The bright lights of Oliver Wilde's office flickered in rhythm with the pulsing headache that had been clawing at him for hours. His hands gripped the edges of his desk, knuckles white, trying to stave off the painful thrum inside his skull. He closed his eyes, trying to push it away. But there was no escaping it—not the pain, not the memories that came with it.
His mind was elsewhere, stuck in a place he thought he'd long buried. His mother's cold eyes haunted him, the things she did, the manipulation and control she exerted over him in ways no one would ever understand. It was the kind of trauma that left scars no one could see.
A sharp inhale followed by an exhale didn't help, and neither did the mountain of work piling up in front of him. There was another breach in the security system, flashing on his screen in angry red text, another intrusion into the digital world that had become his escape.
"Damn it…" Oliver muttered, rubbing his temples.
Each keystroke felt like a hammer pounding inside his head. But the work didn't stop. He needed the distraction, something to focus on other than the weight of everything that had happened to him. But it wasn't working today. His mother's voice whispered from the back of his mind, pulling him back into the dark corners of his memories.
"Liv, mummy wants to play!"
"How could you!?" A violent slap to his cheeks. " How could you do this to me, Octavio!?" He wasn't Octavio. He always told her that but she never listened. "After everything I've done for you!?" A kick to his stomach as he fell, clutching it but the kicks didn't stop. They never did.
The phone rang, cutting through the haze of thoughts and pain, startling him. For a moment, he didn't even register it, too lost in the storm inside his head. But the ringing persisted, slicing through the silence until he grabbed the phone, answering in a clipped tone.
"Oliver Wilde."
"Mr. Wilde, this is Mercy Hospital. You're listed as an emergency contact for Asher Decker. She's been in an accident."
Everything stopped. The pounding headache, the breach, the memories of his mother—everything fell away as his chest tightened.
"What?" he asked, already standing, his body moving before his mind fully processed what he'd just heard. "Is she… Is she okay?"
"She's stable, but we'd like you to come down as soon as possible."
"I'm coming now," he said, his voice steady but his heart racing. He barely registered hanging up, grabbing his coat, and rushing out the door. His focus tunneled on one thing—Asher.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic, too clean and too cold, like it was trying to scrub away the reality of the pain that lived there. Oliver hated hospitals. But he didn't have time to think about that now. He stormed through the halls, his mind racing. The nurse at the front desk directed him to Asher's room, and when he reached the door, he hesitated for only a second before pushing it open.
There she was, sitting up in bed, sipping coffee like it was any other day, her right leg encased in a cast, her head wrapped in gauze. The sight of her injured made his chest tighten again, a mixture of relief that she was alive and frustration that she had gotten hurt at all.
"Asher," he breathed out, stepping into the room.
"Hey," she said, giving him a tired smile. "I'm fine, Oliver. Really. I told them they didn't need to call you but who listens to me?"
He ignored her words, scanning her injuries with a frown. "You don't look fine. What the hell happened?"
"It was a car accident," she shrugged, setting the coffee down. "I wasn't paying attention, I guess. It's nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but the frustration and fear clawed at him. "You could've been killed, Asher. You have to be more careful."
Asher rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She had known Oliver long enough to know when he was like this, there was no point in trying to reason with him.
"Look, I'm fine. But you…" She tilted her head, studying him. "You look like shit."
Oliver's lips twitched in the smallest smirk. "I could say the same about you."
Asher laughed, a sound that was rare between them these days. "Touché."
For a moment, they both let the tension ease. Asher shook her head, a small smile still on her lips. "I never thought we'd be able to laugh like this."
Oliver glanced away, his mind drifting to the past. The memories of how they met were seared into him, just as his mother's were. Asher's past had been as dark as his own, if not worse.
"When I first found you," he started, his voice softer, "you looked even worse than this."
Asher nodded, her eyes darkening slightly. "I still can't believe that day happened."
Years ago, when Oliver had walked through the orphanage, fresh from the wreckage of everything his mother had done to him, he never expected to find someone else as broken as he was.
But there she was, hiding in a cabinet, bruised and trembling. He could still remember the look in her eyes, the fear and desperation when she whispered two words that changed everything.
"Help me," An eleven-year-old Asher had said. So thin that she could be blown away by the slightest breeze.
He hadn't been able to walk away, not when she reminded him so much of himself. He'd told Dylan Lilac, the man who saved him from his nightmares, and together they had exposed the horrors of that place.
Today, he and Asher owned that orphanage, ensuring it would never be a place of nightmares again.
"Without you…" Asher began, but Oliver cut her off.
"We saved each other," he said firmly.
Asher smiled at that, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Still. Thanks for coming."
Oliver waved off her gratitude. "I'll take you home."
After dropping her off, Oliver had insisted on making something for her to eat. He'd prepared a meal, something simple, but it wasn't his strong suit.
"You've made this for me a hundred times," Asher teased, pushing the food around on her plate. "And you still suck at it."
"I'm consistent," Oliver quipped, his mouth twitching into a half-smile.
"Consistent my ass! You are just a terrible cook!" she rolled her eyes.
"How are you?" He asked gently.
"Would you stop worrying? You sound like Dylan!"
Oliver shook his head. "You know that's not what I mean, Ash? Do they help?"
"Do what help?"
"The therapy sessions."
"Well…." she closed her eyes for a while, hands clutching her bed sheets. "I have good days and bad days, Ollie. You understand?" Oliver nodded, remaining silent so she could open up to him.
"Can I be completely honest? Don't tell Dylan!" she warned and Oliver chuckled, the action making his head throb but he didn't let it show. His sister needed him.
