Tethered Light

Chapter 8: Filling the Space

It didn't take long for Olivia to weave herself into every corner of my life.

At first, it was subtle—requests for help with set designs or late-night brainstorming sessions that turned into coffee runs. But soon, she was everywhere: pulling me into her world with that same magnetic energy she brought to every room she entered.

I didn't mind. If anything, I welcomed it. Olivia made everything feel brighter, sharper, more alive. She had this way of making you feel like the most important person in the world—when she wanted to.

I was in the darkroom, the faint glow of the red light casting everything in shades of crimson. The air smelled of chemicals and paper, and I felt at home in the quiet hum of the machines.

As I hung the latest batch of prints to dry, my phone buzzed on the counter.

Olivia: Come to the theater. Now.

There was no rehearsal scheduled for the day, and I'd planned to spend the afternoon catching up on assignments. But the weight of her message was impossible to ignore.

Sighing, I pulled off my gloves and grabbed my bag.

***

The theater was empty when I arrived, the doors unlocked but the usual buzz of activity missing. Olivia was on the corner of the stage, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook in her lap, a pencil held loosely in one hand.

"You didn't tell me we were working today," I said, climbing the steps.

She glanced up, her eyes scanning me before returning to her sketchbook. "We're not. I just wanted to see you."

Her words caught me off guard, but I tried to play it cool. "What's so important that you couldn't wait until later?"

She shrugged, setting the sketchbook aside. "Sometimes I just need you here."

The simplicity of her statement sent a shiver down my spine. Olivia rarely said things like that outright.

I sat down beside her, the stage wood-floor cool beneath me. "Everything okay?"

She didn't answer right away, her gaze fixed on the empty seats of the auditorium. "You ever feel like you're carrying too much? Like, no matter how hard you try, you can't make everyone happy?"

I blinked. It was rare to see Olivia like this—vulnerable, uncertain. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes."

She nodded, her expression distant. "It's exhausting, you know? People expect so much from me. Sometimes I just want to disappear."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and I didn't know what to say. Instead, I reached out, my hand resting lightly on hers.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," I said softly.

She turned to look at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I thought she might pull away, but instead, she leaned in, her forehead resting against mine.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn't move, didn't speak, afraid that anything I said might break the fragile moment between us.

***

As the days went on, Olivia's hold on me grew tighter. She had a way of making me feel special, like I was the only one who truly understood her. But there were moments—small, fleeting—where her charm shifted into something darker.

It started with little things: a sharp comment when I couldn't meet her after class, a dismissive wave when I tried to suggest a different angle for a photo. She always smoothed it over with a smile, but the sting lingered.

"You're being too sensitive," she'd say, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "I didn't mean anything by it."

And I'd believe her, because I wanted to.

***

One afternoon, Jake caught up with me after a journalism lecture. He was carrying a stack of papers, his usual easygoing smile in place.

"Heather, you've been a ghost lately," he said, falling into step beside me. "Is everything OK?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "Just busy with the theater project."

"Right. The Olivia project." His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it.

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said, holding up his hands. "It's just... you've been spending a lot of time with her."

"So?"

"So, I'm your friend, and I worry about you." He hesitated, then added, "Just don't lose yourself, okay?"

His words stuck with me long after we parted ways, even as I tried to brush them off.

***

That evening, Olivia and I sat in the empty theater, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. She leaned against my shoulder, her voice a quiet hum as she talked about her latest design ideas.

"You're my anchor, you know that?" she said suddenly, her fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of my sleeve.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just nodded, letting her words settle over me like a blanket.

But Jake's voice echoed in the back of my mind, a quiet warning I couldn't quite ignore.