(Then) Liv: I'm Done

After the last debacle, I stopped trying to get John to do things with me.  I gave up.  It wasn't worth the fight.  John didn't initiate any plans either.  Our usual Saturdays looked like this:  him and I sitting on the couch, side by side (or sometimes I sat in the chair, or at the table), him playing video games or playing on his laptop and me doing homework or reading.  We'd order food or I'd cook, and that would be that.

It only took a few weeks to get me to my breaking point.  It was a Sunday, and it had been raining or snowing off and on all day for the past 3 days.  We'd been at his apartment the entire weekend and I was feeling cooped up and ignored and I was tired of feeling like completely platonic roommates.  Hell, we hadn't even had sex since the Saturday we'd fought about hiking.

"Let's do something the weekend of Thanksgiving," I suggested desperately, during a moment John wasn't playing his game.

He frowned.  "Like what?"

"Let's get away for a couple days.  We could spend a night in Milwaukee, or Chicago.  Do some Christmas shopping.  Just spend some time together."

"Yeah, maybe," he said noncommittally.

I wasn't going to let his lack of enthusiasm stop me, so I looked up some hotel rooms.  The prices were fairly reasonable and I told John this.  "Let's pick one and book it," I said.

He shook his head.  "Do we have to decide today?" he asked.

I stared at him, trying to figure out the best way to tell him why this was important to me.  Instead, infuriatingly, I started to cry.  This was my last ditch effort to make things better, and he just wanted to put it off--probably long enough that I'd forget or give up.  He sighed.  "Liv, why are you crying?" he asked, with about as much sympathy and concern as most people have for cockroaches.  He made no move to comfort me.

"Because," I said, sniffling and trying to get it together, "We never do anything but sit here and I want to do something.  I want to spend time with you."

"We spend time together," he protested.  "We've spent the entire weekend together."

I blinked and looked at him incredulously.  "Tell me one thing we've talked about or done this weekend that has any substance, then," I challenged him.

He rolled his eyes, and I felt my anger building.  "So what? You're going to sit here and try to make me feel bad by crying so I'll pay for a weekend away somewhere I don't even want to go?"

My mouth dropped open and the tears started again.  "I didn't say anything about you paying for it.  And if I wanted to make you feel bad," I spat between tears, "I certainly wouldn't do it by crying because you obviously don't give a fuck."

He laughed.  "Yes, tell me how I feel," he said.  "Tell me more things I don't give a fuck about, since you know what's in my head."

This pushed me over the edge.  "Me.  Our relationship.  Doing anything besides sitting on this fucking couch and playing video games.  Should I keep going?  I've got more."  My hands were on my legs and my fingers were digging into my thighs so hard that it hurt.  I glared at him through my tears and fought to keep my voice from rising to a yell.

"You're immature and impossible to talk to," he muttered.  He stood and tossed the TV remote onto the couch where he'd been sitting.  "Let me know when you're ready to have a grownup conversation."  He sauntered out of the living room and I heard his bedroom door shut.  Of course, he was careful to shut it in a perfectly civilized manner, so he could be the bigger person.  I think he actually shut it even more quietly than normal.

I sat on the couch stewing for about 10 minutes, then I grabbed my purse and left.  I drove through what now appeared to be mostly sleet and arrived at my apartment in 20 minutes.  I hated that he had moved to the other side of town, it was such a pain.  When I got home, I took a shower and then called Lauren.  I needed honesty.

"My long lost friend!" Lauren exclaimed, answering the phone.  Her voice, her excitement to talk to me, hell--even just the fact that she answered the phone, turned out to be too much, and I started to cry again.  I cursed myself for crying as easily as I blushed.  "Liv, what's wrong?"

"I'm done," I sobbed.  "I can't do it anymore."

"Breathe, sweetie," Lauren instructed me gently.  "Calm down and tell me what happened."

It took several ragged, hiccuping breaths before I was able to stop crying.  The story came pouring out.  I hadn't told Lauren much about how things had been lately, because I knew exactly what she'd say: dump the motherfucker.  She didn't get it though.  She didn't know what it was like.  She didn't know the good things, or how it hard it was to leave a relationship you'd put so much of your time, your effort, your love, and your self into.

"Jesus, Liv," she said when I was done.  "What the fuck is his problem?  I hate him.  Do you want me to fly back there and punch him in the face?  Because I will be on the next flight, and his face won't even know what hit him.  Literally."

"Don't hate him," I sniffled.  "It's not just his fault.  I'm not exactly an easy person to be in a relationship with."

"Oh no," she said firmly.  "Don't you dare even think about blaming yourself for this.  He is a rotten piece of shit and he's treating you like a child.  You deserve so much better."

"He's not awful," I said defensively.  "He's not.  He can be really great.  And I love him, Lauren."

"Why did you call me?" she asked patiently.  To an outsider, it would seem like a rude question, but I knew exactly why she asked.

"Because I needed your honesty," I admitted grudgingly.

"And my honesty is that he's a rotten piece of shit.  I can predict what's going to happen next.  He's going to call you...maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.  Either way, he's going to call.  He's going to apologize.  He'll tell you he was wrong, he's sorry, he loves you.  He'll offer to do what it takes to make it right.  He'll do it, too--for a week.  Just long enough to suck you back in, but then it will all fall apart again.  You've got to get out, Liv."

I was silent.  Part of me knew she was right, but it wasn't that easy.  "Look," she continued, undeterred by my silence, "You're going to do whatever you think is best right now.  I know that, I get it, I love you anyway. But someone needs to say this stuff to you.  You know that if you ever need anything, all you have to do is call.  I really will get on a plane, and I promise I won't punch him without your express written consent.  But if you need me, I'll come, okay?"

"Okay," I replied.  "I love you, Laur, thank you."

"I love you more," she replied.  "Don't let that asshole get you down.  You're better than that."   We said goodbye, and I climbed into bed.  It was only 6pm, but I was worn out from crying and being angry.  I thought maybe I'd just lay and relax for a little while, then get up and do a few things around the house.

Just laying and relaxing turned into crying myself to sleep, and I was startled awake by someone sitting down on the bed next to me.  I sat straight up and scrambled away from the weight on the edge of the bed.  "Hey," a soft voice said.  John's voice.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.  Can I turn on the light?"

I shook my head, then realized he couldn't see me.  It was dark.  Completely dark.  I looked at the clock and saw it was after 8. "No," I croaked.  My voice was hoarse from crying and sleep.  "Please."

"Okay," he said.  I stayed pressed against the wall, as far away from him as I could get.  He shifted so his back was to the headboard and he settled against it.  He seemed to realize that trying to touch me would be a poor choice, and he kept his hands to himself.  "I wish you hadn't left."

"You wish I would have stayed and cried on your couch while you locked yourself in your room to get away from my immature and impossible conversation?  Why bother?  I couldn't make you feel bad if you weren't watching me cry." I snipped back.  An alarm bell was going off in my head, and it was warning me that John was here to do exactly what Lauren had predicted.  Despite my earlier declaration that was I was done, I wasn't quite ready to let go--but that didn't mean I wasn't going to make him work for it.

"I didn't mean any of those things," he said.  His voice was impossibly calm and I hated him for it.  "I'm sorry.  I hate it when you cry because it makes me feel like a horrible person.  It's easier to pretend I don't care.  That's not fair to you, though."

"Very little about the way things have been going lately is fair to me," I replied.

"Okay," John said.  "Tell me what you mean."

I sighed and pulled my knees to my chest.  "Things suck, John.  They seriously suck.  Don't tell me you don't feel the same way.  It's boring, we never do anything, we're not even nice to each other.  We don't have sex, you don't listen to me, you take everything I say and twist it around to blame it all on me."  Before the words even finished coming out my mouth, I knew that how he responded to this would help me decide if I was done or if I had a little more left in me to fight for this relationship.

"You're right," he replied.  I should have expected it, but I didn't.  I wasn't prepared for that response.  "You're absolutely right.  But I love you, Olivia, and I want to fix this.  Let's fix it."

