Pall Malls + Poetry // Judd Birch x OC/Reader

An Intimate Affair

"I've been thinking about it again."

The moment Olivia read those words scrawled down on sketchpad paper in fuchsia ink, her heart dropped.

"Did you know that? I think about it every fucking day. Some nights I stay up all night running my fingers over my scars and consider making more. I did make a few more. Did you know that?"

It was early when Emily's mother found the note. So early that her husband wasn't awake to hear her sobs. What a terrible thing — to lose both the first and second loves of her life.

"I'm leaving, but I'm okay. I promise. I'm not safe here. I'm not safe anywhere near him, and you know that."

Olivia heard the creaking of floorboards above her head. She heard the squeak of an old bedspring and couldn't help but to wonder if her own daughter had ever been taken to that same bed.

No. Had her daughter been forced into that same bed?

"I'm not mad at you, mom. Please don't be mad at me. You'll hear from me in a few months, promise. This is for the best. I'm safe. I'm warm. I'm loved. Talk to you soon. Em xx"

Bruce came down the staircase bleary eyed and half dressed. There was no sign of his wife. No carafe steaming with fresh coffee like he was usually greeted with every morning. It wasn't normal for Olivia to stray from her normal routine, but he'd cut her a little slack. Things hadn't been easy since Emily's abrupt departure.

Besides, she wasn't far away. He could hear her shuffling around in Emily's room. Maybe his wife was fumbling around in her daughter's things again. Searching for any sign as to where she'd gone or who she was with. The woman did that often.

In reality, Olivia was reading a poem. The most gut wrenching, reality shattering words she'd ever read. They were beautiful and painful and fucking finally put everything into perspective.

"You died screaming,

yet

the monster

who took your place

was silent."

And she was still silent.

As Olivia folded up the goodbye letter and tucked it into her shirt pocket, she was silent.

She wiped the tears from her face and patted her cheeks to break up the blood. Splashed a bit of cold water on herself in the hall bathroom so that her husband wouldn't know and then made her way back toward the kitchen.

"I found a letter." She said plainly, eyes cast down at the counter as she reached for a plain bagel to prepare herself a boring breakfast. "Just a goodbye letter. On her desk, not sure how I missed it before."

Bruce closed the lid on the coffee maker and hit "brew" on the front. It soon started to steam gently, heat emitting from the top of the machine and a soft whistle speaking to them from inside.

"Should I call the police? Give them an update?" He asked.

But Olivia could tell that he didn't care either way. This was all just protocol in case something bad really did happen to her — as if it already hadn't. As if she hadn't allowed her daughter to be cast into hell or maybe even placed her there with her own nurturing hands.

"She'll be an adult in a few weeks, y'know. I hate to say it, honey, but it might be time to cut the cord." He continued.

And something about that backhanded statement pushed Olivia over the edge. The high pitched screech of the coffee maker pierced through her brain and she cracked into a million sharp, jagged pieces.