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Oliver continues to go to his physical and cognitive therapies, but we don’t work on trying to trigger memories. Instead, we spend the evenings hanging out together. Sometimes at home, but we go out a lot too. It’s nice that we have our afternoons free because most places aren’t crowded while people are still at work. Over the next month, we visit an art museum, take walks along the river, and go bowling a few more times. Oliver accompanies me to my studio to see where I work and watches me do a photo shoot for an adorable newborn. His mood and mental health improve by the day.
Neither of us bring up that moment between us in the bowling alley, but I think about it. Too much sometimes. Especially those evenings when we sit in the dim living room watching TV. It feels…normal but somehow intimate, even when we’re on opposite sides of the couch. Something still pushes and pulls between us.
This afternoon, we spent some time discussing the Warrens, and whether offering a reward for the cousin they’re still hunting for might speed things up. As much as we’re trying to get on with things, both of us have so much anger. Sometimes, it’s hard to know what to do with it. Which is what gives me the idea for today’s activity.
“What is this place?” Oliver asks when I park in the lot of Smash and Bash.
“It’s called a rage room. It’s a place where you can pay to smash stuff.”
He accompanies me across the pavement. “We’re going to break stuff? Like what?”
“Whatever they have,” I reply with a shrug. “I’ve never been here before, but Tori said it’s a lot of fun. I figured we could both take out some frustration and anger.”
We’re greeted by a young woman named Josie who takes an extra second to run her gaze over Oliver before escorting us into a room full of protective gear. People sometimes stare at the scar on his neck—it’s hard to miss since it still has a slight purplish red color—but that wasn’t what she was looking at.
She flashes him a smile and directs her instructions at him. “The coveralls zip on over your clothes. You’re required to wear a helmet, goggles, face shield, and gloves. Do you want separate rooms? Or together?”
“Together,” Oliver says.
“Okay, get suited up and I’ll be right back.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, and I grin at the swing of her hips when she leaves the room. It reminds me of Tori sticking her hip out when she talked to boys when we were kids because we read it was sexy.
Her flirting is completely wasted on Oliver. He’s oblivious.
“She was checking you out,” I whisper as we start pulling on the coveralls.
He looks up at me. “What?”
“The girl. Josie. She was flirting with you. I can’t take you anywhere,” I tease.
The look on his face is hilarious. “She was?”
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re hot.”
The cocky grin that inches across his face tugs at my heart. How many times have I seen that arrogant look on Alden’s face?
“You think I’m hot?”
Rolling my eyes, I plunk the helmet onto my head and flip the faceplate down. “Well, right now you look kind of dorky.”
“Too late,” he says, pulling on the gloves. “You already said it. You think I’m sexy.”
“That’s not what I said,” I laugh. He is sexy. And as much as I despise myself when those thoughts and urges show themselves, they’re getting harder to ignore.
Josie returns and leads us into a large room lined with shelves and piled with random junk. “The prices are listed on everything. You can choose what you want and take it through that door.”
Neither of us cares much what we’re smashing. We grab some crates of dishes, a few electronics and a crate of glass bottles. The smash room is awesome. A few larger items sit scattered around, including an old stereo. Graffiti covers the cinderblock walls. So manyfuck yousscribbled in rage. A lot of pain has bled out in this room.
Josie points toward the far wall. “Make sure you throw and hit things in the direction of the black wall. You can choose any of the weapons on the table.” She reaches up and touches a cord that stretches across one section of the room. “You can clip the mugs and smaller things here to swing at them. If you need any assistance, I’ll be at the front desk.” She grins at Oliver. “Have fun.”
This time he smiles back at her, and she blushes a little as she leaves the room.
“Told you,” I say, once she’s gone. “Okay, where do you want to start?”
We peruse the table of weapons, and I pick up a baseball bat. Oliver chooses a crowbar. I dump out an array of dishes on the large concrete table in the center of the room while Oliver clips some mugs on the cord strung over it.
“You go first,” I tell him.
He raises the crowbar and brings it down in the middle of a ceramic plate. It shatters with a glorious noise. He whacks it a couple more times, crushing the shards to bits, then smiles at me. “Come on, it’s fun.”