That crumbled the tiny part of me that was resolved to end this tonight.  Instead, we sat in the dark and we made a plan.  A plan to pay attention to each other, and to do things, and to talk more openly about our feelings.  I felt good when we were done.  And then we had the best make up sex we'd ever had.

It was enough.  Enough to make me hold on for just a little bit longer.  But, as Lauren had hypothesized, he did great for a little longer than a week, and then it dropped off.  A few weeks later I had, once again, given up.  He did nothing to pick up the slack.  He didn't even seem to notice when I stopped making an effort.

The final straw happened on a night we were out, a mere week before Christmas.  Of course, we were out because his friends wanted to go out, not because I wanted to.  He paid little attention to me, which was fine because I was chatting with our friends.  But when a random guy came up and struck up a conversation with me, while John was 4 feet away, he didn't even blink.  He didn't care.  I openly flirted with this guy, touching him and letting him touch me.  I giggled and leaned towards him, and did all the things I was usually far too awkward and embarrassed to do.

John barely even cast his eyes in our direction.  Later, walking home, I waited for him to make a snide comment about it.  To be mad.  He wasn't.  I knew at that moment that he just didn't care anymore.  When we got my apartment, I turned to him and said, "I'm done."

"Done with what?" he asked, looking confused.

"This.  Us.  I'm done, it's over."  I surprised myself with how calm I felt.  That's how I knew it was the right choice.  I shivered slightly in the cold, and hoped this went quickly.

"Can we talk about this?  You have the absolute worst timing," he said, sighing heavily.  I cocked an eyebrow.  "Christmas is next week.  What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

"If your biggest concern is what you're telling your parents, you should probably just go home, because there's nothing left to talk about," I replied.  My voice shook slightly, but it was purely in response to the cold wind that had just whipped down the street.

"Home?" he asked incredulously.  "How am I supposed to get home now?  It's not like I live 5 blocks away like I used to."

"Take a cab," I suggested flippantly.  I turned to walk into my apartment and he grabbed my arm.  I turned back and glared at him.  "Let me go."

"If I'm taking a cab because you're pissed, the least you could do is pay for it."  His voice was casual, but his eyes glinted coldly in the yellow glow of the street light.

"Oh, fuck you," I growled.  I yanked my arm, trying to pull it out his grasp but he tightened his grip and laughed.  Now I was getting a little nervous and I pulled again.  "John, let go," I said again, and my voice rang out shrilly in the cold air.

"You don't actually think I'd hurt you, do you?" he asked sarcastically, pretending to be hurt and disappointed.  He let go abruptly, causing me to stumble backwards a step.  I stared at him for several more seconds, wondering what had happened to the nice person I'd been friends with for years, before I spun and quickly let myself into my building, pulling the door shut firmly behind me.

Once I was in my apartment, I felt relieved for nearly a minute until I remembered that he had keys.  I quickly slid the chain across the door and hoped that he'd stay away.  He had cared so little about me actually breaking up with him.  All he was worried about was how he was going to get home, what he was going to tell his parents, and fucking with my head one last time.

I was surprised, because I wasn't sad.  Instead, I felt relieved.  I got in the shower, like I always did after fighting with John, and I stood under the hot spray until it wasn't hot anymore.  I got out, dried off, and fell into bed without bothering with pajamas.  That night, I slept better than I'd slept in a year.

(Then) Liv: Maybe

Hey guys!  I was planning to post a regular storyline post tonight, but I ended up at work way later than I planned and I don't feel like finishing it tonight.  So instead, I'm posting Liv's backstory post because it's finished.  I will post a regular storyline post on Friday! 
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"John," I said, waiting for him to look up from his stupid video game.  He had been playing since before I even got up this morning, and now it was after noon.  I had waited hours hoping he'd at least take a break and I could talk to him about doing something today, but he hadn't pulled his eyes from the screen.  Except, conveniently, when I was in the shower, when he must have paused it long enough to get a snack, because a dirty plate and fork were hanging out next to him on the couch.  I waited several seconds with no response.  "John!" I said again, impatiently.

After several more seconds, I got a distracted, "Yeah, babe?"

"Let's do something."  Several seconds went by without even an acknowledgement that I had said anything.  I sighed.

"What?" Now he sounded irritated.

"Let's do something," I repeated.  Sometimes I thought I should just make a recording of myself so I could play it over and over instead of just repeating myself.

"Hmmmm," he replied.  When I stood there silently and didn't respond, he finally said, "Like what?"

"I didn't have anything specific in mind," I admitted.  "I just want to get out of the house.  This is the only week I don't have anything due at school, which makes it the only weekend I won't be doing homework all weekend.  I don't want to sit here all day.  We could go find somewhere new to eat, or go to a movie, or I don't know."  Of course I had already mapped out my entire semester's worth of assignments.  I had to plan my free time carefully.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he said, clearly not listening.

Completely frustrated, I walked over and stood in front of the TV.  "What the fuck, Liv?" he snapped angrily, leaning to the side to try to see around me.  When I didn't move, he stabbed at a button on the controller and tossed it to the side with obvious irritation.  "We can do something, just not a movie.  Figure out what you want to do, and we'll go. But in the meantime, can you please get out of the way?  I can still die when it's paused."

I took a deep breath to quell my frustration and stepped out of the way.  I walked into my bedroom to give myself a couple minutes to gather myself and calm down.  This was the losing battle I'd fought with John all summer.  I wanted to enjoy my weekends during the three short months I didn't have class, and he wanted to enjoy his.  Unfortunately, we had very different ideas of what constituted an enjoyable weekend.  It hadn't been nearly as big of an issue for the last 7 weeks, since I'd been in school and had plenty of homework to keep me occupied all weekend since I didn't really have time during the week between actually going to class and working.

When I could talk and smile at the same time again, I walked back into the living room.  John looked up at me briefly when I walked in and I took advantage of the opportunity to say, "Let's go hiking.  It's so nice out.  We won't have many decent days left."  It was late October and unseasonably warm.  It was the perfect day to take advantage of some of pretty good trails that lay just a short drive out of the city.  We'd had a frost a couple weeks earlier, which meant no bugs, and the leaves would be falling soon but for now were beautiful.

He returned his eyes to his game and made a face.  "I don't really want to."

"Seriously?"

"What?" He glanced up at me again, and the irritation was plain on his face.

I tried to keep my frustration in check so I could explain why I was irritated.  "You told me to think of something and we'd do it.  You don't have any suggestions, but you don't like the ones I had."

"Look, just because I said to think of something doesn't mean I was just automatically agreeing to whatever it was you decided you wanted to do.  I meant for you to come up with some ideas and maybe I can pick something.  I don't actually feel like doing anything, but if you really want to go out, we can.  Especially if the alternative is you stomping around here like a brat all day."

I stared at him.  "Stomping around like a brat?" I parroted back in disbelief.

"Is this what you want to fight about today, Olivia?" he asked, giving me that condescending look he was so good at.  "If you want to go hiking, call a friend.  Or think of something we'd both like to do."

"Well, since I don't want to play video games, I guess that's pretty unlikely," I spat.  He had pushed me past my breaking point, and I knew he wouldn't want to do anything I might suggest.

He laughed.  "Nail in your coffin, babe.  I'm out.  If you want to do something today, I suggest you get on the phone and find someone else."  Then he turned his attention completely away from me and back to his game, and it was clear we were done. I spun and walked to my room, fighting the urge to stomp the whole way.  Once I got there, I realized I had left my phone on the coffee table and went back out, face red.  So much for my exit.  John smirked at me as I grabbed my phone off the table and stormed out again.   "I hope you find someone, because the stomping is already old," he called after me.  I wasn't even stomping.  He'd know if I was stomping.

I sat down on my bed and toyed with my phone.  Lynn was working today.  I opened my contacts and tapped the screen over Amy's name.  "Hey, Livvers!" she answered cheerfully.

"Ugh, stop," I protested my hated nickname.  She laughed.  "Wanna hike?" I asked.

"Yes!" she replied happily.  "It's perfect out.  Where should we go?  Is John coming?"

I snorted.  "No, he's most certainly not."

