Nobela ni neriah

Olivia’s POVThe orchestra chimes and I walk in, hand-in-hand, with my father, the man I now hate more than anyone else on earth. His smiles feel like arrows going through me and his hold on my arms make it hard to breathe.I swallow when my eyes meet Teddy standing at the aisle. He looks bored, as if he wants to be anywhere else but here. The preacher beams at me, his hands motioning me forward. My dad leans in to plant a peck on my face and I flinch away.If he is affected by my actions, he does nothing, moving towards my mother. I swallow and turn to face the man I am to spend the rest of my life with, eagerly waiting for the exchange of vows to be over.“Hi, wife,” he murmurs when I stop, facing him. “Trust you had a good night.”“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” I whisper, glancing away. He takes a slow step forward, so small and inconsequential that no one in the audience would have noticed it.But I do, because he leans in and whispers. “I don’t know what you

Olivia’s POVI don’t have any expectations sitting in front of my vanity, a dainty pearl earring being clasped onto my ears by one of the housekeepers. She steps back after a few seconds, her hand folded in front of her, her head staring at the ground.I have always thought of housekeepers as staples in a home, but being in France for four years has made me see life in a whole different perspective. I watch her from the mirror, wondering if in the past, I have ever been unbearable to her.The door pushes open just as I am about to say something and my mother walks in. She looks radiant in her red sequined dress, paired with golden heels and matching jewelry. I take my eyes off her and busy myself with a little more blush.“Oliva,” she whispers with awe dripping from her tone as she waves the housekeeper away. “Oh my God! You look so stunning.”I ignore her, getting out of the chair and waltzing towards my nightstand. My phone lights up with messages from the girls and I pick it up.“D

Olivia’s POVDawn scratches the room through the slightly parted blinds. Birds chirp beautifully, hanging on the low branches of the tree right by the window. With the morning sun cascading its warmth into the room, it looks even more beautiful than it did last night.The book holds most of it in, the lights bouncing off them. My gaze turns to Mr. Hill, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Most of the guests should have gone right now and…I sit up suddenly when I remember. My friends! They would be looking for me.Slowly getting out of his bed, I search for my dress on the ground, but when I find it, it is in no shape to be worn. I remember last night, and red patches burn on my cheeks. I have to put on something if I want to leave now.My eyes scan the room again and I see his discarded slacks on the floor. Shrugging into that, I walk into the closet and find a row of perfectly organized t-shirts. They are all in the same color. Black.Taking the one

Olivia’s POVIt is the President of the Art club. I know her through the scent of her perfume, all vanilla and willowy. And maybe a little bitchy. Her heels echo through the room just as the bathroom door closes softly against us.He turns on the shower, the water tapping lightly against the floor. From up close, I can tell that I was totally wrong about the color of his eyes. They aren’t black. They are brown. The shade that light passes through easily.My lips part open again but he shakes his head. She gets closer, her pitch getting even more annoying than it usually is.“Mr Hill?” She covers the space in a minute. “Are you in here?” Her tone is sultry and soft, just the right amount of seduction. In front of me, Mr. Hill rolls his eyes, a quiet exasperated sigh slipping from his lips.I hear her stop by the bathroom and a dozen thoughts fly through my mind. What if she opens the door and sees me in here with a half-naked Mr. Hill? What will she think? Fiona and I have never been o

Olivia’s POVIt is one night of freedom. I watch my friends dance and laugh so loud in the middle of the room, their hands swaying in the skies and their smiles light. I want to be that way desperately, to act like my life is all put together.But it is impossible.My eyes glance at my phone again, waiting for a call. My mother doesn’t leave messages unless it is urgent and the one I got this morning screams exactly that.It could be nothing, I try telling myself. But deep down, I know the Osvaldos don’t do nothing. For us, it is a hailstorm and then some light sprinkle of rain.But something is fucking always happening.Grabbing my half-filled glass, I slide out of the stool and move away from the crowd, my eyes on the art lining the wall. It is an arts party, organized by some really wealthy man who sends in impossible donations to the school.His wealth blooms on the walls, covered with pieces made by popular artists, like Da Vinci. This has to be a bloody museum because a gasp esc