At Odds...

The door is thrown open and my heart really does stop and I let out a whimper. I flinch away from the door frame, trying to burrow deeper into the corner. While I am mortified by what is about to happen, I don't want to cry. I'm angry. Angry that this is how I will die. Not of old age, or even by an illness. I'm going to be killed for reasons that have nothing to do with me. I'm angry I won't be able to help the Russells now of all times.

How unfair for them.

Someone gets on their knees, grabs a hold of me and I shove them away. I will put up whatever fight I need to for as long as I can. For Roxy and the Russells.

"Annabelle."

I pounce the boy, tears springing into my eyes, my anger instantly evaporating from me, "Oliver! You're alive! I thought they got you! I thought they killed you or kidnapped you!" I tighten my embrace around his neck, my tears soaking his clothes. I see that his arms are out in space, like they were when Molly hugged him.

I never thought I'd be so happy to see him.

"You thought I was the one kidnapped or killed? Have you seen the rest of the house?"

"You said you'd be gone an hour! One hour! So I thought they got to you as you walked up the front path." I breathe in a choppy breath,"You were gone for over three hours! You lied! So I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry, I really am so sorry. Those guys wouldn't let me go in the middle of the discussion since I was late. I tried to leave at one on the dot, but they forced me to stay."

Everything comes out in a rush. "They destroyed the house, I think, because I haven't had a chance to look around because I thought you were them again so I ran to hide again. But then again, I heard every rip, tear, and shatter. I am sorry I couldn't do anything for what they did. I wish I could have stopped them but I was too scared to move at first and there was atleast two of them. And they stood right in front of the door, torturing me because I help my breath until I passed out. And-"

"Annabelle, calm down. You're safe now."

"I know, it's just-"

Oliver wraps his arms around me, shutting me up. "Its just nothing. You're fine now. They didn't hurt you and they still can't." I want to believe him, but I can't, so I keep crying into him. He lays his head on mine, and brushes down my messy hair. "It's okay, Annabelle."

"I'm so sorry. I am so sorry," I drone over and over again. I don't know what else to say.

And each time I say it he'd say, "Stop apologizing. This is not your fault." And I do know this isn't my fault.

It's his fault.

Eventually I stop the crying, but not before he picks me up like he did last night and carries me to my bed. I didn't want to let go, but I forced myself to unlock my arms from his neck. He offers to tuck me in, but I decline and we just sit there, waiting for the other to speak.

"Wh-" I start, but my throat is hoarse from the weeping. I cough and clear my throat and start again, "What did you do to him for him to come here and destroy your family's stuff?"

He brow wrinkles, "What are you talking about?"

"They said you owed them money. That that out there was to send you a message. I thought you weren't in the mob."

"I'm not. And I don't owe anyone anything."

He's starting to tick me off. I don't like liars. "Well then what the hell was that, Oliver? He said..." I drop my sentence. He said 'Hastings' wasn't here. He never said Oliver's name. So that means... "Why are all fathers that are business men scum?"

"Do not insult my father." His expression is hard. "He had nothing to do with that."

"Yes, he did. Your father is who they were talking about. Not you. Your father owes that man ten thousand dollars for something. Your father is why your things were destroyed." I pause to think about some other coincidences. "Your father wanted your house maids off because he knew he was coming. He wanted you out of the house at the specific time because he knew it. This is all your father's fault."

"Just stop. Just stop it. He'd never do anything like that. Sure he has an illegal alcohol once in a while, but my father is a good businessman. He doesn't get involved with mobsters."

"Well, you're wrong."

He fumbles his words, "Well- he- You're sick. You heard wrong."

"My head hurts, but my ears are perfectly fine. Your father cheated that guy. Or as he said it, he 'double crossed' him." Oliver crosses his arms and turns away from me. Whose the stubborn one now? I snap at him, "Okay. If its not his fault, then whose is it?"

He stands up, "I need to call the police." And he walks out of the room. But I'm not through with him. I follow him out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room. He tells me to go back to bed, but I ignore him every time. I think I step on a couple shards of glass, but I pesist until I get to the living room,

Then I'm frozen again. The once beautiful room has truly been destroyed. The cushions on the chairs have been ripped up so the fluff inside came out the tears. All the glass I recall has been smashed to smithereens on the floor. Books has pages torn out and throw everywhere. Painting have holes in them. Every destructive sound resonates in my ears and I cover them, wanting it to stop. But it doesn't, making my anger bubble.