"Uh oh," Amy responded.  "Okay, well where should we go?"  We discussed for a few minutes and settled on a place not too far, since we were rapidly running out of daylight.

"I'll pick you up," I said, and we hung up.  I quickly changed and grabbed my small daypack.  I walked back out into the living room, where John was still playing his game.  "Are you planning to stay here or do you want a ride home?" I asked.

"Well, I want to finish this game, but I was going to go home after that.  Can't you leave your car?"

I stared at him.  Seriously?  "No, I'm driving."  And why would I leave my car for someone that I was just fighting with?

"I guess I'll just stay then, unless I can get TJ to come get me later.  Maybe he'll come play for awhile."

"John, I don't want your friends over here when I'm not here," I said, for probably about the thousandth time.  The last time he'd had a friend over to my apartment while I wasn't here, I ended up coming home to find someone I didn't even know passed out on my couch and a pizza in the oven, cooked about 15 minutes past the point of edible.

"Okay, okay," he replied, rolling his eyes.  "Then if TJ comes to get me, I won't let him come up.  Happy?"

"Sure," I muttered.  "See you later."  He lifted one hand in a half wave as I let myself out, leaving him playing video games in my apartment while I went out to enjoy the nice day.



"So what's the deal with John this time?" Amy asked, throwing her bag in the backseat and sliding into the passenger seat.

"Same shit, different day," I sighed, pulling away from the curb.  "He didn't want to go do something today, but he would have, for me." I rolled my eyes as those two sarcastic words left my mouth.  "Except he didn't actually want to do any of the things I wanted to do.  And he didn't have any suggestions, either.  And then he was just such a dick about it.  He has this way of talking to me that just makes me want to break things.  He never yells--never.  He'd never raise his voice at me.  But the things he says, and the way he says them...I don't know how to explain it.  It's like he's so put off that I would even bother him with my feelings or things I want.  It's condescending.  I feel like he's scolding me like I'm a little kid."

One time I'd tried to explain to him that the way he talked to me upset me, but it was so hard to explain that I ended up flustered and didn't do a very good job.  He quickly explained it away by accusing me of being irrational and taking things too personally.  And then, as he always did, he took the opportunity to turn it around and give me a laundry list of things I did that he didn't like.  I walked away from the conversation feeling defeated, like I was crazy, and wondering if maybe I was a little hard to live with.

"Remind me what you like about him?" Amy said, wrinkling her nose.

I sighed.  "I love him, Ames," I said.  "It's not always like this.  He can be great.  He's been so supportive of me going back to school, and we have fun together.  He just gets in these moods, and it sucks."  Amy looked perfectly skeptical, and I changed the subject.  I didn't want to spend my day whining about my crabby boyfriend.

We ended up having a great afternoon hiking on one of my favorite trails.  I was feeling much better by the time I dropped Amy off and returned to my apartment.  I was surprised to hear the shower running when I let myself in.  I was in my room, peeling off my sweaty shirt, when John got out of the shower and walked in, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Well, that's a sight for sore eyes," he commented, his gaze drifting over my sports bra and down my stomach.

"Are you done in the bathroom?" I asked.  "I'm disgusting.  It was way warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I like you all sweaty," he replied, catching my wrist as I tried to walk past him.  He tugged me towards him.

"Can you just give me a few minutes to shower, please?" I asked.  I was a little irritated that he wanted to have sex with me after the way he'd talked to me earlier, and I really did feel gross.  But I
didn't want to fight with him anymore tonight, so I tried to push my irritation away.  And in order to do that successfully, I needed a shower.  Really, really soon.

But he kept his grip on my wrist and pulled me closer still.  "Mmm, you can shower later," he suggested.  "I missed you today, and you look so good right now."

I yanked my wrist out of his grasp.  "I'm taking a shower," I said through gritted teeth.  I was trying so hard not to lose my cool, because I couldn't handle any more arguing today.

"What is your deal?" he asked, completely oblivious.

"'My deal' is that you completely blew me off earlier when I just wanted to do something with you.  You were rude to me, and you let me leave without so much as an apology.  Then I come back, and I just want to take a shower, and you expect me to want to have sex with you?  After the way you talked to me earlier?"

He held up his hands and took a step back.  "Go take a shower then," he said curtly.  Then he turned and pulled some clothes out of his drawer in my dresser.  I gladly walked out and to the bathroom.

I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and stood there for a long time.  I hoped that John would be gone when I got out, even if it meant that he had taken my car.  Sometimes I felt like I was desperately clinging to the last pathetic strings of this relationship, but then John would do something that made me fall in love with him all over again.  It was almost worse that way.  If he was awful all the time, my choice would be easy.

When I got out of the shower, I could hear my TV.  I knew that meant John was still here.  Even when he was being an idiot he still had enough courtesy to turn off my TV before he left.  I walked quickly to my bedroom and changed.  I dried my hair and got in bed with a book, even though it was only 8pm.  I didn't want to talk to John.  I didn't want to fight with him.

I read for nearly an hour, then I decided to just go to bed.  I turned off the light and settled into bed, turning my body towards the wall.  20 minutes later, I was still awake.  I wanted nothing more than to be asleep before John came in, but just seconds after I had that thought, the door slid open.  I was careful not to move.  Maybe he'd think I was asleep and he'd go away quietly.

I steeled myself when he climbed into bed next to me.  He pressed his body against mine and wrapped an arm around my waist.  I had to consciously force my muscles to stay relaxed, because their natural instinct was to stiffen.  "Liv, baby, I'm sorry," he said softly.  "You're right, I was an asshole.  I don't know what my problem was earlier.  I was trying to avoid fighting about it when you came back, but I fucked that up too.  I don't want you to be mad at me."

I laid silently for several seconds.  I wasn't trying to make him squirm, but I wasn't sure how I wanted to respond.  Finally I said, "Okay, thanks for apologizing."  There wasn't a whole lot of feeling in my response, but he nestled his head into the crook between my neck and shoulder anyway.

"I love you, Livvy," he said.

"I love you too," I replied.  I waited for him to say more, but he was apparently satisfied that I wasn't mad at him anymore.  He pressed his lips against the back of my neck, and when I didn't immediately respond, he moved them lower.  He let his lips travel the back of my neck and my shoulder until he found the spot that made my tense muscles start to relax.  I felt him smile against my skin as he concentrated on that spot, and I silently cursed my body for betraying me.

I wasn't at all in the mood, after the way the day had gone, but I forced myself to relax and focus on his lips against my skin, his hand that was now traveling up my leg.  Soon, I gave into the sensations and was able to temporarily forget about how pissed I had been just an hour earlier.  But his efforts to seduce me stopped as soon as he got my body responding to his touch, and 10 minutes later he was kissing my cheek, saying "goodnight, babe," and leaving me alone and unsatisfied in my bed.


The next morning, I woke up just as alone as I had fallen asleep.  Only this time, I smelled breakfast.  I got up, pulled on a sweatshirt, and stumbled out of my bedroom.  I squinted at the light in the kitchen and rubbed my eyes.  "Good morning, baby," John greeted me cheerfully.

"Morning," I replied sleepily.

"I'm making breakfast," he said needlessly.

"I see that, thank you."  I wandered further into my tiny kitchen and watched him make French toast and scrambled eggs.  There was a plate of bacon draining on the counter, and I opened the fridge.  "Is there any sausage?" I asked

"Sausage?" he asked.  I nodded.  "No, I only got bacon when I picked stuff up last night."  I almost laughed.  No matter how many times I told him, he could never seem to remember that I didn't like bacon.  But it wasn't something that upset me much, because I knew he preferred his eggs fried, but still made them scrambled because that's what I liked.  He could have his bacon.

"Did you go out to get this stuff after I went to bed?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied.  "I feel really bad about yesterday.  If you still want to do something today, we can do whatever you want."  This was his pattern.  He'd be a jerk, try to pretend it didn't happen, blow me off when I got pissed, then feel bad and try to make it up to me.  I knew this was his pattern.  I knew that he was only doing this so I wouldn't be mad, and that he'd do the same shit again next week, or maybe the week after.  The problem was that his efforts to make it up to me were actually really effective.

