The Periods of Being

Chapter XXXXI

Chapter XXXXI

Dinner brushes by in a haze. Marina and Henry hold the conversations throughout dinner, hoping that someone will join, but no one does. Olive speaks a few times when she is addressed to, but other than that, she eats, drinks, and stays silent. Her heart still healing from Freya's demands of her leaving soon after they'll talk. She eats two bowls of soup to try to fill the emptiness of her stomach and heart, to try to warm her insides after Freya's cold request, but nothing heats her up. Not even the smiles that her parents send her way when they see her ask for a third bowl, pleased to see their daughter eat.

    Andrew plays an unexpected silent role throughout dinner. A few times, Olive catches herself staring at him, hoping that he would speak or even ask how she is, but if she thinks that he would speak to her after his one-sentence telephone call, she should be admitted to a hospital for insanity. He would, in the past, speak freely to Henry like he was their son, but now, he acts like it is a stranger to them like he was passing by and decided to give them a visit after too many years, and now he doesn't know what to say. But he isn't a visitor, he lives here. He is the heir to this estate, but he stares into the depths of his soup like he wishes to leave it.

     Freya speaks quietly back and forth to Marina during the duration of dessert. Olive worries that she might be speaking about her in an ill manner, but when she realizes that Marina is the one speaking and Freya is the one listening— or at least, trying to pretend that she is, her worries subside. Their hushed whispers fill the room in a buzz, and Olive tries her best not to intervene in them. She trains her ears on the scrapping of spoons and her eyes on her plate of chocolate truffle cake.

     Olive declines the offer of going into the library to play games of cards with Marina and Freya.

     "I'm going to retire to bed." Marina tries to get her to stay, but she pulls the card of: "I'm tired from my journey today," she offers as an apology. No one stops her after she fakes an explanation and for some reason that hurts her. She believes for a short moment that her mother would insist on her to stay since her absence of two years, but they watch her leave and send her goodbyes and goodnights.

     She descends up into the bedroom that she knows all too well with tears ready to burst through the seams of her eyelashes. She blinks them away the best she can to hold onto her ability to see. She counts each step of the grand staircase to clear her mind, but she doesn't make it farther than two before she decides to rush up the rest of the steps.

     Her mind starts to run wild with thoughts and before she can seal them away with the others, she finds herself embracing them, allowing them to pour out of her like a never-ending conscience stream.

     Two. Two days that I thought I would have and now I'm leaving tomorrow. Why is this killing me? I would've been glad for only two days, but not now. I want more. I need more. I can't leave so early. I need to make sure that Freya understands that she regrets that night. That she wishes that it never happened. She doesn't want Freya to think it was intentional. It wasn't. The only thing intentional here is Freya's cold command for her to leave right after dinner tomorrow night.

     Her thoughts continue and fill her ears with a familiar ringing. They escape the cage and now she can't find the key to try to lock them away, so she sets them free and sets her mind ablaze with tainted thoughts and ideas of reasons behind her regretful life. She walks into her room without care and the door slams back in its hinges without her intention for it to do so. She jumps at the sudden slam and holds her breath.

1...

2...

3...

    She gasps and then holds it again. She goes five counts this time. Her counting becomes her mantra and her heart slows down. She lets out the last breath she holds in. Her feet guide her over to the velvet rope and she pulls down, summoning Julie to come up to help her get ready for the night. Her tears, despite her calming heart, won't cease. They trail down as she sits at her vanity. Stop, stop, she pleas, but they continue down the running stream of her cheeks. She wipes them away. The strays trail down to the corners of her lips, leaving salty kisses on the dried cracks of her lips.