Labryinth – Taylor Swift
BEN
it was official: the piano was sold. I told Rob I’d help out, take over the selling of the instrument and arrange the moving.
I watched them roll it out the door, safely wrapped in blankets and covers as the movers loaded it into the van and shipped it off to the private buyer who’d put in a more than generous bid for it. I’d almost put one in myself, figuring Rob would probably sell it to me if I gave him market price. Then at least I’d have a reminder of her save the now closed door across the hall from my classroom. But keeping a piano in an apartment this size was ridiculous; it would take up the entire living room. I also didn’t play and my upstairs neighbors stomped on their floor if the TV was just a little too loud, never mind if an idiot tried to learn on a very loud baby grand.
Besides, if Olive had told the school to sell it, she probably would have said goodbye, let go of it somehow. I needed to do that too, but I was struggling to figure out how.
I was sitting in my apartment later that evening, homework and grading completed. The TV was on and a glass of whiskey was drained. I was only able to think about her, unable to distract myself again. Usually when I got stuck on her like this, I’d hit the gym, but my body ached too much from already going every other night this week. More felt like physical torture, but at least it would be a distraction.
I headed to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible in the fridge, when I heard my phone buzzing on the coffee table. Peering over at the screen, I saw an unfamiliar number flash up.
At first, I dismissed it. Who even calls nowadays apart from spam numbers anyway? The last thing I was in a mood for was a call telling me I could claim compensation for the car accident I hadn’t recently been in.
But I paused for a moment for some reason, then I reached out and with a deep breath, I pressed the answer icon. I held it to my ear.
“Hello?” I answered hesitantly.
“Hey, it’s me.”
I closed my eyes at the flood of relief I had just hearing her voice.
My Olive. My sunshine.
I almost lost my grip on the phone until I snapped back to reality, for a single moment doubting it was really her voice. But I’d never misremember that sweet sound, never forget her voice.
“You called.”
I could hear her nervous smile in her voice as she replied. “I said I would, remember?”
“I know,” I said, my voice hoarse. I coughed to clear my throat, standing suddenly too difficult as I sank back down onto my couch. “But I have to say you took your time about it.”
“I guess I did,” she said, the smile clear in her voice.
I swallowed again, rubbing my hand across my brow as I tried to commit every word to memory, every inflection of her voice. Jesus, I had missed her.
“Are you… are you okay?” I asked, now worried something was wrong. That had been what was promised–that if she needed help, needed to talk, she would call me. Was she in trouble?
“I am,” she said.
But I began to ramble, suddenly nervous. “Are you sure? Because sometimes it’s a stupid question asking somebody if they’re okay but they’ve called you out of the blue at 8pm and they don’t know how else to respond.”
She chuckled, and I swear she probably rolled her eyes at me. “I promise, I’m okay. I’m doing better. I was hoping… I need help with something.”
“Okay,” I replied immediately.
How did I tell her that she could ask me to come hide a dead body with her and I’d still be there, by her side, shopping for the appropriate acid and correct plastic tub to break the body down in?
“Do you think you could meet me?”
“When?”
“Now?” She said, her voice rising slightly in uncertainty.
My eyes flashed to the clock that hung on the wall, seeing it was already late. Not that it was going to stop me anyway.
“Now is fine. Where do you need to meet?”
Her car was already in the cemetery parking lot when I pulled in, the sun long set, dark gray rain clouds overhead leaving the graveyard looking more on the spooky side. She hadn’t explained why she wanted to meet here, and to be honest, I hadn’t asked. I was too caught up in the fact she had called me at all.
I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. I tried to remember the breathing techniques I’d learned in therapy for the times where my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest, and it felt so tight that breathing was impossible. But just the sight of her sent all intelligent thought out the window.
She climbed out of her car first. She’d cut her hair, and it now neatly skimmed above her shoulders, closer to her jaw line than usual. Even in the light of the dimly lit parking lot, the sight of her still caused my heart to double in size. Those eyes were still so vivid and green and perfect as she walked over to me.
“You need a jacket,” I said, getting out of my car and taking in her clothing. She was wearing a thick sweater and leggings, but in the cold night air, it wasn’t enough to keep the chill off her.
“I’ll be fine, I don’t mind a chill,” she lied, shrugging–but I could see her shivering, the cold already getting to her.
I scoffed, and opened the back door of my car to pull out a second jacket I’d taken with me. Somehow, I must have known she’d need it. She had never been the type to dress appropriately for the weather. She rolled her eyes, but instead of arguing, she just accepted the jacket, looking grateful as she took it from me, wrapping the thick winter coat around her.
