The Periods of Being

Chapter XXXIII

Chapter XXXIII

She refuses dinner that night after being sick. She worries if she eats one bite, her stomach will lurch it up in protest. When she tells Julie that she is sick and will be staying in her room for the rest of the night instead of going to dinner, Julie tries to talk her out of her, thinking that she is avoiding a problem. This time, she isn't. Olive is physically sick to her stomach.

    "Can you please inform Mr. Sadder, so he can tell Neil that I am sick? Can you also tell him to tell Neil that I am fine and that he doesn't need to worry, too?" She asks Julie as she slips into bed. An evening dress hangs from Julie's arm as she stands by the doorway. She doesn't step forward to try to check her temperature or check the bathroom. If she did either one, she would see that Olive is actually sick and not faking it this time.

    But she doesn't. And because of this, she doesn't believe Olive's questions.

    "So, you want me to tell him that you are sick, but also fine?" She repeats back to her in confusion. "Olive, you can't skip another meal. You need to get out of bed, put on this dress, and go downstairs to the drawing-room where Neil is waiting for you. You can't skip a meal. He'll worry."

    "I'm not skipping a meal. I can't eat. I'm sick." Her words are short and shattered. Her thoughts can't process anything at the moment— it hasn't been able to process anything since the telephone call. Her stomach dares to empty bile through her mouth at the reminder of it. She swallows it down the best she could as she waits for Julie to answer her.

    "Olive..." She drags out. "Are you sure? What is ailing you?"

    Ailing me? She hasn't heard that word since her grandmother asked her such a question when she was crying when Freya pushed her after a game outside went sour. The question makes her feel like a child again, small and useless with a tiny mind. She clings to her duvet and looks down at the pattern. She lays on her side of the bed, but she knows after Julie leaves— if she does— she'll be laying on Mark's side, begging him to make her feel better.

    "I think it is something I ate. I haven't felt well since lunch," she lies. The lie slips out her lips as easily as a snake moves in the grass. Why did she lie? She could've told Julie, but she knows that she can't. Not because she worries how Julie might react, but because it means she'll have to say it aloud. The words blacken her mind already. She can't have it stain her lips as the vomit has. The taste still lingers despite her second attempt of bushing her teeth a few hours ago when the taste was still there after the first one. Her gums hide behind her lips in a red mess. She swallows again and entertains the thought of pretending to be sick in the bathroom to try to show Julie that she is actually sick and that she truly isn't pretending. She stresses over the idea that she might actually get sick if she does so, though, so she stays in bed, hoping that Julie takes the bait that she laid with her lie.

    She does.

    Olive sends a small pray to God in a thank you.

    "Do you want me to bring food up to you just in case you wish to eat later?"

    She shakes her. The mere thought of food makes her green.

    "No, but can I have some tea to try to settle my stomach?"

    "And maybe some crackers?" Julie adds in a question. "That might help as well." Julie's eyes are full of sincerity to the idea and it makes Olive crack under pressure. Some crackers won't hurt, she tells her stomach. She nods at her answer and Julie gives her a tiny, lip smile. "I'll go get you some warm tea and crackers then. I will be back with them in a moment's time. If you need me earlier than that, though, just ring for me and I'll rush up here." She says all this in a tone that reminders of her mother and Olive's muscles tighten with grief. Not the familiar grief that plagues her for Mark, but the grief for her loss of family.

    When was the last time I spoke with them? She wonders as she watches Julie leave the room.

    As the door clicks closed, she finds herself sitting up and going to her vanity. She doesn't know what she is doing until she is sitting down and opening the drawer where a stack of letters sit. The ones on top lay unopened, but the envelopes of the ones on the bottom are broken into. Olive wonders why she kept the ones opened since she's read them years and years ago. She shuffles through the letters and picks the ones unopened out. She lays them on her vanity. The sender's address reads her childhood manor with her sister's name, Freya Blythestone.

    Her heart clings onto the name.

    She knows. Andrew's ghost whispers in her ear.

    She holds her breath and doesn't let it go until she is holding one of the letters in her hands. She can't tell by the post which one is the oldest. When she received them, she threw them in her drawer. It is hard to tell because of her foolish nature.

    I should just open them all and use the date to sort them, she suggests to herself. She lets out a breath of air at the idea, but as her fingers are about to rip open the envelope, her mind reminds her that Julie will be back soon with tea and the crackers she only agreed to for Julie's sake. She gathers the letters and drops them back into the open drawer. She closes the drawer with her foot and stands up to get a wave of nausea at the sudden movement. She leans over on the vanity and looks up to the mirror.

    Her reflection isn't her.

    It's a sick version of her.

    A truly awful version of herself.

    She stares at the reflection and studies it. Her mind wanders at the sight of her disheveled hair and her red eyes.

    "Should I open the letters, Olive?" She asks herself. The words taste like iron on her tongue and sting her raw gums. "Or should I toss them out? Should I ask for a fire to burn them? What should I do?" She cries out to her sickened-self. She waits for an answer, but she finds that she is the only one with the answer, and it's been bothering her since her fight with Freya that night about the letters and about everything all at once.

     She needs to read them. Her heart beats wildly at the answer to all of her wandering questions. The letters might give her an answer, and if they don't, she'll be able to use them as an excuse to contact Freya.

    Because if Freya knows, she deserves a letter. She deserves a pile of letters after all the letters that she has sent that were left without a reply.

    Olive shuffles back to her back and slumps back under the covers. She'll wait for Julie to come up with the tea and crackers. Once she is gone, she'll sit back down at the vanity and read the letters. She'll open them all, sort them by the date, and read them. She'll read them. She needs to. Because maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to find words of forgiveness in those letters. If not, she'll have to beg for them.