Finally, I burst. "Come on! Tell me! Whose fault was this if it wasn't mine, or yours or your good ol' dad's? Your mother's I suppose? Or maybe mine! Oh, even better, my own father since I am the only child in the world with a terrible man for a father! No! It was me! I tore it all up! I was so miserable with Arthur's death, I had to lash out at something! Sorry I didn't stay in bed like I promised, Oliver!"

I go over to the ruined couch, "I took a knife and cut it all up," I take a cushion and threw it at him, but he deflects it. Somehow that annoys me even more. "And stabbed your paintings and rippped those books. Then for a symphony of chaos, I threw some vases or crystal around because it was too darn fun!"

I step up to him, point a finger in his face, suck in a large breath to shout something else out, but I let it out through my nose. I throw my hands in the air and head for the door. "I quit." I stop at the door, remembering my few possesions and run to my room. Since all I have are the clothes he bought me, I change into the leisure pants and my painting shirt. I stuff my sketchbook, charm bracelet, and tighten my ribbon. I have no shoes that aren't heels, so I just scoop up Roxy, and walk out the front door barefoot, past Oliver talking on the phone.

I'm almost to the sidewalk when he calls out for me. "Annabelle!" No, I will not accept your apology! "Annabelle. Get your ass back here!"

"No! I quit remember?! I don't have to listen to you anymore!"

"Oh, yes you do!"

"No I don't! And you can't make me!" This is exhilerating. I feel liberated after such a disasterous day.

"What about the Russells?! I mean you can't let down Jane, Jimmy, Teddy and poor innocent Molly, can you?!" Damnit. He got me. "I thought so," he says curtly. I turn on my heel and head back up the path, through the front door and back to my room.

I hate him.

The police come and check out the place. I try to stay in my room, but since I was the only witness, they interogate me about every detail. The strangest feeling of deja vu takes me over. This was me when my father shot himself. Only I knew who commited the crime that time. I have no idea who the men were just hours ago. Images of my dead father swin in my head as they question me over and over again.

They all leave after the sun has set. Oliver and I are left by ourselves, with no one to guard us, assured they'll catch those men. I doubt it, but say nothing.

For the rest of the week, Oliver and I are at odds with one another. We haven't had a single real conversation. We only speak to one another in the presence of someone else. At those points in time, we act like Monday never happened, unless someone asks about it (word spreads quickly). And even then, we act like my out burst never happened. We never fought about his father, I never quit the job they have no inkling about, and he never pulled a guilt trip.

In front of the society that still talks about me behind my back, we act like a new young couple. Staying rather close to the other, his arm around my waist, my hand in his when appropriate and him being a gentleman. But in the back of both of minds, we are both cursing the other for what happened Monday. I have to say we are amazing actors. Not one person saw a divide between us. Or no one cared to look for one. Well, except for Danielle, but she seems to be all over every boy that seems to have another girl on his arm.

Scratch what I said earlier. We did have real conversations. Real being used loosely. We didn't have peacful conversations. Not even a simple 'good night' was exchanged this week. We argued about everything, and not like we did just days ago. We weren't teasing ot poking fun at one another. We were screaming and yelling and shouting. And over the most pointless things ever.

Oliver and I argued about the Russells. "We need to visit them!" he snaps from across the dinner table.

I snap back, "No! We can't!"

"And why not? I find it odd that I'm the one suggesting it and you're not seeing as their your family or something."

"I don't want to tell them about Monday... And I don't want to lie to them!"

"What would you be lying about? You don't even have to bring it up."

"We can't come in there like this," I gesture to us both, "I can't act like nothing happened in front of them. Your people-"

"What do you mean my people?"

"I mean rich, pretentious people who think they're so much better than everyone just because they have money. Your people don't care for each other, unless its benefitting you. I caer for that family and I can't outright lie to their faces. But I guess you wouldn't understand that since you've never been dirt poor!"

"You should be happy I've got the money, or else you're out of a job! And so you and your precious family would have nothing!"

And about now, I'd storm out, fuming and mumbling things about him under my breath. By that night, we'd act like we never thought about fighting.

Other arguements include the people we meet and how clearly fake they are, how things have changed since I've lived in this house, how our acting was and how awful the other's was, still not visiting my little family, me quitting, and then of course we continued Monday's debate over whose fault it was. He has yet to place blame on anyone. All he seems to know is that it had nothing to do with his father.

