Rage. That's what Olivia Bennett was feeling when she ran away to Australia. She's been off the grid, offline, and off men for nearly eight months.
It's the start of 2021 and she's ready for her busiest year yet. Movies, music, and fashion work line...
I winced at the loud slam of the door. What the fuck? "Dylan?" I called out. I was in bed, alone.
No response. I looked around. It didn't sound like the front door. So I assume it was to our master bath. I groaned softly, reaching into my nightstand drawer for some pain pills to help with my hangover headache.
Reluctantly, I slipped out of bed and went into the en suite for some water. "Morning," I greeted Dylan who was peeing.
"Hmph."
"Mad at me?" I asked, moving to the sink and turning on the water. I leaned down for a handful to drink and swallow my pills with. No response. I scoffed, "the silent treatment? Real mature."
"I thought you'd appreciate it with that hangover you're nursing," he quipped. "I'm taking the dogs. We're going for a run. We can talk when I get back."
"Talk about what?"
"Whatever you want, Liv," he said, "just eat something and drink some water. Sober up. We have to get packing."
"Packing?"
"We are going to New York."
"But I thought we were gonna talk about splitting our time in LA."
"We can talk about that in New York."
I rolled my eyes, "Okay, dictator." He didn't respond. He just brushed by me and washing his hands before leaving the bathroom. I followed after him, unsure of what to say. "So much for our no arguing streak."
"I'll be back in about an hour."
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IG STORY - @olivia_sprouse
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***
An hour came and went. Dylan wasn't back. I had made us both breakfast but his was getting cold in the microwave waiting for him. In some brief cleaning and packing, I stumbled upon my tiny envelope from Colson for my birthday.
I debated on opening it for a minute, but decided I rather know than wonder. Besides it would be easier to deal with this without Dylan hovering, in case there were emotions to process.
I sat at the dining room table, ripping the envelope open before I could back out. Inside was a skinny piece of paper, with writing—a letter. And a red key.
"Dear O,
For starters I want to wish you a happy birthday. The big 2-9. Truly hope you've gotten everything you wanted. And just in case you're feeling like your life is inadequate or there's something you missing... Let me remind you: You're still young; you are resilient, strong, kind, intelligent, selfless, giving, loving, caring, funny, and downright gorgeous; You're a self-made millionaire; You have beautiful vocals and your talent musically grows every day; You have sweet dogs; You have a good family and friend support system; You got married before 30 like you always fretted over—you finally have my blessing by the way; You'll surely be an amazing mother and I know that will happen for you soon; And you own your home...
