Claiming Olivia

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Claiming Olivia | Yolanda Olson | Copyright 2014 by Yolanda Olson | Smashwords Edition

Claiming Olivia | An Erotic Tale

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XO | Yolanda Olson

1. Cover Model: Amber McCowin
   
2. Photographer: Jason McBear
   
3. Editor: Courtney Wood Richter
   
4. Beta: Jennifer Matusik Ingman
   

R
ejected again.

I was lying numbly on the couch in the partial dark staring at the living room ceiling. The only illumination I had was the light from the laptop. It was another failed night. I had told my fiancée earlier that day and pretty much all day, that I was looking forward to having sex with him and he had smiled every time I mentioned it.

We even went to bed earlier than normal. We went through our normal routine of getting comfortable and then kissing each other good night. When I reached for him, he told me that he didn’t want to. I promptly grabbed my blanket and headed into the living room to sleep on the couch.

This was becoming routine for some reason. Not my sleeping on the couch, but him rejecting my advances. He always complained that we were on “my schedule”. I told him repeatedly that if that were the case, I would have worn him out by now. I guess the older we both got the lower his sex drive got and the higher mine went.

And now it here it was 3:30 in the morning and I was listening to music quietly on my laptop trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

I listed everything again in my mind that I would ask whenever he rejected me. Was I not pretty enough? Was I not thin enough? Was there someone else? Again? Did he not love me anymore? Did he always have to be drunk to have sex with me?

I mean to be quite honest, I should have known better. We agreed on black wedding rings. I thought they were cool at the time and so did he, but they seemed to be like the proverbial black cat and left a cloud hanging over our engagement.

I had never been through so many heartaches in such a short period of time at the hands of one person. I also had never truly loved, yet hated someone as much as I did with him.

It always reminded me of this joke that my mother and I shared; that we were born to suffer. Unfortunately I don’t think it was much of a joke anymore.

I sighed as I heard him roll onto his side in the bed. The only reason he was moving so much right now was probably because he was wondering what I was doing right now. I always found that amusing. It was like silent accusations and watching over my shoulder whenever I was on the laptop or sending a text message to my mother, like
I
was the one that had partially destroyed our engagement in a matter of three months.

I got off of the couch and turned on the coffee pot almost three hours ahead of schedule. There was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep anyway. I had this terrible curse, so to speak, that whenever I was awake no matter what time it may be, I was awake for the rest of the day.

As the coffee quietly brewed on the kitchen counter, I tip toed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Turning on the light I looked at myself in the mirror and rolled my eyes. One of the main reasons I hated sleeping on the uncomfortable couch, was because for some reason I always turned into a sweaty mess. After I was done brushing my teeth, I ran my brush through my hair and turned the light off. I walked over to the nightstand and reached around blindly for my glasses then back into the living room.

I leaned back against the couch and thought of my life before him. I was always smiling. I was always happy. I always had money in my bank account. These days an honest smile was a rare occasion on my behalf. Happiness seemed like a forced emotion that I would only read about in fairy tales. Money was a critical and touchy situation. I was working two jobs these days to make ends meet. I had done that before but only because I was desperate for work and once I had found a full time job, I had quit the part time one. Now I did it for survival.

As I sat on the couch, I kind of smiled at that moment thinking of all the times he would be drunk and angry telling me that his life was better before I came along. If only he knew it was truly the same for me. But I loved him and I refused to give up on a man that had clearly given up on himself years ago.

No one really knew it, but I blamed myself a lot for everything I had endured with him. If I had never given him the “opportunity” to ruin us, then I doubt he would’ve done it. Everyone, his mother, my mother, my friends, would tell me to stop blaming myself because “that’s just the way he is.”

I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. That was another problem. I was so very constantly stressed out by this engagement that my smoking had gotten out of control. I didn’t enjoy the habit anymore; not that I ever really did but I was racing against the clock with each cigarette now. Not to survive it, but to cut it short. That’s how dire my situation had become. I didn’t know if it was worth being alive anymore, but every time I was driving the long hour home from my full time job and had the urge to just drive my car off of the bridge, I thought of my sisters, my mother, my father, and my nieces and nephews. They were the only ones that would stop me every time.

I wasn’t a suicide watch by any means, I was just tired of the bullshit.

I glanced over at the clock on the table near the door. Now it was 4:15 am. I had only been awake for forty five minutes and I had pretty much relieved the highlights of my  relationship with Mitch.

For the most part he was a good man, but when he had his bad days, I would call my sister crying like someone had just died.

I recalled the first time I had seen him. I had somehow managed to convince myself not to judge him based on his looks, but rather his personality. Mitchell Alcott Kingsley was very attractive to me, and I didn’t want my attraction to him to just be physical, so I did my best to converse with him without being drawn into him by his beautiful light blue eyes, charming smile, and rugged look. We talked about video games, which was something I had loved since I was about four years old. I found out that we pretty much liked the same games, music, and thought a lot alike. Now I wonder how much of it was true and how much of it was a ploy.

