Felicity's Fury and Oliver's Green Notebook

Chapter 5

Her words as soft as her hands as he allowed her to pull him into the kitchen. Standing by the bar, she removed his haphazard bandages, as she scolded him.

"Were you thinking at all when you did this?"

Exhaling, he shut his eyes, hoping now was real, that he hadn't nodded off as he'd sat Indian style on the cold bathroom floor mediating after he'd destroying his phone and dreamed her here. Unable to help himself, he reached and almost touched her shoulder, but instead he stilled his hand and touched the bar's cool counter top as she continued to reprimand him.

"I don't how you've survived everything that's happened to you. You did a terrible job with these bandages. Why didn't you let John help you wrap your hands up?"

"He offered. But I refused his help. I need to learn to doctor myself again."

"Because you plan to be alone again?"

Looking, at his shoes, he shrugged, refusing to answer her.

Pulling the last bandage back from his hand, she inhaled sharply, and he instinctively jerked his hand back, needing to hide the damage he'd inflected on himself, by beating his hands into a bloody, bruised mess.

"Let me see that hand." She seized his battered hand, inspecting it closely, her forehead wrinkling and her displeasure clear.

"You fool. Ice, you need ice. Right, NOW! Frack, Oliver, your hand, your poor hand. Does the other one look this bad?"

Looking away, he thought that his left hand probably looked worse than his right, but he said, "It's nothing. They'll heal. It will toughen them up again. I need to toughen them up again."

"Toughen them up? Nothing? This mess is hardly nothing. Ick, your hand's still oozing blood and you did this when? How many hours ago?" She gagged before she recovered with the words, "Are you trying to cripple yourself? No way could you pull a bow with your hand like this. What if you needed to defend yourself? How did you do this? What did you hit? A brick wall repeatedly? What the frack were you thinking? And why would you need to toughen them up?"

Turning his head, he found a spot on the wall to stare at and swallowed hard. She released his hand and turned, pulling a bag of frozen peas and a bag of frozen corn from the freezer.

"Sit!" She demanded, pushing him toward the table, forcing him into a chair. Reaching out, she grabbed his unwrapped hand and rested his hand, knuckles up on the table. Unable to help himself, he relished her soft hands on his bruised and battered flesh, even though he winced and grimaced, as she settled the bag of frozen peas on his injured hand.

"Give me your other hand. Let me see what you've done. Geez, what a mess. Have you taken anything for the pain?"

Ducking his head, he hardened his face, but his stomach knotted. He'd purposely hurt himself. He hadn't been able to stop, hadn't wanted to stop. Instead, he'd wanted to keep hitting and hitting, and his stomach churned.

"No, but I don't want anything. Don't worry, my hands will heal. If you've read my journal, you know sometimes, I like the pain. I need the pain sometimes. It helps me cope. And I'm glad I gave you that notebook because now I can say that out loud."

"Well the truth will set you free." Slowly, she unwrapped his other hand. "And news flash, I knew that about you before I read your journal. I've watched you hunt pain when we first met, though I haven't known you to hurt yourself in a long while."

"You're right; I haven't needed the pain in a long time. But I will be fine."

"It's good to hear you admit the truth. Now, since we're clearing the air here, don't use the word 'fine' around me ever again. I detest that word coming out of your mouth."