The Etiquette of Smoking

Mosaic Broken Hearts

TLDR from the last chapter: Olivia experienced disassociation during sex with George and suffered a panic attack and psychosis.

I'm so weak in every way. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I could never protect myself, someone always needed to fight my fights for me. 

I looked out the window over the tops of the neighboring buildings, watching pigeons gather on telephone wires. The sun was going down and the beautiful New York sunset I loved so much was quickly approaching. I pressed my cheek against my knee and sighed. I'm so tired.

My eyes dropped.

A soft knock sounded at my door.

"Livya?" Niki called out to me quietly. I lifted my head and turned to look at her. She held a plate as she entered my room and brought it over to me.

"Hey babe. I made dinner," She showed me the plate filled with fried rice, sliced cucumbers, and chicken. "I don't know if it's any good, but I tried."

I smiled weakly, taking the plate from her and looking up at her face.

"Thanks Nik."

She gave me a tight smile in return and rubbed my arm before leaving, closing the door softly behind her. I set the plate down on the table beside me.

I was told I needed to eat with my medicine or I would get sick, but I didn't feel like eating lately. I looked out the window as the sky began turning pink. The clouds in the sky held a dark purple color, only turning orange at their linings. They drifted away from me; some fading into nothing, others ripping in half down the middle.

I moved to lay on my bed when the show was over and the sky turned from pink to purple to black.

"I'm more of a sunrise person," He'd said once.

I wasn't allowed to see him since I completely lost my mind. The doctor said it might be too stressful and despite my protests, Niki and Ian agreed. So, we were separated. I saw my shrink, Kevin, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 10am. We were working on a plan to get me back to a mentally stable place since I apparently couldn't be deemed healthy right now. With that, I also wasn't allowed to return to work.

I was told what happened wasn't my fault, and that made me angry. Why is nothing ever my fucking fault? I argued with my doctor but that got me nothing except another prescription.

"Extreme stress and trauma can cause a mental break in some people." The doctor had said. Niki sat beside me, holding my hand. I could remember bits and pieces of what happened, but the rest was blurry, especially anything afterward. I remember having sex with George; staring at his knuckles and the bruises on his body. I remember throwing up out his window and the ensuing fight as the boys rushed into the room after I'd screamed bloody murder. I remember nothing after that.

Anyway, I walked out with prescriptions for antipsychotic, antidepressant medicine and a new collar around my neck.

Niki accompanied me to the therapist. I wasn't allowed to go alone anymore. At first, she said it was only temporary and merged that with a tight smile.

I'd become a burden to my friends even more than I had before. I told her she should just lock me up and she gave a dry laugh. I felt terrible for her, but she wouldn't accept my apologies. After the first week I felt really bad about it. After the second week it just became our new routine. By the third week I stopped caring.