Chapter 8 - A Sister's Worry

His smile does not reach his eyes.

His arms stretch toward me, hands wrapped around a plain cardboard package. No wrapping. No ribbon.

Just brown paper and tape and the weight of something I do not understand.

I stand dumbfounded. My eyes fix on his face. They do not blink. They cannot.

He stands in my doorway. Smiling a smile that is not a smile. He holds a package I do not want to touch.

My throat closes. My hands stay frozen at my sides. The word comes out before I can stop it, barely a whisper.

"Robbin."

His smile widens. It still does not reach his eyes.

"Hello, Olivia," he says. His voice is rough. Scarred. Like his throat was damaged in the crash. Like he is forcing the words out through something broken. "Aren't you going to let me in?”

Robbin Jonathan. My boss. The man who sold me to the Logans. The man whose car flipped on Downtown Street. The man I watched die in a news video Chloe showed me.

“Wh….what do you want?” I stutter.

“I came to say congratulations Liv, since I couldn't attend your wedding”. 

"Tha....... thank you"

I quickly stepped back and was about to shut the door when he yelled, “accept my gift please. You probably are not willing to host me. I'll leave.

Just accept this gift from me. It's important Olivia”

Using the last guts I had for that night, I quickly snatched the package from him, shutting the door behind. I leaned on the door as if to prevent him from barging in.

HOURS LATER 

I cannot stop looking at the door.

It has been three hours since Robbin left. Three hours since he stood in my doorway, scars fresh on his face, arm in a sling, holding that package. His smile did not reach his eyes.

Nothing about him reached his eyes. He looked like a man who crawled out of his own grave and decided to take someone with him.

I locked the door after he left. Then I locked it again. Then I pushed the dresser in front of it. 

Now I sit on the edge of my bed, the grey shirt with holes clinging to my skin, and I stare at the door like it might open on its own.

The package sits on my dresser. Brown paper. Tape. No label. I have not touched it. I am afraid of what is inside. I am more afraid of who sent it.

“Trust me”, he said. “No one saw me”

But I saw him. I saw the bandage peeking from beneath his collar. I saw the way his fingers trembled around the package.

 I saw a man who should be in a hospital bed, standing in my doorway, delivering something he should not have.

My hands are cold. My chest is tight. Every sound in this penthouse makes me flinch. The hum of the air conditioning.

The creak of the floor settling. The whisper of wind against the glass walls.

I think about calling Chloe. My fingers hover over the phone. But what would I say? Robbin came here. He gave me something. I am scared. She would want to come. 

She would demand answers I do not have. She would put herself in danger because that is what Chloe does. She runs toward fire while everyone else runs away.

I put the phone down.

Then I pick it up again when it buzzes in my hand.

Chloe.

I answer.

"Hey," I say. My voice is steady. I practiced it in the bathroom mirror after Robbin left. I am fine. Everything is fine. The penthouse is nice. The words tasted like ash.

"Hey yourself." Chloe's voice is bright. Too bright. She is trying. "How is the glass palace? Did you find any skeletons in the closet yet?"

I almost laugh. If she knew. If she knew who was standing in my doorway three hours ago.

"It is quiet," I say. "Very quiet."

"Quiet sounds nice. Mom is snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors. I think her new medication makes it worse."

I close my eyes. Picture my mother asleep on the couch, her glucose monitor beeping, Chloe curled up in the chair across from her. The image is so familiar it hurts.

"Tell her I said goodnight."

"I will." A pause. I hear it coming. I cannot stop it. "Are you okay, Liv? Really?"

The question hangs in the air. I think about the wine on my dress. Aiden's face when he poured it. The way he walked out without looking back. I think about Robbin's smile. 

The bandage beneath his collar. The package on my dresser. The door I pushed a dresser against.

"I am fine," I say. "Just tired."

Chloe is quiet. Too quiet. I know she does not believe me. I know she hears something in my voice that does not match my words. 

But she does not push. That is what makes it worse. If she pushed, I could push back. I could get angry. Instead, she lets me have my lie.

"Okay," she says softly. "Call me tomorrow?"

"I will."

"Goodnight, Liv."

"Goodnight, Chloe."

I hang up. Stare at the phone. The worry in her voice is a guilt I carry all day.