The Periods of Being

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXI

    She tries to sit far from Freya and Andrew in spite, but it is hard to do so since they make up half of the company. She sits in between Freya and Henry as Marina and Andrew sit across from them, making Henry sit at the head of the table like a true man of the manor.

    Olive takes her seat and avoids any eye contact as the footmen bring the trays piled with food around the table. The smell is divine and causes her stomach to wake up from its sickness. She gulps down any drool. Her stomach screams in excitement when one of the footmen brings a plate over to her. The plate is full of potatoes and vegetables. Everything she needs to save her body from shutting down any day now. She lifts her hands up to grab the spoon to scoop some out with her mother's voice stops her in her tracks.

    "Olive, your gloves."

    She bites her lip as she notices she hasn't taken off her gloves, and that her mother noticed. Mothers always notice things.

    She holds her hands in her lap for a second, looking down at the gloves and already knowing what is under them. They don't. They don't know the scars and they will gasp. She already knows. Her mother will ask. Her father will tell her to be more careful. Freya will say she can't stay tonight. Andrew will say she is unwell next time they are alone and he is the only cure. She is ready to barf at the imaginary scenarios in her head. She is foolish to think all this, but once she pulls the fingers of her gloves off and pulls them clean off, she wishes she didn't.

    The cuts broke. Blood seeps through the bandages but dried. She is clean to eat, but not without a few gasps traveling around the table like they are breathing in the same gasp and passing it around.

    "Your hands? What happened?" It is Marina who speaks first. The footman that was about to give her food steps away. Not in disgust, but in confusion if he should serve her in her visible state.

    Please, I need food, she wants to say to him, but her attention lays on the bandages wrapped around her hands. She should've known it wasn't sweat she felt, but blood. She wants to cry at the sight, but she doesn't. Not in front of this company. Maybe in front of Julie, but not in front of a company that doesn't understand.

    Does she know they don't, though?

    No, she is just thinking they don't. It's the mourning speaking.

    "A teacup," she starts to say without looking at them. "It slipped and I tried to pick of the pieces." A lie.

    She turns to her father to see he is looking down at his plate full of potatoes and vegetables. He is probably ashamed. Probably not sure to say about the blood.

    The footman steps forward and scoops her food for her.

    "Tell me when," he says with a smile she really needed. After two scoops, she says when. He leaves to serve Freya, whose eyes are trained on the hands of her sister's. The same hands she was just touching in the drawing-room. Olive wonders if she is thinking of it as a disease like she is tainted because blood has been spilled like a battlefield.

    Don't, don't use that analogy, she tells herself, breaking her contact with Freya's eyes and back onto her plate as she waits for the other tray to be circulated to her.

    Freya scoops up her own meal and then turns to Olive. Her heart drops at the crawl that her eyes have, pulling her in and telling her to tell the truth.

    "Are you okay?"

    It's that question. Again.

    She keeps her hands hidden in her lap away from any unbreakable stares.