The Lies He Spoke

THIRTY SIX

OLIVIA 

Blake stayed over the next two nights. He went to school, but he left very early in the morning to get there and came back later than usual, and when he came back, he went straight to bed and took a nap before dinner.

Olivia knew it was for Logan. She knew it because she had, in her desperation the night before, torn a piece of paper from her notebook.

On it, she wrote, Please help Logan, folded it up until she couldn't fold it up anymore, and handed it to Blake.

He wiggled his eyebrows goofily. "What's this? A love letter?"

Olivia shrugged and got in bed. By the time she was done pulling the covers over herself, Blake was refolding the paper. He tucked it into his pocket.

"I see," he said softly. "It is a love letter."

And school couldn't bring her any peace either because Angel looked like death incarnate. His clothes were crumpled and his eyes were red and had deep circles and no matter what Olivia asked, he wouldn't tell her what was wrong.

"Everything is fine," he said, and pulled his blazer over his face and turned away to presumably take a nap.

Olivia was getting frustrated with everyone in her life lying that they were fine.

Nobody was fine.

So when she got back home, she went straight to her room, annoyed with everyone but most of all annoyed with herself that she couldn't do anything.

She couldn't help Elijah, she couldn't get Angel to tell her what was wrong, she couldn't even get through to Logan - she had asked Blake to take care of it.

While she was doing the math homework she hadn't turned in since Monday, Logan appeared at her door.

His curly black hair was a mess as usual. His thin t-shirt and shorts hung off him awkwardly. He'd been getting worse since Elijah's trial, but he'd really looked bad these past few days.

"Busy?" he said.

Olivia nearly dropped her pencil. Logan - coming to her room to talk to her? They'd had the bare minimum conversation for days, courtesy of that horrible encounter in the bathroom.

Still, she managed, "No. Why?"

"Can I come inside?"

"You don't have to ask."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowly came into her room, stepping carefully like the flowers on her rug would suddenly blow up.

He sat on her bed behind her chair, but when she tried to turn around in her chair to face him, he grabbed it and turned it back around so she couldn't see his face.

"Um, are you-"

All in a rush he interrupted, "I'm sorry for scaring you on Monday and Blake talked to me so please don't worry anymore. It's fine."

Olivia stared at her desk, shoulders tense, her heart in her throat. She felt kind of nauseous.

But wasn't this what she wanted? For him to talk to her? Why, then, couldn't she get out a single word she wanted to say?

"I...don't think it's fine," she said in a small voice.

Logan's breaths were shaky. "You're right. It's not very fine."

"Does it hurt? Do you have to go to the hospital?"

"No."

She licked her dry lips with her dry tongue. Everything felt sandpapery. "Have you been - been depressed for a long time?"