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“It’s okay.” Marcus waves me off, silencing my chastise. “This is a small as shit town. I have no doubt everyone knows everyone's business here.”
“Too right,” Oli agrees, bobbing her head. “Mrs. Jackson probably knows the last time you tiddled your—”
“Olive!” I gasp, kicking her under the table. “Oh my God.” I rub the space between my brows and glance up at him. “I’m so sorry, Marcus.”
His eyes flit between us, looking somewhere between awed and terrified of Oli. To be fair, I don’t blame him. She’s wearing a short black wig cut into a bob with a t-shirt that reads World’s Sluttiest Dad. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s Oli. She doesn’t make sense. I scan her, my eyes narrowing.
Where’s the possum?
Shit.
Marcus clears his throat and rubs his neck, shooting me a weird look. “Right. Well, thanks again, Eve.” He smiles at Oli. “I’ll see you around.” He lifts his hand in an awkward farewell as he stumbles back a step.
I give him a tight-lipped smile, wiggling my fingers in a wave, and watch as he hurries back into the café before turning a seething glare to Oli. She lets out a high-pitched cackle, throwing her head back, her stiff wig barely shifting with her movements.
She wipes dramatically at her eyes, flicking her fingers like she’s flicking tears from them. “Sorry to break up your hot date,” she says, still laughing.
“He just wanted directions,” I mutter, but the words only make her laugh harder.
“Oh, I bet he did,” she cackles. “Directions to your pussy.”
“Oli,” I groan, but can’t hide the smile that curls my lips. She laughs a final time, but her grin never falls. “So, mind telling me why you were late?” In an instant, her expression changes.
Knew it.
“Oh, you know, the animals,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. I settle back into my chair, preparing myself for whatever she’s about to tell me. Whatever happened wasn’t about the animals.
Clearing her throat, Oli flicks her gaze from mine to the quiet downtown streets. Every few minutes, a car or beat up truck inches by, letting pedestrians cross with a wave of thanks. I keep my mouth shut, letting her figure out how to say whatever she needs to say. Sometimes it takes her a while. Feelings and honesty aren’t Oli’s strong suits.
“It was just a hard morning,” she finally murmurs, her nails digging deep grooves into her crossed bare legs. My brows dip and I lean forward, my heart kicking up.
“Did something happen to make it that way?” I slowly ask.
She clicks her tongue. “That douchebag on Call of Duty royally fucked me again.”
My lip twitches. “ShadowStalker? What did he do now?” ShadowStalker has been apparently messing with Oli when she streams, or games, or whatever she does. I don’t know. The lingo goes right over my head. I try to understand it all, I really do, but Oli is like seriously into gaming. She spent a fat chunk of her mom’s life insurance money on a whole set-up and now it’s how she makes money.
Groaning, her head falls back and if it weren't for the grey beanie she’s wearing, her wig would probably fall off. “Yes. He’s been stream sniping me. Every single game, he somehow always knows where I am and takes me out before I have a chance to defend myself.” Her hands fly in the air and my eyes widen.
“He’s ruining my K/D, Eve!” she wails. “It’s a travesty. He’s like a fucking stalker, I swear to Imaginary Sky Daddy.”
I watch her mutter to herself for a solid two minutes, rambling on about numbers and players and something called aces. I lean back and drink my tea, content to let her rant it out until she’s ready to bring me back into her world.
Suddenly, she blinks and falls silent again.
I know there’s something more going on, but I know she hates being pushed. I have to be careful how I go about asking her, how I check in with her.
“Anything else happen?” I coax, watching her cautiously.
It takes her a few minutes to gather her thoughts again. The entire time, she picks. At her fingernails, her clothes, her heavy stack of woven, bright bracelets. She spins the beads on one, the word happy written in rainbow letters is a slap in the face to her current dark mood.
Oli's voice trembles when she finally begins, her words laced with the weight of her emotions. “Eve, this morning—” she breaks off, sucking in a sharp breath. “It was like trying to swim through molasses. I couldn't shake off the heaviness, couldn't find a reason to get up. Even my fur babies, my little bundles of joy, couldn't force me out of bed.”
She shakes her head, clicking her tongue in a silent reprimand to herself when her eyes start to water. Meanwhile, my heart is shattering for my best friend. She tries so hard to be strong, to put up a good front in an attempt to convince the world she’s okay.
“Oli,” I sigh, my own voice choked up. I’m at a loss for words and though it kills me, I know she prefers it that way. Olive hates platitudes, even if they’re full of honesty.
“Some days,” she murmurs, coughing to clear her throat again. “Everything feels so beautiful. It's like the world is painted in bright colors and glitter and I can't help but be swept away by its magic. But most days... most days it's a storm, Evie.” She finally meets my eyes and I see the devastation there. The chaotic swirls of emotions she normally tucks down deep. “Sometimes it’s like a dark cloud is threatening to swallow me whole.”