“It’s a little big,” she said, the smallest smile on her lips like she knew how utterly ridiculously cute she looked. The jacket was so big on her it practically came down to her knees.
“It’s perfect,” I said, shrugging her off. “You look good,” I added, taking another look at her and truly meaning it. It was like the Olive I’d seen all those months at school had been slowly turning into a zombie compared to the person that stood before me now. She looked rested, some but not nearly all of the weight she’d lost put back on. Even her skin looked brighter, tanned despite the cold snap we’d been experiencing.
I won’t lie and say I was a little bit worried that it was the lack of me in her life that had caused her to improve, like the removed stress of me had been enough to make her happy again. But it was outweighed by the relief she truly was doing better.
“Thanks,” she said, a smile still on her lips. “You look good too.”
I wanted to call her on the lie, it had been weeks since I’d slept right but I let it sit. I was fighting every instinct to close the space between us, pull her into my body and remember how perfectly she fit there.
“So, is it okay if I ask why exactly you’ve invited me to a graveyard at late at night?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy about the awkwardness of it all. She broke eye contact, looking out into the distance instead. “I mean, I appreciate the invite but I’m always up for somewhere a little less morbid.”
“I’m sorry, this is stupid,” she said and shook her head, looking down at the ground as she fiddled with the ruby ring she always wore.
I shook my head. “Just tell me why.”
She took a deep breath before she finally spoke the words she’d been avoiding. “I need to see my mom.”
“Oh.” The stupid sound escaped me before I could stop it, my stomach squeezing with a sudden plunge of anxiety.
“It’s her birthday today and…” she trailed off, and I didn’t dare interrupt her as she finally found her words. “I haven’t been to see her since everything blew up. And I said I’d do it today. I promised Dad and myself and my therapist–I got one of those, by the way. Not the one you recommended, but she’s great. Her name is Laura, and she’s nice and did I tell you I’ve been doing better?”
The smile on my lips was pure relief. “You mentioned it.”
“Well, I felt ready to see her–Mom that is, not Laura. But I’ve still been avoiding it, and I need to go before it gets too late and I don’t see her today because it used to be important to her, seeing me today.”
“So you called me?” My heart was a soft squishy thing in my chest.
“Is that okay? Dad’s already been, and I didn’t want to ask him to go again. It’s totally not okay, right? It’s been weeks and I should’ve called before, but I was scared and not ready, then today… I needed help.”
“And you thought of me?” Those were the only words I could muster. She’d called me–thought of me and trusted me.
“Yes.” She nodded, finally looking at me, and I don’t know how I didn’t melt into the ground.
She trusted me, needed me. I held onto that with both hands, refusing to let that small fact disappear. It had to mean something.
“Of course it’s okay, Olive,” I said. “You can always call me, for anything.”
She smiled again, but it was smaller this time. She looked back out to the entrance of the graveyard. “I’m scared,” she said apprehensively. “I don’t know what to expect. Dad said it will help, but it’s…”
She trailed off, and when I was sure she wasn’t going to finish the thought, I did it for her. “It’s a lot, but I’m here.”
She nodded, shifting her weight uncomfortably.
“How about we take baby steps? Do you know where she is?” I asked.
“Over here.” She pointed to the left. “I think; the memory is a little fuzzy.”
“Let’s start walking and not think about it, just head in the general direction,” I suggested.
“Okay.” She nodded, and we made our way in, walking slowly side by side as we took our time, the breeze making the night air even colder.
“So, you’ve been good?” I asked, trying to make the moment a little less awkward, put her at ease somehow.
“Yeah.”
Apprehensively, I asked another question. “Been up to much?” I wanted to hit myself for such a basic, stupid question, but the space between us was threatening to become a chasm of awkwardness and I couldn’t bear that for a moment.
She smiled and took a deep breath. “Not much. Weirdly, I’ve been cooking.”
“I thought you were terrible,”
“Closer to a hazard than terrible,” she corrected with a laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile. “But I’ve been getting better. Much better, in fact. At first, Dad was teaching me, but I’ve been reading cookbooks and online videos. It’s amazing what you can do when you’ve got a lot of free time on your hands.”
“So can I take that to mean you didn’t take the other job?” I held my breath, the answer threatening to crush me.
“Nope,” she said, her gaze darting about uncomfortably. I wanted nothing more than to know what she was thinking, to help soothe her obviously freaking out mind.
“Oh, I thought you would’ve.”
“I’m still figuring a lot out, but I needed a break,” she said.
