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“Where is he now?” I throw the covers off of me and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I have to see him. I have to explain what happened.”
“He’s gone.” Oliver leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “He took off last night, told his dad he’d be gone a few days. No one has heard from him or been able to get a hold of him since.” He blows out a hard breath.
“This isn’t happening.” I drop my face into my hands for a brief moment, not able to fully digest everything Oliver just said.
“After I got my first real look at you, I knew someone had given you something. Charles helped me get you out of there. You were completely passed out by the time we got home. I had to carry you upstairs.” He sits upright, reaching around to squeeze the back of his neck.
“Why?” My question seems to catch Oliver off guard.
“Why?”
“Why bring me home? Why even try to help me? Why not just leave me there?”
“Listen, I know what I’ve done is horrible but I’m not a monster.”
“Yes, you are.” I point my finger at his face. “You did this. All of this.” I gesture to nothing in particular. “If it wasn’t for you making me believe that Zayden had slept with me for sport, I never would have been at that party. I never would have been drugged. And Zayden wouldn’t be off God knows where doing God knows what, believing that I willingly went into the arms of another guy less than twenty-four hours after we slept together for the first time!” My temper flares in my voice.
“It’s not like I knew this would happen,” he argues.
“It doesn’t matter if you knew it would or wouldn’t. This is what happens when you play games. When you lie. When you turn people’s lives upside down for your own sick amusement. This. This is on you,” I tell him, pushing out of bed. I sway slightly when my feet hit the floor, but I don’t let that deter me. Straightening my spine, I look down and see that I’m still wearing the same outfit I wore to the party last night.
“I get why you’re angry. You have every right to be,” he starts, his words cutting off when I spin toward him.
“Do not tell me what I have the right to feel! Don’t say another fucking word to me!” I scream, my hands shaking so badly I can barely keep them from flailing all around.
“Rylee.…” He stands.
Before he can say anything else, my hands connect with his chest, shoving him backward. He stumbles against the chair, barely able to keep himself upright.
“You are easily the worst person I have ever met.” I shove him again right as he’s recovered from the first push. “I hate you.” My hands connect with his chest again. “I hate you!” I shove harder. “I hate you!” I scream in his face, pure rage igniting through my entire body.
I draw back to hit him, but Oliver catches my hand mid-air. I try again with the other hand, but again, he’s able to deflect with ease—securing my wrists, one in each hand.
“Let go of me,” I seethe.
“Not until you stop swinging at me,” he fires back.
“You deserve it. You deserve to be hit and kicked and, and, and, ran over with my car,” I stutter, spitting out the first thing that pops into my head. “Why do you hate me so much? What did I do to you? Why are you ruining my life?” The last question comes out on a sob and my shoulders go limp.
Oliver releases my hands and they fall to my sides as I stumble backward, doing everything in my power not to completely break down.
“I don’t hate you,” he admits, defeat the most prominent thing in his voice. “I’ve never hated you. I just wanted you to leave.”
“Why?” I cross my arms in front of my chest to shield myself from him.
“Because I blamed your mom for breaking up my parent’s marriage. I blamed her for my mom leaving. I blamed her for ripping apart my life. And I wanted her gone. You were the easy target. You are the thing she loves the most. I thought if I could make you miserable enough that eventually it would start to wear on their marriage. I knew that if it came down to you or my father, she would choose you.”
“So all of this has been to try to drive a wedge between our parents?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Oliver had said something of this nature before when I overheard him and Savannah talking, but hearing him say it now, seeing the vulnerability on his face as he opens up to me, it’s a complete game changer. It doesn’t make a single thing he’s done okay. But for the first time I’m seeing him more as a wounded child that’s acting out of hurt, than I am as an evil bully that gets some sick thrill out of hurting other people.
“Your mom and my dad had an affair. That’s why my mom left.”
“But they didn’t.” My voice softens. “My mom would never sleep with a married man, ever.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can and I do. And even if they did, why would you think terrorizing me would get you what you wanted? Did you ever stop to consider that I wouldn’t go to my mom? That I wouldn’t tell her what’s going on because I don’t want to cause problems between her and Paul? I haven’t seen my mom this happy in a very long time. As hard as you were trying to sabotage this whole thing, I was fighting just as hard to make everything seem fine. So essentially, you’ve done all this and accomplished nothing.”