Too late to worry about that now Livie,
I thought.

As I sat here silently, I secretly hoped that the music would become annoying so he would wake up angry at it being four in the morning. My response would simply be, “Now you know how I feel when I need to sleep because I have work the next day and you’re being a fool in the living room playing video games at one in the morning.” I knew it would spark an argument but as it stood, I didn’t have much I wanted to say to him anyway.

Of course my silence would spark another rift, but I always found that if I just sat quietly for a few hours by myself, all of my anger would go away into the magical land of wasted energy and I could function normally again.

Friday night’s almost argument floated into my mind for some reason. He had been intoxicated and angry about a story I had told. Instead of addressing me like an adult about it, he gave me the virtual slap in the face of taking off his wedding ring and tossing it telling me that’s what he thought about me. He always did that to hurt me, because he knew of all the things and of all the words he said to me, him removing his wedding ring always hurt me the most.

Now I say almost argument because the moment he took of his ring and began to yell, I stood up and went into the bathroom and closed the door while he yelled. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t worried, and for some odd reason, I wasn’t hurt. I was smiling. I had
finally
done something as simple as tell a story that “angered and embarrassed” him as he had done to me so many times before.

That was step one in my recovery phase as I started to think about it.

Step two was to get even for the infidelity. That was going to be the hardest step for me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I had never been unfaithful no matter what the circumstances were. Secondly, I just wasn’t that kind of person.

Was I?

Only time would tell I guess, but even though I would scream it at the top of my lungs during our arguments, I couldn’t see myself doing it back to him.

I pulled another cigarette out of the pack and lit it. Today was going to be different. I was going to do something a little dire that I had planned for months.

Today I was going to Ibiza, Spain. I had saved money secretly for months because I wanted to escape and have some time to myself. And also because I always wanted to go to Spain; it was a childhood dream of mine that I was finally going to be able to fulfill.

I was very excited about it. It was going to be the first stamp in my passport book and no matter where I went after that, if I ever did get to go anywhere else, it would be my favorite by far.

I had only told him about it last night, which I honestly believe sparked the rejection. I think he was hurt because I wasn’t taking him with me, but I was barely able to afford myself and I wanted to have a good time. I didn’t want arguments and I didn’t want fights. I wanted to go to Spain, look around, and come home. Maybe the trip would make me a better person, maybe it would make me a bitter person, but the only way to find out was by going.

That was something he was going to have to live with.

I stood up and quietly began to bring my bags from the bedroom into the living room. Not that my plane was leaving any time soon, and not that I had to rush to the airport, but so I could look at them and be happy in the knowledge that I would be spending ten glorious days on the island of Ibiza.

I had been so excited about booking my trip that I had forgotten to look up things to do. I wasn’t going with a tour group, I was going by myself, but I also figured that I would see the sites as they came. I liked the idea of natural tourism as opposed to having it planned out.

The only thing I really worried about was my Spanish; it wasn’t the greatest in the world, but it got me by whenever I needed it to. Then again, even if I was fluent, the Spanish spoken in Spain was worlds different than the Spanish I spoke so it wouldn’t really matter one way or another.

I sighed again as I heard Mitch get out of bed and head into the bathroom. These were going to be the most tedious six hours of my life.

A few moments later he stepped into the living room and gave me a kiss. I knew he was just trying to be nice so that I would “behave” on my trip, but I honestly didn’t believe he had anything to worry about. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed an energy drink then sat next to me on the couch and turned the TV on.

It was a typical Sunday morning. He started to play his video games and I sat there watching him. Life had become so redundant lately that I was surprised that I hadn’t screamed yet. Instead I would just sit next to him and watch him play, with the occasional handing off of the controller to me.

To be honest, for some reason it made the day go by faster than normal.

Because of our argument the night before, I had decided to take a cab to the airport. I placed the phone call while he sat quietly next to me, playing his game, and then stood up.

“I’m going to go outside and wait, they said they should be here in ten minutes,” I said looking down at him.

“Alright,” he replied as he set down his controller and grabbed my bags.

“I’ll be right out I have to use the bathroom.”

I walked to the end of the driveway and where he stood in silence. I lit a cigarette because it would be at least a two hour drive. Not to mention because I was also getting that nervous excited feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Get in the car, I canceled your cab,” Mitch said as he grabbed my bags and put them in the backseat.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to take me,” I replied carefully.

“Sorry, I was pissed off and drunk. I’d like to take you if that’s okay,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat.

It’s not like you left me much of a choice is it?

I sighed and got into the car.

I plugged in my cell phone into the car charger and turned on my navigation system so he would be able to find his way to the airport. We rode in silence most of the way. Only when a song I liked came on with a good dance beat would he look over at me with a smile and start doing a silly dance to make me laugh.