Olivier's blood boiled. She stomped her way across the sidewalk on the way to her apartment, her smartphone held in a vice grip. She made no effort to hide the fury that pulsed through her veins. Occasionally, a murmur or a glare would follow her, but she couldn't care less. Striding up the stairs, she shoved the front door open and made a beeline for the elevator directly to her left.
The bellhop behind the front desk raised his hand. "Ma'am, wait!"
"Back off!" Olivier warned. She pressed the button for the sixth floor, cursing under her breath as the elevator doors shut. The hum of the machine filled the room as an advertisement for a new brand of soda played on the screen behind her. Her chest inflated with anxiety, and bobbed the ball of her foot to alleviate it. Thoughts of punching her boyfriend swirled around with images of him fighting back. "Damn it," she hissed.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened, and Olivier stepped out into the hallway. Hesitation quickly replaced fury, and the urge to turn tail and run swept over her. Swallowing, she turned around just as the elevator doors shut.
"Wait, no!" she said, trying to pull the doors apart. The elevator had already left. "Urgh!" She rocked her lower jaw side to side, equal parts angry with herself and scared. She turned her head toward the stairs to her left. They called to her, promising that if she simply descended back down to the main hall and played the ignorant girlfriend, then complete bliss awaited her.
What a lie.
Olivier pocketed her smartphone, the raunchy image of Silas—her boyfriend—in their bed with another woman continuing to resurface in her mind. After a short bout of deliberation, she resumed her walk toward the apartment—their apartment.
Her heart pounded against her chest at the thought of how Silas would react. He'd sent the picture to her by mistake, and he was quick to unsend the message. Before he could undo the damage, Olivier had snapshotted it. Pulling it up was painful, serving to remind her that he didn't love her anymore. Or, perhaps, maybe he never did.
Olivier stopped at the door and plucked her copy of the apartment key from her skirt pocket. The lock clicked at her turn, and as she turned the doorknob to open it, the door suddenly pulled open. A yellow eye set in a face of stony pale skin peered at her between the crack, Olivier's entry stopped short by the door chain. The man ran his long fingers through his silver hair.
"You're back early," he said.
"Cut the crap. You know why I'm here, Silas," Olivier said, crossing her arms. "Where is she?"
Silas frowned. "Where's who? Who the fuck are you talking about?" He sighed. "Are you having another one of your fits?"
"My fits?" Olivier balked, raising her voice. "Are we going to pretend that you didn't send me a picture of you and another woman getting it on in our bed? Were you trying to brag to your friends again? Think you're some big, tough guy?"
"Dumb bitch. I'm getting real fucking tired of being talked to like this," Silas growled. "It was one time, and I apologized." One time, he said. Yet, Olivier could count almost a dozen occasions. Far more chances than he deserved. "Besides, did you even check our text history?"
"Yeah. Sure did. You unsent the message so I wouldn't see." Olivier reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve her smartphone. She'd have to look at the picture again. The picture of Silas screwing another woman. Her hands were shaking, and she was terrified that he would strike her again. But she had to do this. Had to prove it to them both. She scrolled down to her phone's gallery, clicked the image, then turned the phone around so he could see. "Care to explain how you found your dick in another woman like that? Or are you going to tell me some nonsense, like she just tripped and fell over on top of you?"
Silas chuckled. "You are fucking insane. Truly. To think that you would go so far as to doctor an image to sully my name. You plan on distributing this to the press, too? Mess up my dad's reputation?"
"That's all you care about, isn't it? You and your dad's precious fucking reputations. You think I would resort to blackmail like that?"
"I don't think it's beyond a caddy bitch like you." As soon as the words left his mouth, he reached toward her for her phone. Olivier saw it coming, but even so, Silas was quicker, and he snatched the phone from her grip, snaking it through the crack of the door and out of her reach.
"Hey, you bastard! Give it back!" Olivier bellowed, squeezing her arm through the door's crack. Using his foot, Silas slammed the door on her elbow, eliciting a yelp. "Agh! Silas, let me go! Don't do this! Please, you're hurting me!"
"Looks like you forgot how things work around here," Silas chuckled as he held her phone at a distance, "so, let me give you a refresher." He leaned against the door, and the muscles in her arm cried out for him to stop. Her bones were popping and bending in excruciating ways. Olivier pounded against the door frame. "Impeccable work, as usual. This looks like the real thing."
"It is the real thing," Olivier whined through gritted teeth. Silas pushed harder. "Please, s-stop! It hurts!" Her arm tingled as he pushed. She could feel the door threatening to break her bones, the muscles below her elbow growing cold with the increased pressure.
"You need to be taught a lesson, so just shut the fuck up while I fix this. Then I'll let you go."
Olivier nodded, and she fought back the tears that were coming on. This was just the way it went. Each time she would stand up to him, and each time he would knock her down. She whimpered and sobbed quietly while he worked through her phone. She drew an onlooker across the hall, and Olivier shook her head. The young woman frowned but ushered her child into their apartment.
At last, Silas let her go. Olivier gasped and pulled away, cradling her arm. She gently pressed and massaged the area. It was tender, and waves of pain came in and out. It would bruise.
"Here. Fixed it for you," Silas said, throwing the phone against the wall behind her. It made a crunch as it collided. "Well, shit. Sorry. Hope that didn't do any damage."
"You son of a bitch," she hissed under her breath as she retrieved the phone. Two large cracks traveled across the screen. If not for the protective cover, Silas probably would've broken it.
"What was that?" Silas asked. "Are you saying weird things again?" He clicked his tongue. "Look, why don't you get the hell out of here before I call the authorities?"
"It's my apartment too, you creep." Beads of sweat coating her forehead. Her breathing labored. She couldn't do this for much longer. She needed help. "Besides, you would never. Your father's precious reputation means too much to you."
Silas regarded her with a furrowed brow, clicked his tongue, then slammed the door in her face. Olivier pocketed her phone with her good arm, wiped the sheen of sweat that'd been collecting on her face, then knocked on the door.
"Just let me in to confirm if there's another girl in there." The nonsensical part of her—the part of her that Silas had designed—was winning again. The part that said everything was fine, and that this was somehow all in her head. Memories of when they shared quiet lunches together, kissed under the moonlight, and snuck out late caressed her in their warm embrace. Desperation took over, and her heart surrendered for what must have been the hundredth time. "I… I love you, and I just… don't want to get hurt anymore."
Silence.
"Silas?" Olivier repeated.
"You need to go," Silas said from behind the door. "Cool off, then maybe I'll let you back in."
She brushed her fingers against the door longingly, then quietly left.