The Bikini Syndrome | WATTYS2019

» thirty-one: the second popsicle

A few days later, the last bits of Holly's cold slipped away in her sleep.

She decided the next day, she'd return to work.

Her finger tapped on the steering wheel impatiently as she waited for the red light to turn green. She wondered how she should react when she saw Oliver.

Sorry for freaking out on you, my therapist told me I'm having emotional coping issues. Oh, also I'm clinically diagnosed as a mental mess right now.

Or, maybe I've decided to swear off men for the rest of my life and have decided to commit to a nunnery and take a vow of chastity, so it's not you, it's me would sound better.

The light turned green. Her car surged forward into the flow of traffic towards the beach. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, and her hands were so sweaty they were practically slipping off the wheels.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

She did this all the way until she got to Cafe By the Sea.

She could tell that Oliver was surprised when she walked in, but he tried to hide it. "Smoothie?" he said.

Holly shook her head. She felt shy all of a sudden. "No, I had breakfast."

He nodded, then retreated to the backroom. Holly didn't blame him. She wouldn't know how to act in his situation either. But she felt like he deserved at least an explanation, or some kind of reassurance that she didn't hate him, and she really appreciated his help and his comfort, but she just needed her own time and space right now.

She ended up saying none of that, though every time she saw him that day, the words seemed to sit at the edge of her tongue, ready to fly out whenever she opened her mouth.

At six o' clock sharp, Oliver tossed her his keys. "You should grab a popsicle on the way out," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

Holly didn't see any reason to refuse, so she took one.

It almost felt like everything was back to normal. Almost.

That was, until she saw him in the parking lot.

Holly had been taking a bite out of her popsicle — mango flavored — and was fumbling in her purse for her keys.

He was standing in the shadow of a street light, his eyes narrowed, looking for someone.

It was obvious who he was looking for.

Her.

Holly dropped her popsicle — she didn't notice until later that she'd done so — and broke into a mad run for her car.

All the while, she was berating herself for running, since that would only draw attention to her. But it had been more of a reflex than an actual conscious action she'd decided on. She saw him, she felt afraid, so she ran.

He caught up to her quickly.

"Hey!"

He kept yelling, trying to get her attention, but Holly kept running. Why had she parked so damn far?

Her purse kept slamming into her butt every time her foot hit the pavement, and Holly could hear her heartbeat keeping time with her purse.

Thump - thwack, thump - thwack, thump - thwack.

It didn't actually take long for him to catch up to her. He grabbed her by her shoulder, wrenching it back so she had no choice but to face him.

"Drop the charges," he growled.

Holly couldn't speak at first, partly because she was still catching her breath, partly because her mind had gone white with panic and fear.

"L-le-let go of me," Holly said, trying to back away.

"You bitch." His face, scrunched up in an ugly sneer, was barely an inch away from hers, and she felt his hot breath blasting all over her face. "You were the one asking for it. You must love the attention you're receiving right now, pretending you got attacked, pretending you were the victim."

When Holly didn't say anything — she couldn't — he scowled.

"Cat got your tongue? You sure were vocal that night, though. Where'd all that sass go, huh?"

He shoved her away, and Holly stumbled backwards. She almost fell on the butt right then and there; her legs felt like tofu and her knees seemed to have taken a vacation to the Bermuda Triangle. But she managed to stay upright, barely.

"Drop the charges right now. Then you'll never see me again. I don't want to see your sorry ass face ever again. But if you don't..."

He trailed off, and in other circumstances, Holly might have laughed at the ridiculous ultimatum. It didn't sound especially scary, and it even felt like he'd lifted the lines from some Mad Max movie.

But in the almost empty parking lot, with twilight descending and the street lights flickering on, his face was wrapped in terrifying shadows. Holly was trembling and still couldn't seem to catch her breath.

"I-I-I w-won't," she said, with all the spite and courage she could muster. She almost cried saying just that much.

He was in front of her in an instant, anger lighting up his face like an explosion. She saw his bunched up hand in her periphery and flinched. Her hands flew up to her face, and now the tears were flowing freely.

She was so, so scared. But it felt like her legs were stuck to the spot. And even if she were to move, she knew she couldn't get far before she either tripped from her unsteadiness, or he caught up to her.

The blow never came.

"Stop that. Leave now, or I will call the cops."

Holly opened one eye, and peeked through her fingers. Oliver was standing in front of her. He had Rohan's wrist in a tight grip, and was blocking Holly with his body.

"Who're you? Her boyfriend?"

"That's none of your business."

Rohan laughed. "You're probably her next victim. She looks like that, all pathetic—" Holly flinched. "—and scared, but she's just a slut. Watch out, or you'll end up like me."

He gave Holly a glance, then strode away easily, his hands stuck in his pocket casually, as if they just had a nice, long conversation about hot dogs or the weather.