We went to the Ritz almost every night as well. The pair of us would walk the streets to the back alley and meet our friends with smiles and act as we did with the wealthy, only more casually. Though some people picked up something between us.

"Hey, Annabelle?" Camille pulls me aside from the bar. I was sitting next to Oliver, until she takes me a fair distance away. "Is there something going on between you and Oliver?"

I cock an eyebrow and tilt my head, "What do you mean?"

She look at me hard, "I don't know, something seems so... off. The stuff you guys are doing and saying comes off as... forced."

"Oh no! We're fine!" I look over her shoulder at Oliver and smile.

But when I look back at her, she's folded her arms and looking at me sternly. "See? Now that looked forced. Tonight and the other night and the night before that... I don't know. I know Oliver doesn't tend to stick with the same girl for a long time, but I thought you'd be here a while."

"I can't look at him? You and Tina loved it Saturday."

"Well, Saturday, you too looked goofy with the way you were acting around each other. Everyone, and I do mean everyone loved it. And now everyone notices the difference. Its almost cold they way you're talking."

"There is no difference. We're still... goofy, whatever that means."

"In love."

I spit out my drink, thankfully missing Camille with the spray. I wipe my mouth and place my cup on a nearby table. "We aren't in love, but there's nothing wrong. We haven't been happier than being with each other."

She looks at me again and shakes her head, "I don't believe you one bit."

"How can I prove to you that I'm not lying?"

She smirks, "Oh no. No no no. If things change, then I'll notice. I'm not going to tell you what I'm looking for. It won't be that easy." I roll my eyes. "Well, I hope you guys fix things. I really like you. But if you don't you're still welcome here." She gives me a wink then leans in to whisper in my ear, "If you ever need to talk to anyone about relationships, or anything at all, I'm always availiable. You know where my shop is."

"Okay. Thanks Camille, but there's nothing to talk about."

"Whatever you say, doll. Whatever you say."

She takes me back over to the bar, next to Oliver and our night continues. I try to act more coupley with him, keeping myself attached to him the whole night, trying to prove Camille even though she's right, but every time I look over to her for confirmation, she shakes her head. And nothing I do is making her happy.

This causes another fight. As soon as we're out of earshot of anyone from the speakeasy, we begin hissing harsh words back and forth. It gets louder once we make it home. I pull off his coat and throw it at him with a snarl.

"Well if you weren't trying so hard, it wouldn't be so easy!"

"Camille knew we were faking days ago! Everyone does! She told me! So now she's going to be looking at us under a magnifying glass! Oh wait, except for Saturday! I was told we looked goofy. That means we looked like we were in love! What would I be in love with the likes of you?!" I shudder and make a gagging noise.

"Oh please! You're lucky enough to be in my presence! Why would anyone think I was in love you!? You're just some stubborn, irritating girl and... and-!" He can't even finish his sentence. Idiot.

I scoff him, "And you're an annoying, idiotic, snarky rich boy who thinks the world belongs to him!"

He gives me one of his smirks, "That you depend on. If it weren't for me-"

"Ugh. I know! I know! You don't have to say it again! The Russells!" He always wins the arguement when he brings them up. I hate that. I hate him for that.

I stomp off to my room, too frustrated to keep at it. I slam my door, then my bathroom door, and start my bath. I wash myself slowly, trying to take up as much time as possible then reluctantly get into bed.

For the past week, I have had hardly any sleep. I'm haunted by the noises of the house being torn apart. Flashbacks of the gun shot of my father run through my head and every movement and sound sends a quiver down my spine. That makes me want to panic. What if its them again? Would they come at night? I wonder if they came to finish off their job, or to finish us off. If I nod off even a little, the slightest thing will jolt we awake for atleast another hour. The first night I tried to sketch in my book to pass the time, but I couldn't do much in the dark and I'm too lazy to get up to turn on the lights.

I typically don't allow my eyes to close until I see the sun. And since I still haven't been able to get my body to rest in bed past nine, I usually only get less than a handful of sleep. But tonight I feel restless. I wait until I am absolutely positve that Oliver's asleep before slipping into the backyard. I sit in the soft green grass, inder the light of the moon.

Being out here is soothing to my nerves. The noise don't make me jump as much. I lay down on my side, head onmy arm like a pillow and take in the serenity. No fighting, not mobsters, not gunshots follow me to this wonderful place. Its so peaceful, I can't help but nod off...