie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, still shaking my hand, looking right into my eyes. He held on to my hand a little bit longer, all the while my stomach was doing a tumbling roll. When he dropped my hand, his smile grew larger and he put his hands in his pockets. That action must have reminded him he was shirtless because he suddenly became acutely aware of his naked chest and seemed uncomfortable. “Well, I better get back to my room and find a new shirt.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want this one back? I promise I’ll wash it.”

  He smiled again and I found myself smiling right back.

  “Really, it’s okay. You keep it. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” He gave me a small wave and then turned around, walking out through the doors that led to the courtyard at the apex of all the dorm buildings. I watched him until he disappeared around a corner, then sighed, and started toward my own dorm.

  My shoes squelched and squished the entire way, and with every step on every stair all the way up to the third floor I left footprints that I knew later would be sticky. Just another job for housekeeping, I suppose. I made it to my door and found it unlocked, which made me happy because it meant Liv would be home and I could share my embarrassment. I opened the door and with only two steps into my room, I was put in a situation even more mortifying.

  There, on Liv’s bed, was another topless man, only I was pretty sure he was pants-less too as he was thrusting vigorously into my best friend. It took approximately three thrusts for him to notice me.

  “Holy shit,” he said, startled, and then fell off the bed, pulling the blanket with him, leaving Liv naked and spread eagle, but thankfully, facing away from me.

  “What the hell, Brandon?” Liv shrieked.

  “It’s the middle of the day, Liv. And the door is unlocked.” I tried to sound surprised or shocked, but it was difficult, seeing as how this wasn’t shocking or surprising coming from Liv.

  She turned her head sharply to see me, my hands on my hips, obviously irritated.

  “Oh, hey, Evie. You’ve met Brandon, right?” she asked, as if nothing in the world was the matter. As if she were standing on the street, totally clothed, not mid-coitus. He was quickly finding his clothes and putting them on even quicker. “I think I introduced you at the Beta house last weekend.”

  “Well, now that he’s wearing clothes, you’re right, he does look familiar,” I said, not trying one bit to hide my sarcasm.

  He threw the blanket over Liv to cover her, and then slipped his shoes on his feet. “I’m gonna go. This is really awkward.” He leaned down and kissed Liv quickly on the lips, then walked right past me and didn’t even
say goodbye.

  “Liv,” I sighed, putting my purse down on my desk and sitting on the edge of my bed, facing her. “What are you doing? You don’t even know that guy.”

  She shrugged. “I have my lit class with him. I’ve sat next to him every day for two months. Plus, he’s a Beta. I’ve seen him at all the parties and last weekend we hung out quite a bit.”

  I tilted my head to the side and raised my eyebrows. “Oh, well then, obviously, sex is the next step.”

  She shrugged again and then stood up and walked to her closet. “You don’t have to be in love with everyone you have sex with, Evie.”

  This is where I was realizing, recently, that Liv and I differed on our opinions about sex. I wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for over a year, so it wasn’t that I thought everyone should save themselves for marriage, but I couldn’t imagine having sex with a guy I wasn’t in a committed, loving relationship with. Liv was more of the free love variety of girl, and usually, that was fine. Until I saw some random dude’s sex face.

  “Your antiquated views of a healthy sexual relationship are setting the women’s movement back at least thirty years,” she said from behind the door of her closet.

  “Antiquated? My views aren’t antiquated. They’re emotionally safe and your sexual relationships aren’t even relationships. They’re like, encounters, at best.”

  I saw her head lean just around the door, her captivating and gorgeous smile beaming. “Conquests,” she said excitedly, her eyebrows moving up and down suggestively. I couldn’t help but laugh. Liv had been my best friend since we were fourteen and she had always been boy crazy. Living on our own during our first year of college, she seemed to take the bull by the horns and took her liberated stance on sex very seriously. In fact, she’d slept with more guys during our first term of college than I had hoped to sleep with in my entire life. The thing was, you couldn’t hate her for it. Sometimes, I was even envious. She had this confidence about her. She knew guys wanted her and that gave her some sort of power over them. And to be fair, it wasn’t as if she slept with just anyone. She was picky and usually chose guys who were respectful and nice. And some of them, I’m sure, would have loved to date her – like, for real – but she was never interested, always claiming she was too young to be tied down.