Breakfast was really good, and I thought about what I wanted to do.  I considered going to a movie, but then remembered that John hadn't wanted to do that yesterday.  I quickly nixed that idea, because even though he said we could do whatever I wanted, I didn't want to chance wasting the last day of my weekend arguing with him.  I still wanted to go do something, but it was cloudy and looked like it might rain.  I ended up suggesting we just run out and rent a movie and get some snacks.  John liked that idea, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Maybe we could even have a good day.  Maybe.

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This was going to be the last Liv backstory post but I realize it leaves some questions unanswered still.  I'm working on one more!

(Then) Liv: Hey, Jealousy

Just a head's up.  I'm currently on an awesome girls' weekend trip with a couple of my most awesome friends.  If I get some time to write, I'll get the next post up on Sunday, but it's more likely that it will come sometime (probably evening) on Monday.  Enjoy your weekend, everyone!
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I was awfully glad I'd taken Lynn's advice to "do something crazy."  John and I were out celebrating our one year dating anniversary.  We'd had our ups and downs, but things were definitely more up than down.  Right now, they were especially up, because John had planned a really amazing night out for us for our anniversary.

I was taking a drink of wine when I heard a sort of familiar voice say my name.  I looked up and almost choked when I saw Colin standing in front of our table.  "Colin," I said, once I'd recovered.  "Wow, hi."  I hadn't seen Colin in well over two years.  I looked at John.  "Do you guys know each other?"  John shrugged.  I quickly introduced them, and Colin stuck out his hand.  John waited just a bit too long to shake it.

"Yeah, I think we met once or twice," Colin said.

John made a face that I think was supposed to be confused, but I knew it wasn't genuine.  "Hmmm, I don't remember," he said.  "Sorry."  I gave him a weird look and he shrugged.

I turned back to Colin.  "How are you?  What have you been up to?"

He replied, telling me about his job and some traveling he'd done.  He was starting to ask the same question to me when John interrupted and said pointedly, "We're actually here for our anniversary dinner."

"Oh!" Colin said.  "Well, I'll leave you to it."  He looked at me and said, "My number is the same, we should catch up some time."  Then he turned to John, smiled, and said, "Good to see you again."

When he was gone, I looked at John.  I was ready to ask him what that was all about when John said, "You're not actually going to call him, are you?"

I blinked in surprise.  "Um, I mean, I haven't really had a chance to put any thought into it.  Probably not, he's not really someone I want to be friends with at this point.  It was just good to see him.  And what was up with that?  You have definitely met him."

"I know," he replied.  "I don't want you to call him."  There was an edge to his voice that I didn't recognize.

I was shocked.  He'd never acted like this about other guys before.  I had a couple fairly close male friends in our social circle, and he didn't have any issues with that.  "I already said I probably wasn't going to," I pointed out.  "I am really confused why you're acting like this."

He narrowed his eyes.  "I'm acting like this because your ex just rolled up to our table and interrupted out anniversary dinner to get all friendly with you, and you sat here and flirted right back with him."

I huffed out a frustrated breath.  "First of all, if that's flirting, then I also flirted with the waitress, the host, and the person I talked to at the cable company today about my shitty internet.  And he's hardly my ex.  We hung out for a month.  I wouldn't even say we were dating."

"You slept with him."

I had to make a conscious effort to keep my jaw from dropping open.  I couldn't believe him.  "Once," I sputtered, fighting to keep my voice at an appropriate volume for the nice restaurant.  "And sleeping with someone doesn't make them an ex.  I can't even believe we're having this conversation, especially when we're supposed to be celebrating our anniversary."  I dropped my fork onto the table and let my gaze slide to the side.  I sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm down a little before I lost it in the middle of the restaurant.

"You're right," he said, and his voice had returned to normal.  No more strange, hard edge to it.  I looked up and he was smiling at me.  "I'm sorry, Livy, I shouldn't have said anything.  I'm being a little ridiculous.  Let's forget about it and enjoy the rest of our dinner, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I replied.  I agreed because I didn't want to drag it out or argue right now, but I was completely confused.  He smiled at me, a brilliant smile, and returned to his dinner.  Not knowing what else to do, I picked up my fork and kept eating.

A couple minutes later, John said, "You're awfully quiet."

"Oh," I replied.  "Well, I'm just...eating."  He raised his eyebrows and looked at me skeptically, then launched into a story about something that happened at work earlier in the week.  I continued to eat my dinner quietly.

As we were walking out, he put an arm around my shoulders and gently said, "Hey, you're not still upset from earlier, are you?  I'm really sorry, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Um..." I said, not sure how to answer.  I wasn't upset, but I was a little confused.

"You're not really going to stay mad about that after I apologized, are you?  Come on baby, it's our anniversary."  He pulled me closer and kissed the side of my head.  "I love you, Livy."

"I love you too," I replied, finally relaxing against him.  I decided to just let it go.  It's not like it was a regular thing, and he'd apologized, so it didn't matter.

And it didn't happen again.  At least, it didn't happen again for a few weeks.  We were out with our friends one night and Paul had pulled me to the side to ask me a question about my job, because he had a friend that had just graduated and was looking for similar work.  It was loud and crowded in the bar we were in, so we were standing close and I had my hand resting on his arm as he leaned towards me so I could hear him.

I was concentrating on what Paul was trying to say, so I jumped a little when I felt someone take my arm by the wrist.  I looked up to see John lifting my hand off Paul's arm and sliding it around his own waist.  "Telling secrets?" he asked, feigning casual curiosity.

"No, just asking Liv a couple questions about her job.  It's easier to hear over here," Paul explained, raising his voice to be heard.

"Hmmm," John replied, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that heard him.

Paul nodded to me.  "Thanks for the info, is it okay if I give her your number?" he half-yelled.  I nodded and we made our way back over to the rest of the group.

I could feel John watching me on several occasions through the rest of the evening.  A few times he inserted himself into conversations I was having, effectively ending them.  The more he did it, the more I tried to ignore him.  The more I ignored him, the more he did it.  Finally, I just told him I was ready to go.

"So what was that?" John asked once, we were walking towards his apartment.

"Good question," I replied, looking at him pointedly.

He snorted.  "Don't look at me, sweetheart.  You were the one in there talking to the entire bar."

"I didn't realize you'd placed restrictions on who I could talk to," I muttered, crossing my arms petulantly.

"I don't care who you talk to, but have a little respect for me.  You sneaking off to have a private conversation is embarrassing."

I clenched my fists and then spread my fingers as wide as they'd go while I sucked in a deep breath, filling my lungs with damp night air.  "I'm sorry you were embarrassed.  We took 4 steps to the side so he could ask me a couple questions without screaming at me.  Questions about my job, because he has a friend looking for one.  It wasn't a big deal."

"It looked bad, Olivia," he said.  I rolled my eyes.  I picked up the pace so I was walking slightly ahead of him.  "Oh, that's mature," I heard him mutter under his breath.

When we got to the corner where we'd need to turn left to go to my apartment, or right to go to his, I stopped.  "I want to go home," I said.

John gave me a weird look.  "We're working on it," he said.

"No," I replied, shaking my head.  "Home.  To my apartment."

"We can spend the night at your place, that's fine," he said, shrugging.

"No," I repeated, trying hard to control my voice.  "I want to go home to my apartment, and I want you to go home to yours.  I'm frustrated and angry and I think I'd like to just go home."

"Seriously?  You're going to throw a tantrum because I called you out for flirting with everyone?"

I gaped at him.  "Actually, me going home by myself is me trying to avoid throwing a tantrum.  I'm not even going to touch the rest of what you said."

"You didn't have a problem touching Paul," John shot back.

"Nothing about anything that I did tonight is different than the way I usually act!" I exploded.  We were about to fight this out, right here on the street corner.  "Every single person I spoke to tonight, with the exception of the bartender and the girl that ran into me, was our friend.  All people I've spoken to before.  All people I've touched before.  Why is it suddenly not okay?"

"It was never okay, Olivia," he responded coolly.  His voice was completely calm now and if he wanted to make me look like a crazy person, he was succeeding.  He held up both his hands and said, "Look, I don't want to have a screaming match on the corner.  Let's just go home, together, and not worry about it."

