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I’m not sad.
I’m not a crier. I only cried once after my parents died and haven’t done so since.
Yet, here I am.
My face scrunches up every few minutes like I’m in pain or something as more tears fall, but I’m not. This makes no sense. There’s a knock on my door and I take a deep breath.
“Come in,” I call out, sitting up and wiping away the relentless tears. No wonder I can’t play anymore. I’m a wuss. Crying for no reason.
“Corey?”
I lift my head to see Olivia. Her eyes widen when she sees my face, most likely blotchy and teary and weak. Concern takes over as she sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and analyzing me.
“What’s wrong? What happened? I knew something wasn’t right. Your texts were weird.”
My shoulders lift and fall in one big shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing has happened?”
“There’s fifty cracks in my ceiling.” I point with one finger up to them.
“And you’re crying about that?”
“No. Just saying.”
She wipes away the tears on my cheeks, thinking. “How long have you been like this?”
“All day. Why can’t I stop? I don’t cry.”
“I bet you don’t,” she agrees solemnly. “It might be the medication. You were just lying here and started crying?” I nod. “Where’s your appointment card? They usually have a person on stand-by for things like this. I’ll call and see what they say.”
I tell her and she disappears to my room where those things are. This has to be a new low. Not only am I crying, but I’m crying in front of someone. And not just anyone. Olivia. Overall, it’s a great relief that it’s her and not my siblings or someone else. When she returns, there’s a small smile on her lips.
“You’re smiling?” She better not make fun of me, because I can’t handle it.
“I can’t help it,” she answers, coming back to sit next to me, bending her knees to prop her feet on the edge of the table. “You look so pitiful, but adorable at the same time.”
I turn, my body involuntarily leaning towards her as I face the back of the couch, finding comfort in the space between her chest and her legs. I put my arms around her waist, pressing my face against her chest. Olivia wraps her arms around my broad shoulders in return. She holds me, keeps me together, and I let her.
“You’re mean. Go away,” I mutter. She laughs. Laughs! I tilt my head back a bit to look at her. “I’m crying like a baby and you’re laughing?”
She giggles some more. “You’re being a little dramatic, Corey. They said to stop taking it, and they were able to put you in to go back tomorrow afternoon to see him.”
I groan, pressing my face to her chest again. “I don’t like him. Dr. Stewart.” Her heartbeats are steady, pulsing against my forehead. It’s oddly calming to feel that mixed with the rise and fall of her breathing.
“Why not?”
“He reminds me of you and your see-into-my-soul shit.”
Olivia starts laughing again. “What are you talking about, Corey?”
“You know things without me telling you and you call my bluffs.” I pause, actually feeling sad now. My chest hurts like it’s hollow and there’s nothing left in there. “This doesn’t seem like things are getting better. Only worse. I want things to be better, Olivia. Why can’t that happen?” My words seem to mumble together, but she hears me.
“It will, but we need more time,” she says. A chill runs down my spine when she weaves the fingers of one hand through my black hair, which probably needs a trim. It’s getting a bit too long for my liking. As if she’s thinking the exact same thing, Olivia says, “You should let me cut your hair.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Finally, we’re silent.
