And Her Name Was Olivia

Ten

Olivia's POV:

"What, Harry?" he leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Are you okay?" I want to scream. And cry. And sleep. And be in high school again. And not adult.

"Yeah, I'm just stressed out. About a lot, actually," I sigh and crawl into bed.

"Well, don't take it out on me. I'm just trying to help." He looks at the end of the bed, then back at me. I know exactly what he's asking, so I nod and move over a bit to make room for him. He sits on the edge of my bed carefully, crossing one leg over the other. I feel like complete crap and just want to sleep.

"Need some meds?" Harry asks. Does this boy ever stop? I shake my head and cover it with some of the comforter.

"You know," he scoots over closer to me, "you don't have to go through this. I'm always here to help." I wanna yell at him, probably cry at the same time, too. I dunno how many times I have to tell him I don't need him. I don't need anyone.

"Harry, I appreciate what you're doing, but we're still strangers. Stop acting like I can't make it on my own."

"Love, struggling paycheck to paycheck is hard, I know. But I didn't have anyone helping me and my sister." I groan and sit up from the bed.

"And you made it. You made it to the fucking top and you have millions and you have nicer things and you can go spend money freely without having to feel the burden of bills. You are one of the top 1% because you earned it." He stares blankly at me. "If I could make it as a music instructor or producer like you, I wouldn't have to live off of welfare. I'd be making millions like you and making special collabs with other famous singers." I dunno when I started crying, but Harry holds me close to his chest and pet my head. I wish I had it better, honestly. I wouldn't need to put water in the milk to make it stretch for a few weeks longer. I wouldn't have to constantly budget everything. I wouldn't have to worry about Pharoah bringing in dead animals because I couldn't buy him more food. I wouldn't be struggling the way I am. I'm so done worrying about everything. Why can't I have the life I want?

It was a long time before I finally calm down. Pharaoh sits next to Harry and purrs as he rubs his chin. I don't know when he started to sit next to me, but I allowed it. I slouch in bed, sulking, as I watch Harry play with my cat.

"I just don't understand," I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear, "why are you being so nice to me?" He looks up at me, then back at Pharaoh and sighs.

"I went through a lot growing up, but you should know that already." I nod.

"The divorce, your mom, yeah I totally understand." He shakes his head and sighs.

"That's not all." He folds his legs and pulls out his phone. "When I was in about grade ten or eleven, I was dating this girl... We're gonna call her Ana in this case. Anyways, we had dated for some time when she asked me to come over to her house." Please don't be what I think this is. "I just thought she wanted to hang out or something, so I had said yes..." he clears his throat, "So I go over to her house, which was just down the street, and her parents weren't home. It was just her.

"So she invites me in, says her parents aren't home, and asked me to come upstairs with her because she wanted to show me something, so I just followed, and..." I reach out to hold his hand, and he takes it without any resistance and squeezes my hand slightly. "We go into her room and tells me to sit on the bed. So I do, and she just strips in front of me." I can tell this is making him feel uncomfortable, so I hug him tightly and say nothing.

"You don't need to explain, I was six." I start getting flashbacks and cover my stomach with my hand. I can tell he notices, but he's trying not to. I guess we're not such strangers anymore.