"No, John," I replied, and I had regained control of my volume.  "I just want to go home.  Please.  We can talk about it more in the morning.  I just need to cool off."

"There's nothing to talk about.  You just need to stop flirting with everyone and it'll be fine."

"I wasn't flirting with anyone!" I yelped.  "I don't flirt!  Flirting is not a thing that I do, ever!  You should know that as well as anyone."

"Okay, okay," he conceded.  "Calm down, Liv.  Just forget I said anything.  Please at least let me walk you home."

"If you want," I replied.  I spun on my heel and went to the left, striding as quickly down the sidewalk as my short legs would take me.  He caught up to me easily and kept pace next to me, walking silently.  Thank god for small miracles.

When we got to my apartment building, I turned and said goodnight to him.  "Come on, I walked all the way here, just let me spend the night.  I'll even sleep on the couch if you want to keep being pissed."

"No, John," I repeated, for what felt like the 15th time.  "Please let me have some space tonight."  I had gotten my explosiveness out of the way and I was calm now.

"So you're going to make me walk all the way back to my apartment?  Liv, it's after midnight."  The guilt trip was starting.

"You chose to walk with me," I replied calmly.  "I would like to spend the night alone.  Please go home."

He stared me down, contemplating his next move.  He looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but instead he pasted a smile on his face and said, "If that's what you want, then I'll respect that.  Goodnight, Livy."  He was the only person in the world that I let call me Livy, and normally it was cute when he said it, but right now it was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Goodnight," I replied.  Then I turned and let myself into my building.

I sighed in relief as I walked up the stairs.  I was so confused by his sudden jealousy.  Or apparently not sudden.  Flirting has never been something I did.  All through college, Lynn and Amy mocked me relentlessly because I sucked at talking to guys.  I still do.  I was now second guessing how it looked tonight though.  I did have my hand on his arm, but only because that's a natural place for it to go when you're standing close and talking in someone's ear.  It's not like we were feeling each other up.

John and I had never fought fair, either.  He was passive-aggressive, and I was quick to snap and yell.  The passive-aggressiveness set me off so easily.  Sometimes it seemed almost like he enjoyed pushing my buttons.  The way he'd smirk right before something slipped out of his mouth made it seem like a calculated move.  He never wanted to give me space when I asked for it, either.  He'd rather fight all night than just let me cool off.  The longer it dragged out, the angrier I'd get, which led to more and more yelling from me and more and more passive-aggressive snipes from him.  At least our fights were rare, which made them more bearable.

The next morning when I woke up, I had a text from him.  "I'm sorry about last night.  Let me take you out to breakfast?"

Breakfast, my weakness.  I thought about it while I showered, then responded that that was fine.  He picked me up an hour later and took me to my favorite breakfast spot.  Once we were settled at our table, him with a bloody Mary and me with a mimosa, he said, "I'm really sorry, baby.  I was an asshole last night.  You weren't flirting, I was just being really jealous.  I just love you so much and I hate thinking about you with someone else.  Seeing you talk to other guys, even if it's just about your job, makes me think about you with someone else."

I nodded, processing what he said.  I considered asking him why this has come out of nowhere, but decided it probably wouldn't be productive.  The last thing I wanted was to spend this entire day fighting.  "Thank you for apologizing.  I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"Thank you," he replied.  "I love you."

"I love you too."

With impeccable timing, our server arrived with our food.  I eyed up my eggs, french toast, potatoes, and sausage, trying to decide what to go for first.  I wrinkled my nose when I got a whiff of John's bacon.  I finally settled on the eggs because they'd be gross if they got cold.

"What should we do today?" John asked, after we were a few bites into our breakfast.  "We can do whatever you want."

We spent the rest of breakfast tossing around ideas of things to do, and I was relieved we were done fighting, even though I was still a little confused about why we'd fought in the first place.

(Then) Liv: Connections

“What about that one?” Amy asked, motioning to a lanky blonde guy sitting in the corner with two other guys and a girl.

I wrinkled my nose.  “No.”  Lynn and Amy were determined to get me a date tonight, mostly so I’d stop complaining about how long it’d been since I had gone on a decent date.  There had been a lot of really bad dates lately.   

Lynn laughed.  “He’s not her type.  You’re looking at the wrong guys.”

“Hey!” I said indignantly.  “I don’t have a type.”

Lynn cocked an eyebrow at me and said, “I bet I can pick out—“ she took a quick look around, then continued, “at least 5 men in here that you find attractive.”

“You’re on.  Drinks are on you if you’re wrong.”

She smirked.  “And drinks are on you if I’m right.  And you have to be honest, no cheating.” 

“As if I would stoop so low,” I retorted.  “Go.”

Lynn looked around the bar slowly and then said, “That one.”  She was pointing at a dark haired guy sitting near the door.  He had on a button down shirt and looked like he was tall and built. 

“Yes,” I admitted.

Lynn grinned.  “That one, that one, that one, annnnddd….that one!” she said, pointing out 4 guys in rapid succession.  Looking at them, I was forced to admit that she was right about all of them.

“But,” I protested, “Anyone with a pulse would find all of those guys attractive.”

Amy laughed.  “Anyone with a pulse who happens to also have a thing for tall pretty boys with dark hair and arms the size of your head.  Bonus points for dark, brooding eyes.”

I had to grudgingly admit that all the guys that Lynn had pointed out did have some similarities.  “But their arms don’t have to be the size of my head,” I argued.  “Just bigger than mine.  Maybe bigger than both of mine put together.”

Lynn grinned.  “I think I’ll be having another drink soon,” she said, looking down at her glass, then lifting her eyebrows at me.  We were celebrating Amy’s graduation, and we were waiting for some of our other friends to arrive.  Amy had had to take a semester off because of a bad bout of mono that landed her in the hospital for 3 weeks, and then her next semester was rough, so she ended up graduating the year after us.   But she was finally done, and we were celebrating. 

“Where is everyone?” Amy asked, looking at her phone.  We’d arranged to meet a little earlier than the planned time, but it was now after the time everyone else was supposed to meet us here.

“I don’t know,” I replied, “But if you guys want more drinks, I’m going up to the bar now.”  I took their requests and headed to the bar.  It was crowded with graduation celebrators, and I had to squeeze through people to get close to the bar.  I waited for several minutes for our drinks, then walked back to the table with the three drinks in my hand.  By the time I got there, there were a bunch of people around the table we’d been occupying and I realized the rest of our group had arrived.

“Where's my drink?” came a teasing voice, as I set Lynn and Amy’s drinks in front of them.  I looked up at Adam, one of our friends and the person that Lynn had had an unrequited crush on forever.

“Liv lost a bet,” Lynn said, smirking at me.

“Oh really?” Adam asked, laughing.  “What was the bet?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied.  “I lost.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that!” Adam exclaimed.  “I want to know.”

Amy broke in.  “Liv tried to insist that she didn’t have a ‘type’ and Lynn bet Liv she could pick out 5 guys Liv thought was hot.  Liv took the bet, and, well…” she motioned to the drinks.

Adam laughed loudly and turned to me.  “That was stupid, Liv.  Anyone could have beat you at that bet,” he said. 

“What?  No!” I yelped.  “It’s not that obvious, is it?”

“Oh yes,” Adam argued.  “Tall, dark, and handsome will get him at least conversation with you.  If he has at least half a brain in his head and some manners to go with, he’ll get a date.  And if he looks like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog, your panties might as well have stayed at home for as long as you’ll have them on.”

My face got hot and I shook my head, while Lynn and Amy roared with laughter.  “It’s true,” Lynn gasped.  “Oh, it’s so true.  Don’t shake your head like he’s not spot on.”

“You all know I don't do casual sex, which is exactly what his comment about my panties implied!" I protested.  Adam was trying to stop laughing, but when I said that, he laughed harder.  "You are a terrible person,” I said to Adam, fighting the urge to start laughing with them.  “Actually, all of you are terrible people.  I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

“Because you love us dearly and we know you so well,” Amy suggested. 