“That’s good. If that’s what you needed.” Silence fell again, so I tried one more time trying to distract her. “And the therapist?”
“She’s excellent,” Olive piped up, finally looking up at me. “Twice a week, I go in, I cry for an hour, I come out and cry in the car, and then I go home and cook, and then eat the rest of my feelings. It’s probably how I’ve become decent.”
Somehow, I suspected she was better than decent. I couldn’t imagine her half-assing anything, and she’d always loved food. Even before this year, I’d catch her inhaling a takeout burger in her car over lunch and the scene was nothing less than pornographic.
“Sounds healthy,” I joked, but I was more grateful than words could ever express that she was finally talking to somebody, even if it involved a lot of crying.
“Better than bottling it up,” she shrugged.
“You got me there.”
Suddenly she paused, tearing her gaze away from me again as she bit her lip uncomfortably. “Ben, I owe you an apology for how things went down, how I treated you.”
“I don’t think you do,” I tried to assure her.
“I was using you to escape. I think you knew that, but still, I’m sorry.” she said, but I shook my head, hating every moment she felt she needed to explain herself.
We were both adults. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Just because things had gotten messy between us, it felt undeniable and unavoidable. I wouldn’t regret it, couldn’t bring myself to consider changing my mind on that first night when we had kissed and it felt like the mess my life had been until then suddenly felt right. Like everything I’d gone through–the divorce, the heartbreak, the year of therapy and learning and unlearning–had been all for this, for her.
“Olive, you have nothing to apologize for. We were clear from the start what this was, even if it got complicated. I knew what this was,” I said, and she still wouldn’t look back up at me. All I wanted was to look into her eyes and know she was really hearing me. “I think I owe you the apology. I should’ve been more upfront. Maybe things would’ve been less complicated if I had.”
“I think things with us might have always been complicated. Depression has that effect,” she said sadly.
I sighed. Maybe she was right–maybe we were always destined to fall apart. We’d agreed on one night and the mistake had been taking it further and expecting it to work between us. She was in a bad spot and I had messed it up from the start. Maybe I was hoping against fate, but with every moment we spent together, it was going to get harder and harder to say goodbye again.
“I’m happy you’re doing better,” I said, trying to ease the rising anxiety that was building up. And then I found myself saying something really stupid. “I really missed you.”
I swear it was only a moment but it felt like the second stretched into hours as my gut twisted into seventeen different pieces, bile definitely threatening to come up and choke me to death with fear. Then she looked at me, her lips curved up ever so softly, and the feeling slipped away.
“Would you believe me if I said I missed you too?”
“I could be convinced,” I said, fighting a rising blush. I looked away, unable to hide a grin on my face. I swallowed, trying to free myself from the uncontrolled reaction. “You know, it’s more than okay that you called.”
“Really?” she asked, her words so soft and unsure.
“Of course. I asked you to call me if you needed anything. It would’ve been nicer in daylight because I hear these places can get a little creepy after dark, but I’m here,” I said, looking at her again, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. “I’m always here for you, Olive.”
She looked up at me then, her eyes soft, lips slightly parted as a strand of her hair fell past her ears and onto her face. Before I even had a chance to stop myself, I reached over, fingers delicately brushing her skin to move her hair back off her face and behind her ear. The contact was small, almost non-existent, but I swear I didn’t breathe while I touched her. And she didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. Instead she looked up at me, her face the only thing I ever wanted to look at again. The moment froze as she scanned my face, scanned down until she reached my lips where her eyes lingered for a moment too long.
This wasn’t the moment at all to be thinking about kissing her, but it had been weeks and I’d almost forgotten the softness of her lips, the pressure she liked to use when she was close to orgasm and she wanted to keep the enjoyment going a little longer. Almost, but not quite. She was hard to erase, the memory of her both torture and pleasure.
What would I do when she was gone?
Finally, she looked away, her gaze scanning across the gravestones and trees that lined the path. Her lips wobbled slightly and she said, “I think we’re close.”
“Do you remember the way?”
Her hand slid into mine, and my fingers intertwined with hers, her grip gentle but I held her like she was going to slip away from me again if I dared to let go for a single moment. She nodded, and stepped forward, leading the way up a dimly lit path.
We quietly walked hand in hand, leaves rustling in the air as she led us, sometimes stopping to look around, trying to remember before finally she stopped, her hand going slack in mine. I held on, squeezing to give her the strength to carry on.
I watched her as she held her breath. For a moment, I thought about telling her she didn’t have to do this, that we could go back to the car and never talk about this again. But she was done avoiding this. She hadn’t invited me along as a distraction, not this time. This time, she needed support.
