[fanfiction] - Adam Carlson's POV of the Love Hypothesis

utter chaos

"The kiss. Explain." 

So, she DOES know about a Title IX complaint. Which left only one conclusion: 

She was messing with me. On a scale from one to ten on how much I feared over the last two years, that Olive (or some very attentive bystander) might catch my pining, I reached a full twelve. 

And here we are. 

Without even bothering to at least make some random smalltalk beforehand, she pressed her lips onto mine. Like a person would for a dare. 

Turns out Olive IS the thread. 

To me. 

And I am threatended. By my complete lack of self protection. Just wandered right into this ... whatever this is. 

"Anh Pham." Olive's voice sounds like defeat. And I don't understand, but she continues, before I can follow up. 

"The girl who was passing by. She's a graduate student in den biology department."

I would nod, yet I can't. And she wouldn't even notice, so I don't grudge myself over my inability to move, to react. No, she's way too busy staring holes into the cheap linoleum we're standing on. 

"Anh has... I was seeing this guy in the department. Jeremy Langley, he has red hair and works with Dr. ... Anyway, we went out just a couple of times, and then I brought him to Anh's birthday party, and they just sort of hit if off and-"

I malfunction. Unexpectedly but probably beyond repair. Because my brain, the very only tool with which I successfully work on my career and manage my whole life - this brain has just collapsed. No more proper cognitive connections left, tying information correctly to each others. 

Because I'm devastatingly stuck on one thought, that is leading ABSOLUTELY nowhere. 

Olive Smith dating. 

I mean of course. 

But still. 

Dating. Someone. Being close. Pressing those soft, dry lips to theirs. Wrapping her slender frame around theirs for an embrace. Sharing thoughts. Hopes. Feelings. 

Olive Smith, dating. 

Dating a red haired Jeremy Langley, who I never recognized in any way - hair or name. 

Hate him on the spot. 

With absolute force. 

I clench my teeth real hard to keep my malwired brain from trying to ask follow up questions. 

Sad, pitiful ones, like 'Why me?' or something like that. No. I forbid it. Clearly it's better to just bite off my own tongue. 

"...tonight. I told her I'd be on a date tonight."

The word 'date' seems to snap me out of my daze. How - cynical. 

"Ah". My mouth creates a sound. Not my proudest moment, but at least I did successfully forced myself to a reaction. And I'm still standing. Still breathing, still kind of functioning. 

And she continues. With the mumbled words, I only half catching up with. Also, with the intense staring at the floor. 

"... just needed her to believe that I was on a date."

"So you kissed the first person you saw on the hallway. Perfectly logical." I DO sound normal. At least to my own ears. But maybe even my normal voice is like a vice, because Olive flinches right in front of me. Helplessly I almost swallow my tongue. 

"When you put it like that, perhaps it wasn't my best moment."

Perhaps?

PERHAPS?

"But it wasn't my worst either! I'm pretty sure Anh saw us. Now she'll think that I was on a date with you and she'll hopefully feel free to go out with Jeremy and - she sighs ever so softly - Listen. I'm so, so sorry about the kiss."

I'm not. And that might be the biggest problem of all. 

I'm totally ruined by a ... coincidence.

And she's sorry. Really sorry, from what I can tell. Not only apologetic but clearly rueful as well. 

"Are you?" 

Now, heat and red spots rush back into her cheeks. 

"Please, don't report me. I really thought I heard you say yes. I promise I didn't mean to..."

It is blindingly obvious that she regrets. But before I can muster up any form of answer, her demeanor changes again, rapidly. Somehow her features get darkened. Clouded. 

"Actually, you're absolutely right. And I am so sorry. If you felt in any way harassed by me, you really should report me, because it's only fair. It was a horrific thing to do, though I really didn't want to... Not that my intentions matter; it's more like your perception of... I'm going to leave now, okay? Thank you and ... I am so, so, so sorry."

That's a lot of pretending so's. 

But I don't have any chance to process. Can't get even a second to react, because she spins around, hot on her heels and just simply flees the scene. 

And I hear a desperate voice - icy and hoarse at the same time - calling her name. A thousand layers of trapped emotions hidden in just a few syllables. But she can't hear me anymore (or she doesn't care). It doesn't matter - it's the exact same outcome: 

Olive Smith just left me.