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I’d choose that persistent bell any day.
“Turn that shit off.”
His hand batted mine away when my knuckle edged to the off button.
“I need the distraction.”
“What?” I looked into his face, needing to watch how his lips moved to know what he was saying.
“We should have gone to Rodregez’s first.”
“He’ll be asleep.”
Our roles switched, and I bitch-slapped Jesus on the cross, who was etched into Ollie’s skin, hitting him away so I could turn off the radio. The design was mine, the first one I’d taken pride in.
A memory struck me. Ollie and all his nerves were sitting in my practice chair, his hand in mine, my needle in and out of his skin as I completed the design. He’d told me I was a good artist. And I’d told him he was a good person for helping someone like me. He’d put in time and effort to get me off drugs and away from alcohol and all the things that made me want to reach for the bottle.
He’d helped me through three overdoses, put me through a rehabilitation program that didn’t bind me to an institute, and I’d thanked him by bringing home the cause.
And I’d do it all again, a million times over.
“I get why you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”
“So, you’d rather her be in some sick fucker’s cage, only let out when he wants to get his end wet.”
Ollie pulled over before turning onto the road, which taunted me ahead.
“Of course not, but can you honestly say you don’t want her for the same thing?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t like that. I can’t explain what it is. There’s no reason for it. There is no reason for how I act when it comes to her. She’s just mine.” I was close to telling him that I almost didn’t go for her, but my addiction to her kicked in, and that wouldn’t have played out well for me. So, all I said was, “It wasn’t just about sex.”
“So, you never hurt her? It was real love, brought together through bad circumstances?”
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“You know the story, Ollie. I’m not denying I did bad shit.”
“There’s bad shit, then there’s this. You snuggling up to the fan you became obsessed with and raped because she somehow has amnesia.”
“I know it sounds bad.”
“It’s depraved.”
“It is not. I’m trying to help her. To give her a better life.”
“Then let her live it with someone else.”
“I can’t. Something about her just rubs me differently.”
“She isn’t meant to be rubbing you at all, Remi!”
“She hasn’t. Come on, Ollie. I’m not gonna force myself on her. The drugs played a massive part in what I did before.”
His lips parted, but he only answered with a head bob.