“Do you want me to wait here? Give you a moment?” I asked, squeezing her hand again to grab her attention. At first she didn’t answer, and I gave her a moment to think before finally she nodded, looking ahead at one single gravestone. Fresh flowers and an unopened envelope sat at the bottom of the stone.
“I’ll be here if you need me, just call my name and I’ll come over,” I said, and this time she nodded instantly, loosening her grip on my hand. This time, I let go, and watched as she took an apprehensive step forward.
Slowly, she walked until she was standing right in front of the gravestone. She reached forward, her fingers grazing the words where her mom’s name was carved.
I anxiously drummed my fingers against my thighs, unable to stay still as I itched to go to her side. Her shoulders were beginning to shake, and she was whispering something too softly for the words to carry over to me. Not that I needed to hear–this was a private moment for her, one she’d allowed me to support her through but that didn’t at all mean I had any right to it.
Olive leaned down to her knees, reaching to see the flowers I assumed her dad had left earlier in the day. She picked up a few leaves that had blown onto the grave, keeping it neat and clear.
Minutes passed, and I tried to focus on anything else other than her, giving her the space she needed while staying close enough that she knew I was here if she needed me. It felt impossible not to be drawn to her. I still wasn’t sure this wasn’t a giant hallucination and she was nothing but a dream.
Time had only confirmed what I’d already known was happening for months, but had refused to acknowledge. I was in love with Olive Davis. Everything about her was irresistible, intoxicating. The way she thought about things had me hanging on every single word she spoke, her smile made my day. I longed to touch her, to wrap her up in my arms and keep her safe and warm.
I needed her to breathe. Slowly she’d become integral to my life, and a month away from her had been nothing but torture. I couldn’t live like that anymore. I wanted her, and I was willing to wait, willing to follow her, ready to do whatever she needed me to do to get her back.
Finally, she looked my way, and with a nod of her head, I headed over, anxiety over my realization brimming over. As soon as I was next to her, I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into my body. She leaned in, an arm snaking around my back, her head resting on my chest as she kept her eyes on the grave as if she was not quite done seeing it yet.
“I think I’m ready to go,” she said, letting out a deep breath.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said, her hand slipping down from my back, meeting my hand again as her fingers interlaced with mine. “I want to go.”
We walked away quietly, taking the same route to head back to our cars. The silence wasn’t awkward, mostly peaceful, as she stayed quiet, deep in thought. We were halfway back when she finally looked at me.
“You know what’s weird? Dad gets a lot out of that. He goes and he talks to her. He said he feels most connected with her here,” she said thoughtfully.
I looked down at her strangely, eyebrows pressed together. “And that’s weird because?”
“Because… for me back there, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less connected to her.” Her words didn’t sound sad, but somehow resolved. Like a burden had been lifted and in the end, she’d realized the thing that she’d been putting off hadn’t held any of the power she’d feared it would.
“Do you get moments where you do?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything. She was opening up, and it felt like a blessing, felt like true trust rather than me having to whittle the truth from her. She was talking openly and honestly and I wanted to be there to hear it all.
“Not really,” she said. “I thought I would when I went back to teaching, but I felt inadequate–like she would know better. And that day when you found me at her piano, that was the first time I’d played in years and… nothing.”
I remembered the melody, sad and full of melancholy. She’d been desperate in those final weeks at school, desperate to live up to her mom’s shadow to prove she wasn’t struggling, that she could handle all of it–when really it was the opposite.
“Maybe it will come,” I suggested. “You’re still finding your way with this, but maybe, eventually, you’ll have a piece of her again.” I wasn’t sure what that would look like for her, what could bring her that peace she was searching for. I badly wanted to figure it out for her, to give her that moment. But like the gravestone, this was something she had to do for herself. Maybe, just maybe, she’d let me stand on the sidelines and be there for her instead.
“Maybe,” Olive shrugged. “Maybe she’s just… gone.”
I looked down at her, finding her green eyes on mine. If I remembered correctly from the pictures I’d seen in her living room, they were her mother’s green eyes.
“I don’t think so. Do you?” I asked, realizing the heavy question I’d posed after I’d said the words. She squinted for a moment, taking some time to think before answering.
“No, not really,” she said, her words settling between us, and the subject was dropped.
I hoped she found what she was looking for, hoped she found that connection again. But if she didn’t, I wanted to be there. I wanted to help see her through those hard moments where it got too much. I’d be there for her, even if it meant from a distance.
