Olan Rogers Imagines

I Will Wait

They all cared so much. Everyone in my life wanted what was best for me. Everyone, except two people. It seemed my boyfriend, Connor, and I were the only people who didn't care about me as much as any normal person would. Part of me knew your boyfriend should take care of you, that he should treat you as more than an object for his own use. But I still let it happen.

One day, Connor crossed a line I thought he never would. He raised a hand to me, palm open and ready to strike, but it seemed like something held him back. I don't know why he didn't hit me, but I knew that that moment was paralyzing. So I longed for something more, something pure.

Connor's thumb was always over me, and it was like I was pinned there, trapped. It seemed like I couldn't breathe without his permission. He had this controlling God complex, and he wanted to manipulate me. I suppose I knew it at the time, but I was so blinded by sick love to see it. He never wanted me to go out without him, but if I had been "good" enough, every once in a while he would allow me to go out by myself.

On one of these nights, just a few days following that terrifying event, I mustered up all the courage within me to lie to him. He thought I was going to a girlfriend's house, but if he was aware of where I actually went, I knew the consequences would not have been good.

Olan had always been there for me. High school was where we met, and we vowed to never lose contact after graduation. That was a bit hard, since Connor tracked all of my messages and phone calls, and the one time Olan tried to contact me when I was with Connor, my boyfriend went off. He was in a sour mood for almost a week following. This made going to Olan's a calculated risk, as I hadn't talked to him in months. I didn't know if he still lived at that apartment, and if he did, I wouldn't know if he was home. But I hoped against reasonable hope that he still lived there.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I walked up to his—or what used to be his—door, and I held my fist up to knock, but kept it still for a moment. I was afraid of what Connor would do if he were to find out about this. So, I made up my mind, I would just have to make sure he didn't find out. Now was the last and only moment to change my mind. But when I remembered what I felt in the moment of Connor about to hit me, a wave of resentment washed over me, causing me to finally knock.

It took just a few seconds for the door to open, just before I was going to turn to walk away. But there he was. Olan stood in the doorway, looking different from the last time I'd seen him but just as good, if not better. His face was fuller and detailed with scruff, hair longer, and he looked healthier.

He stood, obviously surprised, staring at me for a few seconds. Then, "I—come in, whats going on?" He seemed to know immediately that something was wrong, a trait of his that evidently hadn't changed since high school.

I spared one more glance behind me before stepping into the apartment. I waited until the door had closed, and then I hugged him. It seemed to have been an eternity since I had felt the true embrace of someone who really cared; Connor rarely hugged me (and never meant it), and my friends always seemed so insincere. But not so with Olan. I felt this spark with him, a connection we'd had since high school, strong enough to withstand everything and last 'til now. It was so comforting to feel his arms around me, to bury my face in his chest. The sound of his heart took me back to the nights we spent up in high school, the time we wasted, the memories that had been made. But when I pulled back, I was quickly brought back to the present.

"I shouldn't be here," I muttered through tears, indescribable emotions coursing through me.

Olan's hands lingered on my shoulders, his eyes looking intently into mine. After a second, he nodded at the couch a few feet away and guided us there, saying, "Let's sit, okay?" His reassuring voice brought even more memories back.

Nodding, I sank down into the couch and he sat close to me, too close. I knew I had to tell him what was happening.

Pressing the heel of my hands to my eyes, I said, "I'm sorry for just showing up." My voice cracked and I sniffled, avoiding his empathetic gaze. "Olan, I'm scared." Then it all came out, all the tears, the pent-up emotions, the sobs I hid from Connor for so long.

Olan put his arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side without a word, and I just cried. He rubbed my arm gently, whispering, "It'll be okay."

After a moment, I regained some strength and looked at him. Really, truly looked at him. His hair was much thicker than it was in school, and his biceps showed that he had been working out. Eyes soft, he smiled a sad smile, and I fell in love with his lips all over again. I shook the thought away, Connor's demanding yell coming into my mind, and started to explain.

"It's my boyfriend," I tested, seeing how he would react, but he didn't so much as twitch. "I shouldn't be here. He wouldn't want me to be here."

Olan's brow furrowed, but I continued.

"He's so controlling, Olan. He doesn't—he won't—I know he doesn't love me. And I can't love him. Not when..." I couldn't finish that sentence. I had barely come to terms with the fact that I missed our high school relationship. "But I'm so scared about what would happen if I try to break up."

Olan looked to be pondering this, and after a second, said, "What's the worst that could happen?" He seemed to mean this as more of a legitimate question rather than rhetoric.

I bit back a sob, and once again Olan pulled me to his side. I didn't pull back this time when I explained. "He was angry. He had a bad day at work and...I don't know. He just wanted something to take his anger out on. I happened to be that." I felt Olan tense against me, I assumed with anger, because that's what he'd done in the past. But he didn't do anything more, just waited for me to finish. "He didn't actually hit me, Olan, don't worry. But standing against the wall..." I bit my knuckle to keep from crying out. "His hand over me, fire in his eyes, I was so scared. How can he say he loves me and then do something like that?" I questioned, frustrated and dejected.

"I'm so sorry." He said, squeezing my arm. He muttered something I couldn't understand, then said more clearly, "I'll do whatever I can to help you. We'll figure this out."

"What?" I asked, straining to look up at him, wet tears still on my cheeks.

"I said I'll help you." He replied, giving a small smile.

"No, before that."

"Oh." He looked down and then back to me. "It's nothing. Let's just worry about the problem at hand."

If I wasn't genuinely curious before, I certainly was now. "Olan, what'd you say?" A playful smile peeked at my lips despite the heavy discussion.

He hesitated just a second before saying it in one quick breath. "I said I could treat you better." I started to smile, but he continued, "But that's not fair to you, or your boyfriend. I miss you, a lot." The heartbreak was evident in his voice.

His consideration was so handsome, so admirable. I wondered why I ever let him go.

"Thank you, Olan. I do need time," I said, trying to sound more grateful and less awkward. I wouldn't want him to think I was insincere, or being fake. "But I will come back to you."

Olan smiled, biting his lip for a second before turning into a poet, "Then I will wait for you. I will do my best to be patient, and though I didn't make the skies or the stars contained within, I will use every piece of me to give you the time and space you need."

I leaned against him, knowing my days with Connor were over. And Olan would help me through that, and I would be free again, learn to love, and forgive, and see brightness in dark days.