ALL MY LUCKY STARS

Olivia

"I can't believe you're leaving already. It feels like you just got here."

"I know," I sighed. "But I really had a great time. This was exactly what I needed." I was visiting my best friend of eight years, Monica. We didn't live in the same state anymore– we used to be roomies in college, and became best friends. The rest is history. Now she lives on the other side of the Hudson, while I still live in the shitty Manhattan apartment we used to share.

"And please, please, PLEASE don't hesitate to call me if you need anything. Liam was a jerk and he never deserved you." Oh God, I hope she doesn't say what I think she is. "And, not to bring attention to it, but I did tell you so." Yup. There it is.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Monica, I know. This is the hundredth time you've said it since I told you."

She sighed. "Well, Olivia, can you blame me? I was trying to prevent this from happening. You knew he was no good for you." No good for me didn't even cover it. I still couldn't bear to tell her all the details of the night he stormed out on me, the last night, and the next thing I remembered from that was waking up in the hospital. Hell, she didn't know about the other times either. But I can't bring myself to tell her that there had been more than one instance. It still stung too much.

"No, I can't blame you, and I should have listened. It would have saved me a lot." She eyed me carefully.

"Is there more you're hiding from me? Should you stay another week? Please, I won't say 'I told you so' ever again if you tell me."

No. I can't. "I'm fine. I really should get going. My uber is here." Truth is, I don't want to leave. But if I stay, I'll only start crying and telling her everything, which I guess a good best friend would do, but I don't want to be good right now. I just want to be alone.

"Okay, well please let me know when you get home."

"I will," I assured her, then pulled her in for a hug. She held me tightly, like this would be the last time she saw me. It hurts for a reason I can't yet explain.

I left and met with my Uber outside. Everything would be okay.

-: ✧ :-

When I arrived at my little old apartment, I felt relieved. It's funny how even when something happens to you, no matter how big or small, the world keeps turning. Nobody really cares. Nobody knows I just dumped my abusive ex-boyfriend. They just see a woman, slightly wrinkled, a lot tired, with dark under-eyes, and a Fuschia suitcase. Or they don't see at all because they never look up from their phones.

"Want a hand with your luggage?" the driver asked.

"I'm fine, thank you. And thank you for the ride." He mumbled a deep "hmpf" before opening his trunk.

Perhaps I should have asked for help since my suitcase is at least ten pounds heavier than it was before my trip, which was already heavy to begin with. Monica always gives me stuff– now that she lives in New Jersey with her husband, she's saved a lot of money, which she spoils me rotten with her new abundance of cash. She's always felt like a sister to me.

My suitcase dropped to the floor, and I hope to God that I didn't break the expensive perfume she gifted me. Well, the five expensive perfumes she gifted me.

Along with her mother's vase that she gave me.

And crystals she gave me because she swore it would help me find inner peace.

"Shit," I muttered.

"Need a hand?" I heard from around me. My long hair– Jesus Christ, I needed a haircut– blocked my vision as I bent down to grab it. All I saw was a golden hand reaching for it first.

I looked up in front of me and saw a person between the thin strands of my hair. A guy. No, not just a guy. A man. A beautiful, handsome–

"Here you go," he says, lifting my suitcase up like it was weightless. His voice felt like honey. Smooth, rich, and sexy. Could honey be sexy?

"Thank you." I brush the hair out of my face and meet his eyes. Brown. My favorite.

He looks stunned, like actually speechless.

"I'm Alexander." His voice had a nervousness underneath, one that wasn't there before.

"Olivia."

"Do you need a hand up? Is this you?" He gestured towards my ugly building.

"Unfortunately." He chuckled. A deep chuckle. I liked the sound of that.

"Sorry, I don't mean to intrude or push."

"I could actually use a hand, yes. I have another bag I need to carry anyway. But I will warn you, I have a cat."

"Okay?" he looked perplexed.

"So, if you try to murder me, he will kill you," I said sternly.

A deep, bellied laugh came out of him. "Oh, is that so? How did you train him to do that?"

A question I couldn't answer quite yet. I never knew before I had a cat that they could be protective, the way dogs usually are. But Pudding was very protective of me. I think Liam taught him that, not me. But still, this small conversation has me blushing for a reason I haven't been able to pinpoint.

"Just luck, I think." He looked at me again, just a few beats too long for him to justify saying anything else. Like he just wanted to look at me. My cheeks started to feel hot, and I knew they were pink. I always blushed. Sometimes at literally nothing. Or, I'll be replaying a memory in my head and start grinning like an idiot. I know how expressive my cheeks can be. I think they are doing that now.

We made our way up my gross apartment, feeling slightly embarrassed by how broken and beaten it was. But it was a place to live after all.

When we got to my door, I thanked him, and he said, "No worries," as though he did this regularly. Maybe he did?

We said goodbye, and he walked down the hall until I could no longer see him. I fumbled with my keys, feeling shaky and nervous from our interaction when I heard footsteps approaching.

"Hey, again, I don't mean to push or intrude, but could I get your number?"

Now it was my turn to look at him, stunned at what I was being asked. I rarely ever got asked for a number. And I rarely ever gave it out. But yet...

"Sure," I said. He seemed genuinely happy. "Let me have your phone."

He handed it over with no hesitation like he had it waiting, prepared for me to take it. I was taken aback a little, wondering what about me he liked so much after such a short exchange. Maybe it was what I was liking about him that I wanted to see more. His lazy smile, his warm eyes. The way the lines around his eyes are more apparent when I make him smile. His Adam's apple and the way it moved when he talked.

I rang my own phone from his, and he could hear the ringtone. I canceled the call and handed it back. "I'll save your number when I get inside," I said shyly.

"No rush. Just glad to have it. And a real one, at that." He smiled. A nice smile. A nice mouth. Made me wonder what it could do.

"Thanks again," I said. He bowed his head down and walked away. I wasn't particularly happy about this. This wasn't a part of my "self-care" plan.

I got inside and poured myself a glass of wine while I unpacked and washed my clothes (thanks to Monica for spoiling me with a brand-new washer and dryer before she left so I wouldn't have to go to the laundromat alone). I put on some music just to have in the background, while Pudding watched me dance around the living room from the couch.

I was thankful for my neighbor Nancy for feeding Pudding while I was gone. But he did look like he gained a few extra pounds in the short week I was gone.

"You," I started, "Need to stop eating so much." He meowed from across the room and quickly ran to me when I opened a new can of food. I sat next to him while he ate, petting him and hearing him purr. Who knew a cat could make you so damn happy?

I felt excited to start a new chapter in my life. I didn't know what to expect, or if it'd be pleasant. But nonetheless, I was starting it whether I was ready or not.