"Because we all know what kind of man to point your way?" Adam tried.  Lynn just laughed.

I glared at them until Amy changed the subject.  Adam turned to talk to someone else and Lynn stuck with him, so Amy nudged me.  “Speaking of tall, dark, and handsome,” she hissed, “John's here."  I rolled my eyes.  Lynn constantly teased me that John was exactly my type and had been right under my nose for years.

"Oh," I said, following her gaze.  "He came with Paul and Erin.  Let's go say hi."  

We walked over and greeted them.  “Hey guys, thanks for coming!” Amy chirped brightly, hugging each of them.   Amy was then quickly distracted by our friend Kate, and she took off to say hi.

"Hey stranger," John greeted me, smiling.

I hugged him.  "It hasn't been that long."

"Since your birthday," he replied.  "Four months."

I frowned.  "Wow, I guess you're right.  I've been so busy."

Before we could go any further than that, we were interrupted by Kate and Amy coming back over.  Amy clearly had a solid start on a good buzz, and she was shrieking with laughter about something Kate had said.  John leaned against the table behind us, his arm casually resting against my back, and we exchanged amused glances.

I heard Lynn call my name from the other table, so I walked over.  "When are you going to make a move on that?"

"Right, because making a move is sooooo like me," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"No, it's not at all like you, and that's the point!  I'm starting to think I was going to have to have the 'lower your standards, you stuck up bitch' talk with you soon, since you've found something wrong with nearly every guy that's looked at you for the last four years.  That guy," she motioned in the general direction of John and Paul and Erin, "Is totally your type, he's smart, he's got a job, and you already know each other.  You need to make that happen, you might not get another chance."

I frowned.  "Normally if I want a reality check, I go to Lauren.  Glad you can fill in in her absence," I said sarcastically.  

"Liv, sweetheart, I love you, you know that.  But it's been one bad first date after another, for years.  And some of them were really bad, I will give you that.  But sometimes it seemed like you were just looking for reasons to not see them again."

"What's the point in seeing them again if there's no connection?" I asked with a shrug.

"This isn't the movies," Lynn said.  "Connections don't always happen on a first date.  Sometimes you have to give things a chance.  Not everyone is going to be Colin."

I had been staring over her shoulder, but my eyes snapped to hers when she said that.  "Don't," I warned her.  "Please," I added, softening my tone.  

"Okay, I won't," she said.  "But think about it.  Do something crazy.  Don't stay stuck there."

"I'm not," I protested.  

Lynn started to respond, but Erin hurried over and said, "Amy is trying to challenge a stranger to a Prairie Fire drinking competition, help!" 

"Oh no," Lynn and I said in unison.  Amy prided herself on her ability to drink the tequila and hot sauce shots, but a competition sounded like a really bad choice.  Lynn and I hurried after Erin to intervene, and I tried to stop thinking about Colin.

Fucking Colin.  I had spent the entirety of my freshman year lusting after him from afar.  He was in one of my classes, lived one floor above me...and was dating one of my suite-mates.  I was head over heels, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it.  So I went about my life, even doing a little dating here and there, but I just couldn't shake it.  Of course, I wasn't even the slightest bit to come back from summer break to find out that they had broken up over the summer.  He ended up in another one of my classes, and we ran into each other one day after.  We ended up going to get lunch together and spending the rest of the afternoon together.  We did the same thing the next week.  And the week after that.  And finally, he asked me out on an actual date.  

The date was amazing, and when he kissed me, it was absolutely perfect.  It was exciting, there was chemistry.  We went out again, and I slept with him after that date.   And it was amazing.  And then?  Well, then he never called me again.  He started sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, and leaving right after class.  And when I ran into him once at the fitness center, he awkwardly said hi and tried to get away.  When I asked him what happened, he shrugged, said, "It was fun.  But that was it, you know?  Fun."  

I was pissed, but I was less upset that I expected to be.  But after that, every single person got compared to Colin.  It wasn't fair, but that's what happened.  Lynn and Amy thought that I was still infatuated with him.  As many times I tried to assure them that that wasn't it like my 3 week fling had broken my heart forever, they just didn't get it.  I got over him pretty quickly, considering, but I couldn't get them to understand that I was craving the connection that Colin and I had, for those few short weeks.  The sparks.  The fireworks.  It got to be such a sore subject that I refused to even talk to them about it.  But in any case, here I am, 4 years later, still chasing a connection.  

I shook the thoughts out of my head as Lynn encouraged the random person to step away from the challenge, and I tried to distract Amy.  She was hell bent on her shot competition, and I finally said, "You can still have your competition.  What if we just do them?  And whoever keeps the straightest face wins."  Have you tried to keep a straight face while drinking a shot of tequila mixed with hot sauce?  Right.  

"I'll buy and judge," John said.  At some point he had appeared next to me.  "Because this is something I've got to see."  He walked up to the bar before I could protest.

"Fine, since Lynn chased my competitor away," Amy said, pouting.  But then she got excited.  "I'm going to kick your ass!"

Lynn glared at me.  "Did you really just volunteer us for this?" she hissed under her breath.  

"Drink up, princess," I replied, smiling.

John returned with three shot glasses.  He set one down in front of Amy, one in front of me, and one in front of Lynn.  Amy was still talking to someone and he leaned close to Lynn and I and said, "Yours are just tequila.  But she's going to win, so she doesn't demand a rematch."  I threw a grateful look over my shoulder at him.  

When Amy returned her attention to us, we all downed our shots, and John declared Amy the winner.  I was a little worried she'd challenge someone else anyway, but she quickly became distracted by Erin and Kate and started talking to them.  Lynn and I turned to John, and I said, "Thank you.  Whoever introduced her to those shots should be punched in the face."  

He laughed and leaned against the table next to me.  His leg brushed against mine and neither of us moved to end the contact.  "I'm glad I could help."  

Adam wandered over and we all got back to our normal mixing and talking.  Every once in awhile I'd catch John looking at me.  When I walked past him to go to the bathroom, I let my shoulder brush his arm.  I fought the urge to turn to see if he was watching me.  When I came back, he caught my arm gently as I walked by.  I turned and looked at him curiously.  "It's getting close to last call, and a bunch of our group just left.  How are you ladies getting home?"

"We walked," I replied.  We only lived a couple blocks away, and John didn't live much further.

"I don't think Amy is going to be doing much walking," John said, frowning.  I followed his gaze to where Amy was sitting on a high bar chair, leaning against Adam, who was standing next to her with an arm around her.  Her eyes were open but I agreed, especially in the 4 inch heels she was wearing.  

"Shit," I muttered.  I tried to figure out a better solution, and watched as Erin walked over and said something to Adam.  Amy pulled herself into an upright position and shook her head and Erin said something to her too.  Amy shook her head again, and looked like she was arguing with Amy.  I walked over there.  

"You're not walking home, babe," Erin was saying.  "You're absolutely shit faced. I'll give you a ride."

"I'm not that drunk.  And who's gonna walk with Liv and Lynn?" Amy slurred.  

"I will," John volunteered from behind me.  

I turned to protest that Lynn and I would be fine on our own, but Amy interrupted.  "Do it," she said excitedly.  "Because remember how we talked about your type? And he's your type!  You should let him walk you alllllllll the way home."  I felt my face immediately flush and had to restrain myself from slapping a hand over Amy's mouth so she didn't say anything else.  

I fought my embarrassment long enough to say, "I will if you let Erin drive you." 

"Deal," she said, sticking out her hand to shake.  It threw off her balance and she started to tipping towards me.  Adam quickly wrapped his arm back around her and pulled her upright again.  I shook her hand and turned, cheeks still warm.   

"Let's find Lynn," I said hurriedly.

"She's right there," John replied, pointing to our right.  He was smirking, but didn't say anything.  I turned and saw Lynn talking to Kate just a few feet away from us.  

We walked over and collected Lynn.  I explained that Erin was taking Amy home and John was going to walk with us.  Lynn nodded knowingly and winked me behind John's back.  "Do something crazy!" she mouthed silently.  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.  John turned back to see if we were coming and we both pasted innocent smiles onto our faces.  Nothing suspicious about that.

