This Empty Love

When I arrived home from lunch with Cara, I realized that my house was eerily quiet. Milton didn’t greet me when I entered, instead I saw him laying outside, asleep, by the back fence. If he was outside, I was guessing Oliver wasn’t home yet.

Slipping off my coat and tossing it along with my purse onto the couch, I headed down the hallway towards my bedroom. The hall was engulfed in an uncomfortable silence. I would have liked for any type of noise at the moment.

I reached my door and carelessly pushed it open, stopping dead in my tracks as is hit the opposite wall, revealing my room.

Oliver glanced at me quickly, his eyes swollen and dark, from his spot on the edge of my bed. He was leaned forward with his arms resting on his knees and his hands laced together in front of him. He looked away again, staring straight forward, captivated with what was there.

My eyes scanned in front of him, meeting the object he was so fixated on. It was my diary. The little, black book was sprawled out on the floor, along with two picture books, near the closet.

I felt a pang in my chest, my heart beating with nervousness as my mouth became dry and I started to panic. He read it, he had to have read it. Nothing else could have affected him like this. And if he read it, that meant that he knew.

My head spun with worry. I didn’t know how to react to this situation. I was mad that he snooped around, scared that this was the final straw, and heartbroken that this huge secret was now revealed.

“Oliver…” I started to say, walking into the room. He shook his head, continuing to stare at my horrible book of secrets.

“Don’t Oliver me.” He spat, turning his head to face me. I could tell he had been crying. Oliver never cried, ever. I had only happened twice, and both time he refused to let me see him. “Yeh made me think this was all my fault, all my doin’, that yeh were such a saint. Yeh weren’t, yeh cheated too. Did yeh never think to tell me? Did you ever consider that it might be the right thing to do?”

Oliver began to ramble, cursing and ranting. He was furious, heartbroken, confused. I could tell by the look in his eyes, the smoldering glaze that coated them, that this was only the beginning.

“Oliver I-” He didn’t even give me a chance to talk.

Instead, he stood up quickly and stomped over to my diary, bending down and picking it up in one smooth motion.

He held it up for me to see, as if I was a dog and he was rubbing it in my nose for punishment. “I read it, almost all of it.” He informed me. With a flick of his wrist, the book went flying towards the other wall, hitting with a bang and tumbling back to the carpet. “Yeh cheated, lied, kept things from me, and yet yeh play normal, like nothin’ happened. I don’t get it, I don’t get yeh.”

I watched in shock as Oliver ran his palms over his face and through his hair. His eyes connected back to mine. “Shit, am I supposed to apologize that I stumbled across your diary and snooped? Or no, since I would feel too guilty to tell yeh?”

He was taunting me now, sarcasm dripping from his perfect lips. I hate this, I hated all that he would put me through in the next few minutes. His temper would increase with every word, his face would turn red, and he would begin yelling, as would I.

We were both splitting and crumbling in front of each other and there was nothing we could do to stop it now.

“I can’t believe I ever said sorry for everythin’, just to have this come up.” Oliver muttered his voice surprisingly low for the situation. He kicked at a pillow on the floor in frustration. “I’m not sorry, anymore. Maybe all this was supposed to happen. Screw Dr. Owens, screw trying to fix this marriage. It’s over, we’re over. I can’t stay married to yeh, I don’t love yeh anymore.”

I felt as if my heart burst into a million pieces while it dropped into the pit of my stomach. Holding my breath in, it no longer had a beat. I stood there, my mind spinning, my mouth slightly open with shock, and silent tears brimming my eyes. My palms were sweaty, my vision beginning to tunnel.

“Y-you don’t mean that.” I stuttered, walking backwards until I hit the bathroom door. I was in shutdown mode. “You, you can’t. Oliver, this can’t happen. I’m-”

Oliver began to shake his head, closing his eyes. Again, his tattooed hands were running through his hair. He let out a yell of frustration before gazing at me. There was pain in his eyes, sadness written all over his face. If this was affecting him, why was he doing this?

“Don’t say you’re sorry. You’re not sorry. I’m not takin’ back what I said.” He was sticking to his guns, and they just continued to shoot me over and over.

This wasn't my Oliver, this was the irrational version of him swayed by emotions. But there was nothing I could do to fix it. Half of him was right, the other half wrong. He was mad, he hated me, but I don't believe that he didn't love me anymore. He couldn't just stop.

My breathing quickened but my lungs weren’t functioning. Shallow, quick breaths were all I could manage as my tunnel vision increased, tears and blackness staring to blind me. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, why now?

Blindly, I groped the door behind me and found the handle, quickly tugging on it and stumbling into the bathroom. I slammed the door back shut and locked it, turning quickly to hunch over the toilet as the contents of my stomach spilled out of me.

I was crying, becoming sick, and feeling like my heart would come out of my throat with the next heave of stomach acid. With my stomach now empty, I rolled away from my porcelain lifeline, sobbing while I curled into a ball on the tiled floor.

I couldn’t hear any movement in the other room, or rather, due to my own noise, I couldn’t hear anything going on.

Half an hour, maybe even an hour passed, as I sat on the floor with my head in my hands, tears pouring from my eyes. I wasn’t loud, or sick, anymore, but the feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away.

Wobbling, I finally stood up off the floor and grasped the counter top, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Turning the faucet cold, I splashed water onto my face, removing my running make up and salty tears. I threw my hair up into a pony tail and looked at myself once again. My spark, my life, was gone.

Being hit with another realization, I moved back away from the mirror and slid down the bathroom door, crumpling onto the floor once again. Time continued to tick by while I stared around the bathroom, my eyes nearly dry from crying. They ached now, for sleep, for closure. I couldn’t give myself that yet, I don’t know if I ever could.

Another half hour seemed to creep by slowly as I wallowed on the floor. I was nearly giving up, ready to climb into the bathtub and fall asleep, when noise behind the door filled my senses. After hearing footsteps, I felt the door shudder against my back.

Who ever was there, had their back against the other side, most likely sitting in the same position as me. It was silent for a while longer before either of us spoke. He went first.

“Taylor, we need some time apart.” Oliver said, his voice almost too quiet for me to hear. I continued to listen not sure how to respond yet. “I got a ticket to England. I’ll be stayin’ with my parents for a bit, maybe a week or two. I just need to get my thoughts in order.”

Clearing my throat, I replied shaking. “Alright.”

It was all I could muster up at the moment, but I continued to think. Time apart could do us good, we both needed it. But I also needed him more than anything right now. I wanted him to hold me, to whisper in my ear that it would all turn out fine, even if it was a lie. I need him, I loved him.

“Maybe I call my sister tonight.” I added, resting my head against the door and closed my eyes. My voice was weak, scratchy, painful to hear. “Fly to Washington and see her.”