"I don't tell him anything, Ash. He just seems to always know things."
Asher shuddered but continued, "I hate talking to the shrink. It makes me relive those moments when I just…. Just want to forget. It hurts, Ollie and they expect us to just close our eyes," she snapped her fingers, "and poof! The pain disappears."
"I know. But I want you to get better, Ash. I need you too." His voice was almost pleading and his eyes, God his eyes made Asher squirm. His care for her was on most days, the thing that made her want to carry on. He was the most caring person in the world.
She reached out to touch him but he evaded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…."
"It's fine. Eat up and get some rest, Ash." She frowned.
"It's not fair, Ollie. I open up to you and you shut down on me. That's not how this works. You're my brother and you don't have to hide your pain to care for me! We can be there for each other even in pain!"
"You've been acting different lately, Ollie," Asher said, her eyes narrowing as she leaned back in her bed. "And don't give me that 'I'm fine' crap. I know you better than anyone."
"You need to sleep. Remember you have a video game tournament coming up in a few weeks. I'm fine." he smiled briefly and Asher wanted to say something but let it go. He wouldn't talk about it. He never did. Not to her or anyone for that matter. She didn't like that he pushed her away. It stung. Made her feel like she was truly useless like the orphanage mother said.
When Oliver got home, sleep didn't come. No matter how hard he tried, his mind wouldn't settle.
It circled back to Hastings, her voice cutting through his thoughts, her haunting presence making his skin itch. He needed a release, something, anything to stop the noise in his head.
Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed his keys and drove to Hastings' condo.
Oliver stood outside the door, his keys clutched so tightly they dug into his palm. This was wrong. He knew it. And yet, his hand moved on its own, turning the knob. It wasn't breaking in if he was just checking on her, right? Just making sure she was okay. Just making sure she was safe.
He quietly slipped inside. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, the light from the hallway casting a faint glow on her form sprawled on the bed.
She slept like she had no care in the world. Oliver stood in the doorway, watching her toss and turn, her blanket slipping off. Without thinking, he stepped closer, picking the blanket up and gently placing it back over her.
As soon as he did, she kicked it off again, shifting restlessly. Oliver sighed, pulling the blanket over her once more before stepping back, his chest heavy with a mix of emotions he couldn't name.
One thing was sure, Kayla had a curated look for the world but when she stepped into her room, all that was gone. Like always, it was a mess, which Oliver would clean up. He hated how it looked.
Then, Kayla tossed, removing the blanket again and Oliver rubbed his temples, the headache disappearing slowly but she would give him a new one at this point.
He put it back on her, crunching beside the bed where she faced and she muttered something, "chu chu."
Kayla doesn't know what the world can do to someone like her. The way she sleeps, careless and unguarded—it's like she's asking for someone to hurt her. Not like he was. He'd never let anyone touch her the way his mother touched him. He'd keep her safe. Keep her close. Even if it meant crossing a line.
"Even in your sleep you never seem to make any sense, Hastings." She pursed her lips like she heard his words and her brows knitted tightly. "Chu…"
Was she having a nightmare? What did she dream about? He stood up and noticed that the window to her room was closed.
Kayla had shortness of breath from what he could gather and closing your windows in the night didn't seem like a sensible idea but who would ever use sense and Kayla in the same sentence?
He went to close the window and then he noticed her bookshelf. His hands moved across the books before taking one of them out. "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince." He smiled a genuine smile. His Hastings loved H.P. just like him. Good. They were so different but this would make them bond. Such a good girl, she was.
Pride beamed in his chest as he walked back to her, before climbing into her bed, placing her head on his lap, straightening her brows, and stroking her face. She looked beautiful, as he counted the freckles on her nose. Those cute little dots became more obvious when she scrunched up her tiny nose.
He didn't want to. He didn't want to stalk her and break into her house but he couldn't resist it. Some part of him whispered that she enjoyed it, that she liked it. Hastings didn't know what she meant to him.
He could touch her and not feel repulsed or disgusted. Frustrated? Yes. Annoyed? A hundred and one percent. She managed to get under his skin every single time and he loved it. Loved making her angry, making her speechless and unsure of what his intentions were.
He wasn't playing a game with her. He hated games because his mother loved to play games with him and those games, devastated him.
That's what his therapist couldn't understand, how did one move past being abused by their mother? The one person that was meant to care, protect, and love you? How did one heal? With time? How could he forget her moans, as she forced him to thrust himself into her? How could he forget the sound of the belt on his skin and how it peeled when he took a shower?
No. It didn't justify what he wanted to do with Hastings but he did it nonetheless because, with Hastings, he forgot the pain. He could be free, to joke, to tease and make her laugh. The power he had over her was an illusion. He didn't have any power over her but it was the other way around. Fuck, she controlled everything he did. She didn't know that she could destroy him and he would let her.
He loved how she would do anything for her friends. How she would hold them together even when she was breaking apart. He wanted to break her and burn her so he could fix her and mold her.
"Oh, Hastings." He said, removing a strand of her hair from her face and she inched closer to him. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"
Her brows always creased when she was lasted focused like the first time he gave them an assignment in class. It was stupid but he couldn't forget it.
Like he couldn't forget the way her hair fell across her face, the way her eyes always twitched when she was upset or frustrated or anxious. Everything about her consumed him in ways he didn't understand.
What pulled her to him the most was her unwavering strength. Her determination to always try and prove herself to the world. It was formidable. She was formidable.
He could breathe and hear his heartbeat because of her, so how could he choose to die when she was the answer to his living?