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I open the door and step out to him. Phillip. Red hair and pale skin. A lot taller than me, which is really impressive.
“Phillip,” I close the door behind me.
“Boss,” he tips his head, a long-time habit from his days serving my father. “I got the lunch.” He stretches the paper bag in his hand to me, and I collect it.
“Thank you,” I crumple some of the paper to hold the bag firmly.
He tips his head again and stalks away.
Philip, besides Liam, is the one other person I know I can trust. So I asked him to get me lunch for Olivia. I look down at the paper bag in my hand. Some fast food may make her want to eat.
I pad down the hallway to her bedroom, feeling pumped that I might have been able to crack the bone of contention here.
Or I can eat with her. She would like that. She used to like it. I might need it too, I can’t remember the last time I ate.
I stop at the door and collect myself before going in.
She is a lot paler in person.
My God.
“Why are you not eating?” I jump right into the issue, damning the need to take it one step at a time. I go to her, and she shrugs.
“Good…” she looks around the bedroom, “Whatever the time of the day is.”
“Do you want to go out?” I sit on the bed beside her, “Is that what this is about?” I point to the cart in the corner, “You won’t eat because you want to go out?”
She sighs in a way that tells me she will not be answering me.
“Give me something to work with, Olivia,” I scoot closer to her and set the food between us on the mattress.
“I don’t want to go outside,” she wraps her arms around herself in a protective way, “I want to stay here.”
That’s weird and unlike her.
I resolve to open the paper bag with the food instead and feed her.
I pick up a fry and offer it to her, taking it to her lips, but she screws her lips instead.
“Olivia,” I clear my throat, resisting some indescribable urge to call her ‘baby’. “There’s some shrimp in there, too,” I point at the food in front of us, and she shrugs, “I can eat with you if that helps.”
I wait, watching for any sign of the usual excitement whenever I offered to eat together, but I find none. I can’t say why, but it hurts like a fucking bitch. Could this be because she has moved past that?
I take the fry to my mouth but she slaps it away.
“You don’t want to eat, you don’t want me to eat. What do you want then?”
I take another fry to my mouth, and this time, as she moves to slap it, I duck, but before I can eat it, she dives onto me, ripping it out of my grip with so much force she nearly bruises my fingers. Her eyes are flaring with both fear and anger.
“Olivia…”
“It might be poisoned,” she barks and then tosses the crumpled fry away.
Poisoned.
That is the missing piece to all of this.
Why hadn’t I thought about the fact that all this has traumatized her?