Lynn lived the closest, and we were dropping her off at her building within minutes.  "I'm two more blocks," I said, suddenly feeling shy now that I was alone with John--which was stupid, because I'd known him for years.  We were walking close enough to each other that our arms occasionally brushed.  I got a slight thrill every time it happened.  The power of suggestion, perhaps? We were quieter now, chatting a little about things that had happened while we were out.  When we got to my building, which was above a 24 hour coffee shop and cafe, he said suddenly, "Are you hungry?"

I raised an eyebrow at him.  "Do you know me at all?"

He didn't say anything else, just pulled the door to the cafe open.  I walked inside and he followed, and we sat at a booth in the corner.  The place was almost deserted, there were two girls sitting in the opposite corner.  I knew they'd get busier when the bars closed in about a half hour.

Once we had ordered, John looked at me and smiled.  "So what's this I hear about being your type? Is it true?"

My cheeks, once again, flushed and I fought the urge to sink lower in my seat.  I opened my mouth to deny it, because that seemed like the best way to end my embarrassment, but I decided against it.  Do something crazy, right?  "Yeah," I said.  "It's true."

We ate our greasy 24-hour cafe food and chatted more about the evening and what we'd each been up to in the last 4 months.  When we finished, he paid, despite my protests, and walked me back to the entrance to the apartments above.  "Can I walk you up?" he asked.  I raised one eyebrow, skeptical of his intentions.  He laughed and held up both hands.  "I just want to walk you up.  You never know what could happen in these sketchy apartment stairwells.  I promise I'll behave."  

"Okay," I agreed.  I unlocked the door and we went in.  We walked up the stairs, quiet now.  It was late, and I was really tired.  When we got to my door I stopped and turned to him.  "Thanks for walking me home," I said at the same time he said, "I had fun tonight."  We looked at each other and laughed.  And then I kissed him.  Yep.  I kissed him.  Not a signature move of mine, that's for sure.  

And you know what?  It was there.  The connection, the sparks, the fireworks.  Enough that I was breathless when we pulled apart.  We just looked at each other for a second, and then he kissed me again.  He pushed his hands into my hair and backed me up against the door to my apartment.  When we finally separated again, he said, "I'm sorry, I promised to behave, and I didn't."

I laughed.  "I started it, blame it on me."  

"You're too pretty to take the blame," he replied softly.  "So should I get back on my best behavior, or would you like me to break that promise again?"

"I think you'd better break that promise again."

(Then) Liv: The Difference Between Prison and Jail

Hi readers!  Don't get too excited--this is not an early comeback, merely a random post to help hold you over.  I had a very productive weekend and had some time today to write this post up.  Some more backstory on Liv and her family has been requested a couple times.  I was going to save it to be part of the 500k view bonus week, but thought instead that I'd share with you now.  It will answer some questions about Liv, about her background, her family, and start to give a little insight into why she is the way she is.  This is a post I've had in my head since last fall, but I wanted more of the story to play out before I gave you all the information.  I've avoided posting much of Liv's backstory because I wanted readers to learn about her at the same time Brody did, but I think it's time for this one.  Enjoy!

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January 2004

I had been 16 for 3 days when my mom caught me rooting her through her closet.

I only had a small window of opportunity.  My dad’s income had always been enough for us to live a comfortable middle-class existence, but once I was old enough to have some independence, my mom had gone back to work part time.  She made sure she always got done in time to pick me up from cross country or track practice.  During my off-season, winter, she was usually home by the time I got home from school, or shortly after.  This morning she had said she was covering for someone and wouldn’t be home until around 5:30 and had asked me to start dinner. 

“Olivia Renee, just what do you think you’re doing?” my mom snapped angrily.

I looked up from my spot on her closet floor, wedged into the corner, guilty.  Then I looked down at my watch and frowned.  It was only 4:30.  Instead of answering her, I responded with “Why are you home already?”  She cocked her head at me in warning and I quickly realized my mistake.  “I mean…I’m sorry.  I was just…” I sighed and offered up the photo album I had been looking through.  “Just looking for pictures.”

The irritation left my mom’s face, but I was still surprised when she sat down across from me, taking the offered album.  She opened it up and paged through it silently for several seconds before raising her eyes to mine.  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked curiously.

I shook my head, fighting the tears that were pricking the backs of my eyes for some unknown reason.  “No,” I said, but my voice caught and it came out a little strangled.  I cleared my throat.  “No,” I repeated.  “I was looking for pictures of…” I trailed off.  I didn’t know what to call him.  I couldn’t say “my dad” because pictures of Chris were easy to find.  Plus I saw him every evening when he got home from work.  What I wanted to see were pictures of my biological dad.  The man who was partially responsible for my existence, whose name I didn’t even know.  “Of him,” I finished, trusting my mom would know who I meant.

She did.  She nodded and shut the album on her lap.  “You won’t find them in this one,” she said matter-of-factly.  She stood on her tiptoes and peered up at the top shelf.  I pulled my knees to my chest and waited.  “Here we go,” she said, pulling down a small shoebox.  She sat back down and opened it up.  She rifled through the photographs inside and extracted 3, which she handed to me.  “I’m sorry, honey, that’s all I have.”

I took them, my hands trembling slightly.  I don’t know why the knot in my stomach tightened as I reached for the pictures.  I don’t know why the threat of tears was back.  I don’t know why my breath hitched as I tried to breathe in deeply before looking at the pictures.  I just held them for a second, staring at my knees.  “If you want,” my mom said gently, “you can take them and look at them when you’re ready.” 

I shook my head.  “I’m ready,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.  I wiped my hand on my jeans and then tilted the photos up.  None of the feelings I had prepared myself for, that I had worried about, came.  Instead, I found myself staring blankly at an older picture of my mom and an attractive (for the 80s, anyway) man with sandy blonde hair.  He was short, skinny.  He probably weighed less than my mom, who wasn’t heavy by any stretch of the imagination.  My mom was easily recognizable.  She looked just like herself, only with longer hair and about 17 years younger.  The man in the photograph was laughing, and my mom was smiling, watching him.  I looked up at my mom, studied her face.  She hadn’t aged much.  Her hair was shorter, but was still blonde.  Impossibly blonde for a 38-year-old woman.  My friends were convinced she dyed it, but I knew she didn’t. 

“That was the day we met, actually,” she said, leaning over to look at the photo. 

I looked back down at it.  “I look like him,” I mused.

“You do,” my mom replied.  “You have his eyes, his jaw, and his nose.”  Another glance at the picture confirmed this.  I took a breath and looked at the next picture.  It was just him, in profile.  Clearly taken on the same day as the first picture. 

“Mom, were you guys at a field party?” I asked accusingly. 

“Hey, we were of legal age to drink,” she responded, laughing. 

“Barely,” I muttered.  She cocked an eyebrow at me.  I avoided her gaze and looked back down to the third picture.  It was the same man, this time in a group of other young men. 

I could feel my mom’s eyes on me as I flipped back through the pictures.  “What else do you want to know?” she asked gently.

I looked up, surprised.  I wasn’t expecting her to offer information, even though she had told me that after I turned 16 she’d tell me whatever I wanted.  “Nothing,” I said hurriedly.  “I just wanted to see him.  I’ve always wondered if I look like him.”

“You do,” my mom repeated.  “You can keep those if you want.” 

I looked back down at them and flipped through one more time.  I separated the photo of him and my mom, and handed the other two back.  “Just this one, if that’s okay.” 

She looked at me curiously, but then she nodded and put the other two back in the box.  Then she stood, put the box back on the shelf, and reached a hand down to me.  “Come help me with dinner,” she said.  I let her help me to my feet and then went to my room.  I put the picture on my desk and walked back towards the door.  Before I flipped off the light I paused, then turned around.  When I got to my desk, I flipped the photo over so it was face down, then headed downstairs to help my mom with dinner.

