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Olivia
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It’s been four days since I saw Rourke. I hate the way my whole body comes alive at just Cheryl saying his name. Anticipation builds until I feel almost sick with it at the idea of seeing him again. So why, when Cheryl asks me what I would like Rourke to bring from Central Market heat and eat area for dinner, is my first instinct to run? I’m even up off the couch only I don’t really want to, the need to see him is stronger. So I tell her lasagna as I go into the bathroom, hoping to play off my getting up as the need to pee instead of the need to flee.
When he opens the door only twenty minutes later, it’s just as bad as I feared. Every cell in my body comes alive as if shocked back into life from lying dormant since the last time I saw him. Damn it. This is bad, so damn bad. I drag my feet as I follow Cheryl into the kitchen to heat my lasagna.
We’re all seated around the dining table when a scream comes from the television in the living room.
“Oh, no. Dear, did Dean just die?”
I nod as I pat her hand. “Don’t worry. Remember there are still twelve more seasons, he doesn’t stay dead.”
Rourke sighs. “You’re watching Supernatural?”
“Okay, I get it’s not peak level acting and cinemaphotography, but you don’t have to say it as if we were watching a cartoon or something. Supernatural is a well-written, okay, it’s had some problems over the last few seasons, but it’s very well acted. If the show were on any other network they’d be sweeping the award shows.” I glare at him.
Cheryl pipes up. “I think it’s a wonderful show, dear. Simply heartbreaking at times, then quite funny in others. I’m having a ball binging it, as they would say.”
I nod at Cheryl. “Just wait until Crowley shows up. Castiel used to be my second favorite after Dean, but Crowley beat him out.”
“Who is Crowley? Have we seen him yet?” Cheryl’s brow wrinkles in concentration.
“He’s the king of Hell, and you only like him because of the accent.”
“It’s not just his accent, but okay, it might have nudged the like meter a little.” I shrug. “You sound like Gabe. I like him more because he knows exactly who he is and doesn’t fight it, he embraces it. Even though there’s a tiny piece of him that wants to be better. And gradually he does become better. It takes like six seasons, but he does.”
Rourke’s eyes narrow. “Who is Gabe?”
“My brother, Gabriel. He prefers Gabe.”
“Oh my, the king of Hell?” Cheryl sounds concerned.
He rolls his eyes. “I think this should be considered a mark against you on your employee evaluation to get her hooked on this show.”
“Excuse you? I think that should be her decision,” I shoot back at him. Turning to Cheryl, I try to soothe her. “He not that bad really. I promise you’ll like him.”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “You know better than her the kind of show this is. My only hope is she gives up and stops watching it.”
I gasp. “You used to watch it too.”
He shrugs, and a ghost of a smile appears. “I did, okay. I slogged my way through season six to get to seven and finally have it get better, only to have Dean die or end up in Purgatory and I was done. There are only so many times they can kill them and bring them back to life. They really should have just called it quits at season five the way the original creator planned.”
The laughter wells up out of me, I can’t stop it. “I stopped watching after season seven too for the exact same reason. Then one of my patients was watching season nine. It sucked me back in, so I went back and watched the seasons I missed. I’ll admit the last few seasons there have been more bad episodes than good, but even their bad episodes are better than half the crap on television these days.”
“I don’t know about that. I gave up on television a while ago. Didn’t have the time for it.”
“Not even Netflix?”
“No, there aren’t enough hours in the day for me. If I do manage to get a few, I’m not going to fill them with binging a television show. I’d rather use a free hour or two to read.”
“Let me guess, Philip Roth, Tom Wolfe?”
Cheryl laughs at the disgust on Rourke’s face. “When it comes to books, Rourke takes his reading not nearly as seriously as everything else.”
“Well then, what do you like to read?” I’m so curious I’m finding it hard to sit still.
“I’m a King fan, I think he’s gotten better as he’s gotten older. I also like fantasy, Jim Butcher, Sanderson.”
Huh, I hate fantasy books, except for the Potter books. It surprises me Rourke would like fantasy. I’d have thought he would be into the thrillers, mysteries. I want to know more, except I’m afraid I’ve already spent dinner staring at him.
So when he gives in to watching an episode with us, I make sure to sit where I can’t stare at him. Although I do feel his eyes on me often.
***
Rourke
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The moment I walk through the front door my eyes find Olivia. She’s wearing an old worn black T-shirt and black leggings, looking young and vulnerable. Her long brown hair is in a messy bun with tendrils of hair caressing her face. Four days, it’s been four days since I saw her. I tried famine, now my body is in feast mode. I know there are women more beautiful than her, but to me she is simply stunning in her careless elegance. My eyes trace her face; she couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than I made her up in my mind, yet standing close to her, she is so much more. Tomorrow I’ll come to my senses, but right now all of my senses are filled with her, and it’s breathlessly intoxicating.
This time it’s worse than those days before the dinner. Before then, one lone day, only a few hours with her were all I knew. I told myself then it was an aberration spending time with her over dinner, hearing her laugh, seeing the way her eyes glittered when she was happy or mad, the nervous way she had of running her hand through her hair, how she chewed on her lower lip. My hunger for her has only grown for more of all of her. There was no aberration; there was only Olivia.
I play at being forced into watching the show only my eyes aren’t on the television, they are on Olivia. When the episode is over she looks to me with a smile. “See, isn’t it still a good show?”
“I don’t know if I could say it with a straight face. I’ll only be able to say it isn’t bad.”
She rolls her eyes as she smiles. “Because admitting you’re wrong would just be so much more than you would be willing to do.”
“I’m more than willing to admit I’m wrong. If it should happen. I’m willing to accept not only my limitations but the limitations of others around me, even if they are not.”
“What a relief. Then again, when someone has so many faults themselves it’s easier to see and sympathize with others.”
Cheryl laughs. “You two be nice. I think I’m ready to turn in for the night.”
At the idea of being alone with Olivia, I make a quick exit with a lame excuse and a quick kiss on my mother’s cheek. I don’t trust myself around her as it is. Without my mother in the room I’m not willing to test my resolve.
***
Olivia
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The door closes before I even have time to take in his words. Cheryl and I are left staring at each other in surprise. She doesn’t say anything though, just smiles at me as she gets up to go to bed. I’m left alone, feeling confused. He’d gotten the heck out at the idea of being alone with me. Something to remember, even as I couldn’t stop thinking of feeling his eyes on me while he was supposed to be watching the show. I’m so damned confused right now. Damn it. What the hell is the matter with me? Why the hell are my breasts so swollen and achy? From far away I hear Cheryl’s door close. It’s time for a swim.