Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time by Dani Irons Read Free Book Online

she says, her voice a bit lecture-y. “I think, even though you don’t remember them, you know deep down they know you. Give them a chance.”
    Wyatt passes by again, coming from the other way. He doesn’t look into the room. I think he’s trying to be a concerned, sweet boyfriend, but his persistence is grating on my nerves.
    “I don’t know if I can,” I say. “How can I trust people I don’t know?”
    “The same way you trust policemen, firefighters teachers, and—” she smiles “—medical staff. None of us would be here if we didn’t care. Your family cares about you. I can promise you that.”
    How can someone promise such a thing? It’s not like she knows them. No one can say how another person truly feels.
    Wyatt appears again, this time with a sideways glance into the room. Dr. Olafson notices me watching him, her smile widening. “And you better let that boy in here before he paces a ditch into the floor.” She picks up the mirror, stuffs it into her bag with the magazine and other materials and disappears out the door.
    I can sense Wyatt, even though I can’t see him. He’s stopped pacing and remains hidden beyond the door, waiting. I don’t want him to come in. I want to roll over on my side and cover myself up with my thin, scratchy blankets and ignore him. I close my eyes. He can’t stand out there forever.
    I don’t want to know my family and friends right now. I’d rather get to know myself before anyone else. I don’t want to make stupid small conversation and pretend everything is fine in my head and everyone is so wonderful for sticking through it with me. For hovering. For being at my side every goddamn second. I don’t want them—any of them—right now.
    But, after a few minutes, I swear I can hear him breathing. I can’t concentrate on anything else. Maybe I could placate him for a few minutes and then ask him to give me some space. Like, for weeks. Reluctantly, I sit up in bed. “Come in, Wyatt.”
    He peeks in at first, his expression tired. “I don’t want to push you.”
    “Then maybe you shouldn’t hover.” I can’t help the bitchiness in my tone and I wonder if that’s my default personality or if my stress is doing the talking.
    “Sorry,” he says, slinking in the room. He sits next to me, not meeting my eyes. He stares out the window. I wonder what this whole thing feels like to him. Does it feel like his old girlfriend is dead? Is he in mourning? Or does it feel like she’s been abducted and he has to deal with this bitchy, confused replacement until he can figure out where his real girlfriend went?
    “You’re not wearing your Cub Scout uniform anymore,” I say, noticing most of my earlier hatred and resentment has vanished in its absence.
    He nods, still not looking at me. “We had our final meeting of the season this morning and we don’t start up again until the fall. I only went to the meeting because I had to. But then I came right back to see you.”
    “Did you visit me often?”
    “Yeah.” Finally, his eyes sweep over mine. “I’ve been here since it happened. Only went home a few times.” His voice is small, like he’s walking over a minefield, and if he’s too loud, they’ll all blow. I wonder if it’s because he can tell I’m short-tempered. “The doctor thought leaving you alone for a few hours today would be good for you—and me—but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be here for you.” He blushes and it warms my cold heart just a little.
    “Do you live close by?”
    “A couple of hours away.”
    My eyes widen. “Well, thank you,” I say. “For coming all that way...”
    He shakes his head. “It wasn’t that bad. It’s not like I drove it every day or anything. I’ve slept in the waiting room the last few nights, surviving on hospital food and bad coffee. I didn’t want to go home because I thought you’d wake up at night. You were always—” he pauses, looking for the right words “—more awake at night. A