Summer of 2006

“I’m going to a movie with Lauren and then we’re sleeping over at Lynn’s house,” I called over my shoulder, hoping to slip out before someone could stop me.  My parents had been extra controlling and overprotective lately.  Like, even more than they had been my entire life.  It was getting annoying, especially now that I wanted to spend as much time with Lauren as possible before she left for Colorado for college.  I was completely fed up with it, which is why I was trying to get out before I had to answer 20 questions about where, when, who, how long, what else, who else, then what?

“Hold it,” my dad said, appearing in the living room.  Shit.

I sighed and said, “What?”

He gave me that look he had--you know the one.  The one that says “Keep using that tone and you’ll be going nowhere tonight, young lady.”  I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.  Then he said, “I wonder if it would have been a good idea to let us know before you walked out the door?”

I shrugged.  “I’m 18.  I’m done with high school.  I didn’t think I had to ask permission.  It’s not like I’m going out to a rager, you know me better than that.”  And he did.  Sure, I’d been to my fair share of field parties.  I’d even been drunk a few times.  But I was a good kid and it wasn’t really my scene.  I really was going to a movie with a Lauren and then sleeping over at Lynn’s.  Tonight, anyway.

“Does your mother know?”

I almost wasn’t able to keep my eyes from rolling this time.  “She does if she heard me say it just now,” I replied.

“So she doesn’t, because she’s not even home and I’m pretty sure you knew that.  Lynn isn’t going to the movie?”

I tried hard to keep my attitude in check.   “No, she works until 9.”

“What time is the movie over?”

“I don’t know.  It starts at 7:05, and it’s probably somewhere between an hour and a half and two hours…so between 8:30 and 9?”  I was becoming seriously frustrated.

“So what are your plans between 8:30 and 9…or 9:15, if you give Lynn time to get home?”

“Are you kidding me?!” I exploded.  “Maybe knocking over a liquor store, spray painting someone’s car, the usual.”  He raised his eyebrows at me, a mild look considering I was now screeching at him.  It just infuriated me more and I continued, raising my voice even more.  “I’m so tired of you guys constantly controlling me!  You’re so fucking overprotective.  I’m an adult.  I don’t even care about ‘your roof your rules’--this is ridiculous!  You treat me like I’m 12, and I’ve never done anything to make you not trust me!”

He looked like he was considering this.  Then he surprised me.  He sat down on the couch and motioned to the chair.  “Have a seat, Olivia.”

I didn’t know what to make of this, especially because it was phrased more as an invitation than anything.  “And if I don’t?” I challenged, still on edge from my explosion.

He simply shrugged.  “You will.”  It wasn’t a threat, like it could have been.  It wasn’t even a direction.  It was a statement of fact, and he was right.  I sighed in defeat and sat.  I had my attitude, but in the end I was way too much of a rule follower to walk out of the house without at least implied permission.

“I’m going to let you go, but there’s something I think it’s high time we talked about first,” my dad said. 

I made a face.  “If this is about drinking, drugs, and sex, I already know.  I’m 18, for Christ’s sake.”

He actually laughed, confirming my suspicion that I had no idea what was going on.  “I’m quite sure you do,” he replied.  “But this is about your biological father.”

I was confused before, and now I was just stunned.  This was the first time my dad had ever volunteered to talk about him.  I mean, sure, he acknowledged from the time I was old enough to understand that none of his genetic material was floating around my body.  That was never a secret kept from me.  And he had seemed perfectly content with my mom giving me the little bits and pieces of information I had asked for randomly.  But he had never contributed to those conversations or offered anything up.

“Ummm,” I said, feeling like I should say something, but not knowing what.  “Why?”

Instead of answering, he said, “How much do you know about him?”

Even though I was sure he knew what I knew, I responded automatically.  “I know what he looks like.  Or at least, what he looked like in 1987.  I know that he went to jail shortly after my mom got pregnant.  I know that mom has tried to keep up with where he is, but it’s hard, and it was hard to track him down to get him to terminate his rights so you could adopt me.”

“Prison,” my dad said. 

“What?”

“He went to prison shortly after your mother got pregnant.  Not jail.”

I frowned.  “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that jail is where you go when you caught driving drunk, or get in a bar fight.  Prison is where you go when you attempt to murder someone.” I blinked at him.  He cringed.  “This is not going the way I planned,” he said.  At least one of us had a plan.  “Your biological father was involved in a crime with some other people, and someone almost died.  Would have died, if the police hadn’t been called to the area on something unrelated.”

I broke in.  “I don’t want to know this,” I said.  “He doesn’t mean anything to me.  You’re my dad, you’ve always been my dad, and I don’t care about what he did or didn’t do.  It doesn’t matter.” 

“While I’m very glad to hear that,” he said wryly, “there’s a good reason I’m telling you this.  I won’t give you anymore details about him personally though, I respect that.”  He paused, looking at me for permission to go on.  I nodded reluctantly.  “Your mother hated not working.  She couldn’t wait until you turned 13, because in her mind, you were safer then and she could breathe easier. Why 13, I don’t know.” 

So far, all this conversation was doing was making me more confused.  “Your biological father was in and out of prison and jail.  He’d get out on parole, violate and get sent back.  Get out, get arrested for something new, go back.  Well, during one of the short times he was out, he asked to see you.”  This was new information.  I had always just assumed he didn’t want anything to do with me, even though no one had flat out told me that.  “Your mother said absolutely not, reminded him he had voluntarily terminated his rights.  He told her that he’d get to meet you, one way or another.”

He paused, giving me a chance to absorb this information.  When I nodded slowly to show that I was ready, he went on.  “Do you remember when we moved when you were 7?”  I did remember.  I remembered that was about the time my mom had stopped letting me go to friends’ houses for awhile.  I had been so angry, in my 7-year-old way.  “She was worried that he was going to find us and show up.  That he’d try to take you.  I don’t know if her fear was unfounded or not, but we took the necessary precautions anyway.  She tried to get an order for protection but since there was no direct threat, it was denied.” 

He waited, maybe waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t.  “You’re right.  We have been overprotective.  I’ll absolutely give you that.  But there have been good reasons for it.  Good reasons that your mom wrestled with, trying to figure out if it was better to tell you or not.  That poor woman stayed awake at night, arguing with herself about what to say to you, or if it was better that you didn’t know.  In the end, we decided not to tell you anything more than you asked.  It made the most sense that way.  In fact, she’s probably going to be furious with me for telling you now.  We didn’t want you living in fear—it was bad enough that we were.  Of course, we only heard from him once more, and never saw him again, but the fear was still there.”

I stared at him.  My thoughts were racing and I had no idea what to say.  I was at once furious they had kept this from me, and relieved that I hadn’t grown up fearing my biological father.  I wanted to understand why they had decided to be honest about my parentage but keep this important little tidbit a secret.  I had questions.  In the end, what came out my mouth was, “but why do you keep doing it?”

He smiled tightly.  “Your mother isn’t quite ready for you to be an adult.  Our ability to protect you is falling away rapidly, and it’s pretty scary for us.  We haven’t heard from him in many, many years, and the last I heard he was serving a very long sentence somewhere in South Dakota, but it’s the unknown that’s frightening.”  I looked at him, still trying to collect my thoughts.  “Do you have questions?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” I managed, “but I’m not quite sure what they are yet.”  At that moment, my cell phone rang.  It was Lauren, I’m sure, wondering where I was. 

“If you still want to go, go ahead.  I won’t ask any more questions.  When you get your questions together, you, me, and your mother can sit down and talk about it.”  He nodded at my purse, which was ringing again.  I answered the phone and told Lauren I was leaving shortly. 

My dad examined my face carefully as I stood up. “Are you okay?” he asked.  I looked at him blankly.  I had no idea.  “It’s okay if you’re angry,” he continued.  Good, because I was.  “And I’m not going to stop you from going out, but you look a little shaken up, and you might consider hanging out here for awhile.”

I shook my head.  “No, I need to go.  I think maybe we should talk tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” my dad agreed reluctantly.  “Call if you need anything, I’ll be home.”

I nodded and walked towards the door.  I needed to leave before my anger and confusion came out sideways at a person who had wanted nothing more than to protect me.  As I shut the front door behind me, I vowed to never need someone to protect me again.