YELLOW

PART 11

I entered the visitation room, accompanied by a nurse. There she was—Olivia—sitting neatly in a white dress adorned with flowers, one of her favorites. As I stepped into the room, she stood up, her eyes sharp and piercing, as if they could cut through my very soul.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. I approached the table, but when she tried to move closer, I instinctively stepped back, raising a hand to create distance between us.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as we both took our seats. I found myself staring down at my hands, unable to meet her gaze.

"I'm really sorry about Marcus. I truly am," she said, her words reverberating in my mind. I nodded absentmindedly, not fully absorbing what she was saying. "Please, talk to me," she urged, and I finally raised my eyes to meet hers.

"What's there to say? You've already made your choice. Why are you even here? I don't think Joakim would appreciate your visit," I replied, my tone edged with bitterness as I clicked my tongue, letting my eyes drift around the room.

"Just because I care about him doesn't mean I don't want you in my life," she began, but I interrupted, "As a friend, right? I've heard it all before, and I thought I was clear enough." I locked my gaze onto hers, my resolve hardening. "I can't be friends. If this is an attempt to change my mind, you're wasting your time. I can't, and I won't. I refuse to."

I stood up, placing my hand flat on the table, and felt hers cover mine for a brief moment. "Don't leave just yet," she pleaded. I turned slightly, looking down at her as I withdrew my hand. "You left me. Don't make it seem like I did," I said, my voice tinged with hurt as I turned away and walked toward the nurse.

"I'm not feeling great. I want to go back to my room," I stated. He nodded in understanding and escorted me out.

"Thank you for making the effort to see me. I know it's difficult for you since we broke up," Olivia said, her voice sincere. I nodded in response, feeling the weight of her words. "It's okay, Olivia. You're the most important person in my life," I replied. A grin spread across her face as we strolled through Zara.

"Here, try this on! You'll look incredibly hot," she exclaimed, laughter dancing in her voice as she handed me a striking green suit. I looked down at the fabric in her hands and nodded, "Definitely your color." I held it up to her face, noting how the vibrant green matched the color of her eyes.

I stepped into the changing room, excitement tinged with anxiety. As I tried to zip up the pants, I quickly realized the zipper was stuck. "Of all the suits hanging here, I knew you'd pick the one that's messed up, just like me," I joked, stepping out with a laugh. Olivia stood there with her arms crossed, biting her lower lip, her expression a mix of amusement and admiration.

"You look beautiful," she said, moving closer to adjust the shoulders of the suit. I felt her hands glide down my chest until they reached the zipper. "I'm even better without," I whispered, teasingly. But just as I spoke, her eyes drifted away, and she withdrew her hands, stepping back as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I can't," she said softly, her tone filled with conflict. I stood there, hands on my hips, nodding in understanding. "Oh right, your guy," I replied, my voice laced with resignation. Turning back into the changing room, I closed the curtains, needing a moment to process everything.

"Man, you look terrible," the girl said bluntly. I wasn't in the mood for her comments.

"Well, then look somewhere else," I shot back, plopping down on the bed and shrugging off my jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

"Wow. Are your balls rolling around here or what? What's going on?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"I don't even know your name, so why would you care?" I replied sharply.

"My name is Anastasia. All you had to do was ask, you know, genius," she said, stepping closer before sitting down next to me on the bed. "By the way, the plane you wanted is out of stock," she added with a playful grin, as if she were trying to lighten the mood.

I couldn't help but smile at her attempt. "Oh yes, what a disaster. What will I do now? I'm going to be miserable," I joked, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Her soft laughter filled the room, and I found it surprisingly charming. "You can start by telling me what happened," she said, her eyes locking onto mine with unexpected intensity.

I held her gaze, trying to understand why she seemed genuinely interested. She didn't strike me as the type who cared about anyone but herself.

"It's nothing important anymore," I replied, attempting to dismiss it.

"Well, this 'nothing' seems to be bothering you. So if it's really nothing, let's pretend it is. Tell me nothing, and no one, that could make you feel this way. You would understand if you knew the crap I've had to put up with all my life," she said, her tone shifting to one of sincerity.

It was strange; she was attempting to have a real conversation with me today, which felt odd considering our history wasn't exactly the best.

She removed her shirt, revealing her bra. "Come here," she whispered softly. I felt a surge of confusion about what was happening, but I chose to stand up and walk toward her. As I approached, she turned her back to me, exposing numerous scars and burn marks. My fingertips traced the contours of her scars as my gaze flicked between them and her face. She closed her eyes at my touch and lowered her shirt before turning to face me again.

"Some people carry scars that are invisible; they take those with them in their hearts. But some scars are visible on the skin," she said, her voice carrying a weight that I didn't quite understand. Perhaps she felt I was struggling, given the look on my face.

In response, I turned slightly to reveal the scars on my neck. Her eyes focused on them as her fingers reached out, but I instinctively grabbed her wrist, stopping her. I couldn't let her touch it—only Olivia had that right. She held my gaze for a moment, and I felt a flicker of tension before I gradually relaxed my grip, allowing her fingers to trace along my skin. Surprisingly, it didn't feel unpleasant at all.

We didn't say much to each other. She didn't ask me how I got my scars, and I didn't inquire about hers. In that moment, we both understood that neither of us was ready to engage in a conversation heavy with pain and sorrow.

"We could place some flowers here, and maybe a few over there," Olivia suggested, dashing back and forth across our living room. I stood there, holding a bowl of cereal, watching her with amusement. "So, you want to turn our house into a greenhouse?" I chuckled, and she rolled her eyes playfully as she walked toward me, wearing my shirt. She always looked beautiful, but after our intimate moments together, with the scent of us mingling in the air, she appeared even more radiant.

On tiptoe, she reached up to wrap her arms around my neck, prompting me to set the bowl aside. "I want you to like it too. This is your house as much as mine, and we promised that if we didn't like something, we would tell each other, remember?" Her lips brushed against mine, sending a rush of warmth through me.

"Well, I'm not overly excited about filling the house with flowers," I began, but before I could finish, she started giving me a gentle neck rub, her fingers expertly working their magic. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted, her emerald eyes locking onto mine. "But... I could think about it," I whispered, and she responded with a wicked smile, clearly pleased with my compromise.

The girl stepped back after tracing my scar, quickly pretending as if nothing had happened. I stood there, watching her as she put on her headphones and lay back on the bed, just like every other day. But what else was there to do, really, except seek some form of distraction?

I lay down on the bed, turning to my side and letting out a soft sigh. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the world around me. It hit me then that those flashbacks were beginning to hurt in a new way, as if my heart was slowly surrendering to the painful truth: I needed to let Olivia go for good. The weight of that realization settled heavily on my chest, mingling with the familiar ache of memories I couldn't escape.