searching for a fallen star

Chapter 4: Empty

The house is empty. Again. No surprises there.

I stuff the keys into my bag and head straight to the kitchen to grab a packet of chips. Oliver follows me, his eyes wandering about as he takes in the empty beer bottles littered across the sofa. I can feel his questioning eyes burn holes into my back, and I find myself unable to turn around to meet those questions. I find myself opening random cupboards in search for chips, even though I know exactly where all the snacks are kept.

Darn it, Anna. You shouldn’t have brought him into the house. You shouldn’t have –

“Anna.” His voice comes as a whisper, loud in my ears.

I don’t answer.

“Anna.” I continue my pointless task of opening and closing cupboards. It’s better just to ignore him. Anything is better than to face the pity that will be in his eyes.

His fingers wrap themselves around my shoulder, warm and strangely comforting. I grip tighter onto the handle. The groove of the kitchen tiles cuts into my knees. I open the snack cupboard.

“Oh look, I found the chips.” I shake his fingers off and I stand up to face him. Even to my own ears, my voice sounds foreign – too cheerful, too bright, too full of life.

“Seriously Oliver, it’s no big deal. I just… I just like collecting things, beer bottles included.” I finish, eyes lowered and lips wearing a smile that could not possibly belong to me.

“Bullshit.”

I flinch at the curse word slipping from his lips, and for a second, I dare myself to believe that he does not pity me. I dare myself to raise my eyes to meet his.

For the first time in my life, I wholeheartedly understand what people mean by ‘stormy eyes’. It is the eyes of raging anger, the eyes of pure sadness beneath that anger, the eyes of a broken boy. Broken over a few empty beer bottles because he knows they mean so much more than a few empty beer bottles. Broken over… me.

My head feels dizzy, and suddenly I don’t feel hungry anymore. I just feel so tired and drained and empty. I drop the chip packet down, move past Oliver and collapse onto the sofa.

The anger in his eyes simmers down to warm concern as he rushes to my side. “Are you alright, Anna?”

I give a slight nod. “I’m… I’m fine. Just tired.” I try on another smile. “Sleep deprivation, remember?”

He cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You can go, if you want.” I tell him, my eyes sliding shut.

“I’m staying.” His tone is final and I don’t argue with him.

My mind is setting off alarm bells, warning me against letting a stranger stay, reprimanding me for even letting that stranger into the house in the first place. But my heart tells me something more. My heart beats stronger, louder, wilder for him, and it is not a beat of warning; it is a beat of trust. A beat telling me that perhaps, in another life, Oliver was nothing close to a stranger at all; that perhaps, in another life, I knew Oliver more than I could ever know myself.  

*** *** ***

I wake up to the sound of clanging keys and slurred swearing. My heart stops. Oh no.

Pulling myself up from the sofa, I groan as a wave of dizziness hits me. When I look down, I almost yelp at the sight of a figure slumped against the sofa, but manage to stop myself just in time. I stare at the figure. Eyes closed. Plump lips parted in sleep. Messy sideswept hair. Oliver.

I mentally slap myself on the forehead. How could I forget?

Glass smashes. More slurred, boisterous cursing. The wooden floor creaks.

We have to get out of here. And fast.

“Oliver!” I shake his shoulders, and he stirs, mumbling incoherent sounds. “Oliver!”

This time he jolts awake, eyes wide and alert. “Anna.”

“We have to go!” My heart is pounding in my ears. Footsteps growing louder. Louder. Another smash. A slurred “Anna!”

Oliver leaps to his feet and grabs my hand, as if suddenly understanding what is going on. I pull him towards the back door. The back door is our only chance now before he comes i–

The light flickers on.

I freeze. Oliver’s hand tightens in mines.

“Now where do ya think ya goin’, young lady?”

I pivot around, accepting that escape is no longer an option, and stare at the excuse of a man standing before me with as much contempt as I can muster. I stare at his greasy hair, at his rugged stubble, at his unfocused eyes, at the beer bottle in his right hand which he would lift to his lips every now and then, and pure hatred rises up my throat like bile.

“That is none of your bloody business.”

He raises his beer bottle, as if making a toast to me. Then his eyes flicker to Oliver.

“And who may this be?” he spits, his tone full of venom.

Oliver doesn’t answer, but clenches his knuckles until they have turned white.

I answer for him. “That is none of your bloody business either.”

With that, I pull open the back door. I will not waste another second with this excuse of a man. Pulling Oliver along, I slam the door and breathe in the cool night air, trying to calm my pounding heart.

“Oliver, I’m so sorry you had to see that –”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I –”

Oliver shook his head, running his hand through his hair over and over again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I keep silent. If I speak another word, I’m afraid that I will break down into tears and every wall that I’ve worked so hard to build up will crumble back down into dust and ashes.

“Anna, I waited for so long. So fucking long. Thinking all along that you were fine and happy because you put on such a good fucking show –”

What the hell? I stumble back, my head spinning, my fingers quivering. No, it can’t be. No. No.

No.

“Anna?” he calls out to me, his voice breaking, but my feet are already slamming against the pavement, putting as much distance between me and him as possible, and I find myself doing what I do best.

Running away.

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