His hands rush to pick up thin dollar bills leaving small paper cuts on his fingers and I can feel the anxiety seeping off of his body. Sweat collecting into a small bead on his neck as he says something like, "You don't know who my boss is, bitch."...
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Oliver wakes me up with a wine glass in hand and a half buttoned up shirt. I smile at him, allowing him to sit directly in front of me on the bed. "Hey.. how'd you sleep?" He parts my hair with his fingers, letting his thumb caress my forehead - tears glistened on his face.
"Are you okay?" I lean up, wiping his face and cupping it in my hands. He shakes his head not answering but studying my face. "Oliver.." I kiss him on the cheek before hugging him. "I know this is all my fault and I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm still here, it's obvious your family doesn't know I'm not Sabrina and that I've caused you and Tristan more harm than good. If you want me to leave, Oliver, I will." I grab his hands in front of me, letting my vulnerability spill out.
"You wouldn't be here if I didn't want you here. And every time I say that I'm being serious, I want you here."
"Okay." I sit back, still thinking about the destruction I've brought to his family.
"Stop saying things like that, Wren. You've become part of my life in a way I can't even describe."
I choke on my words before forcing them out, "... Are you only with me because I fucked up your relationship?"
He pauses, "I kissed you, Wren. I took you out to the ocean and I told you I wanted you."
"Yeah, but are you only with me now because everything's too fucked up for you to leave?" He pulls me in for a hug, placing his chin on my head.
"No. I love you." He whispers. The only thing echoing in my head is her cynical voice. How do you live with yourself?
Oliver told me we were going to go on a tour of Sicily today, he wanted to show me where he went to school and his favorite restaurant. He wanted to put me into his best memories instead of his worst. I wasn't mad though, I was excited to see another country. Before this, I had only been to Mexico on a trip during 8th grade so I was excited about the experience. Our room was nice, it was down the hallway from his uncle and aunt and right next to Tristan's room. I stood up and shook the white fluffy comforter, tucking it into the bed and arranging the floral pillows neatly against the headboard.
Pretty soon he's guiding me out the front door and my hairs tucked into a neat bun, swooped in the front. Heels clicking against the broken cobblestone as we walk down the houses into the city. Oliver smiles at me, clutching my hand by his side proudly. Part of me felt whole every time I was with him. The other part of me felt like a burden.
We walked down the bridge to a restaurant called Sagré. He raved through the night about how good their polpo was and I nodded as if I knew. The restaurant had white walls and tables, clean. Families and couples were seated, smiling at each other over their meals. Oliver got us a table speaking Italian casually to the waitress before grabbing two menus. He put his hand on my lower back to escort me to the table.
"I can get used to this." I grab a menu out of his hand smirking.
"Me too." A waiter comes over and sets two wine glasses on the table. Oliver grabs his taking a swig.