“She would have loved you,” Olive said out of nowhere, her gaze settling ahead on the graveyard gates we were nearing.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”
“Well no. But I think she would’ve learned to.” She smiled, brighter than before.
I chuckled, hand squeezing hers tightly, the rough skin of my palm moving against hers. I was still so scared she was going to disappear again, that she’d pull back and I’d be left with only the memory of her. But I took a leap into the darkness, knowing that sometimes, you had to be brave. “Like you did?”
“Hmm,” she said playfully, smiling that bright smile I found myself falling headfirst in love with. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
She looked up at me for a moment, every bit of her irresistible to me, and leaned her head over to rest against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders to pull her closer into me.
I wanted so badly to ask what this had all meant, her calling me up suddenly at night to come with her here. I needed to know that this meant the same to her, that she felt the same way. But I couldn’t help but still think that I’d blown my shot with her entirely. There was so much between us now, and she was healing. God, it made me so relieved to see her doing better. Even coming here, talking openly about how she was feeling–what if I ruined that all? I couldn’t hurt her anymore. She didn’t deserve that.
I took a moment to remember this, remember the smell of her hair, the feel of it against my skin. I committed to memory the warmth of her body, and how she looked so cute all wrapped up in my jacket that it made my heart squeeze tightly. She looked so beautiful, and every single thing about her was perfect. Even when she had been infuriating and stubborn, I’d still fallen for her because she was that intoxicating.
She was gentle and kind and creative and gave so much to things that shouldn’t be her responsibility, she burnt out, forgetting her own needs for others. Even when she’d hated me, I knew she’d do the same for me. If it was for the kids, she would’ve second guessed it, diving in head first and finding the solution.
With every step, the parking lot grew closer, and it felt like a step closer to returning to the pitiful existence that had been my life this past month and the years before I had gotten this close to her.
But if that’s what it took for her to be happy, I had to endure it.
As we walked through the gates, she pulled away, unwrapping her body from mine. Immediately, I wanted her back, and I had to curl my hand into a fist to stop myself from reaching out.
Finally, we reached our cars, and my heart couldn’t have felt heavier.
“Well,” she said, her voice quiet and small and sounding exactly like I felt. “I guess I should let you go.”
“I can stay,” I said, the offer instant and desperate. “If you need me to.”
She didn’t say anything, and I suddenly didn’t know what to do with myself, my footing unsteady. I wanted to beg for forgiveness, beg for five more minutes with her. I would’ve if i didn’t think it would make everything worse.
Her head tilted up to me, her green eyes on mine, and the pull that kept me wanting to be close to her, the reason I found it hard to leave her alone, was strong. Suddenly moving away wasn’t an option.
Her mouth opened to say something, but her words were interrupted by a rumbling above. We both looked up and watched as the cloudy night sky erupted into heavy rain, thick, cold raindrops showering down onto us.
The rain was pelting down in an instant, soaking us through, but when I looked back at her, I found her looking right back at me. Rain was soaking into her hair, the droplets running down her perfect face and I still couldn’t bring myself to move if it meant moving away from her. If it meant goodbye.
“I don’t want to go.” I said, my voice breaking as I broke every rule with the words. Every boundary she had set was demolished with five simple words but I had to say them. If this was my last chance, if this was the last time I’d ever see her again, she had to know. I was all in for her, for any chance of a life with her. “I don’t want to wake up another day without you. I don’t want another hour, another moment, where I can’t touch you. Tell me to go, Olive. Because if that’s what you want, what you need, I’ll do it..”
I was desperate for her to answer and put me out of my misery. She’d tell me that it wasn’t our time, that we’d tried and I’d screwed up my chance and that was it. It was more than I deserved anyway.
Seconds felt as long as minutes as she gazed up at me, her lips wobbling as she shook from the cold, her hair sticking to her face. Closing my eyes and sucking in a deep breath, I waited for the final blow, trying to prepare for that final chance to fade away.
“I don’t want you to go either,” she said, her quiet voice cutting impossibly through the thundering rain.
The weight of her words was heavy. In an instant, I pulled her body into mine, and her full lips crashed into mine. I wrapped my arms tighter and tighter around the wet jacket she was wearing, like she was a life raft and letting her go meant drowning.
I lowered my forehead to meet hers. One of her hands ran up to my soaked hair, running through it while the other went to the back of my neck. I closed my eyes, trying to process how it felt to touch her again.
She pulled my head down, clearly impatient as my lips easily met her own, my heart thumping hard. She didn’t seem to know it yet. She was mine, and I was hers, and I had no intention of ever letting her go, not ever again.
