Lotus

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Sydney…” he continues, then heaves in a deep breath. “It’s Oliver. They found Oliver.”

“He’s alive.”

Oliver doesn’t look at me. His eyes are trained on the popcorn ceiling, a slight frown marring his forehead. Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m in the room, or maybe he’s lost inside his head, but while his focus is elsewhere, I take a moment to drink him in, my gaze soaking up every incredible inch of this man—this stranger, in a way, and yet…so much more. He is beautiful.

That same light-brown hair falls at his shoulders, shaggy and untamed, infused with hints of amber. A shadow of scruff lines his sharp and masculine jaw, emphasizing sleek cheekbones and a sallow complexion.

When he speaks, his voice is laced with a touch of disbelief, a hint of awe, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I think he’s about to say my name, but instead, he rasps out, “Queen of the Lotus.”

Oliver shakes his head back and forth, his hands tightening around the covers as he twists away from me. “No, no, no… This isn’t real.” I wet my lips as I determine what to do next, my nerve endings tingling and frayed. I want to reach for him, to console him with my touch and heartbeats and words of solace, but I’m afraid I’ll only make it worse. “It’s okay, Oliver. You’re safe.” “This is all wrong. I’m dreaming…” Oliver continues to chant under his breath, head swinging side to side, knuckles white from fisting the sheets. “You can’t be real…” Tears burn while my heart breaks for him. “I’m real. I’m—”

omg my heart is breaking

He scratches at his overgrown hair, his gaze darting around the yard with suspicion. I can see that his own hands are shaking while he studies his surroundings, prepared to bolt at the slightest threat. Gabe reaches out with a cautious touch, placing his palm against his stepbrother’s broad shoulder, and Oliver flinches back, startled. My heart clenches.

And then I’m thinking about her, the woman in the window, her hair light and sunny like the carpeting and undoubtedly just as soft. She told me her name was Syd, and she reeked of familiarity…but how could it be? How could she be my Syd? My Syd was a fabrication. My Syd was an artificial companion brought to life by my insatiable need to quell the loneliness. I created her with the lead from my pencil tip and my own imagination. Queen of the Lotus.

I went twenty-two years without a mirror. No reflection. No concept of my physical appearance. No knowledge of my new bone structure or the curve of my mouth. I had my name, though. I carved it into the cement wall, so I’d never forget it.

She smiles at me, and there’s something warm and inviting about the expression. It’s a little lopsided and framed with dimples. Endearing. I catch myself staring at her mouth, causing her to clear her throat and turn her head back to Gabe.

“You would pull on my pigtails, telling me that I looked like Angelica from Rugrats. We would make mudpies in my driveway after a rainstorm. Our families would sit out back around the firepit roasting marshmallows, while you, me, Gabe, and Clem tried to outdo each other with the scariest ghost story. We would play ‘telephone’ from window to window, we’d set up lemonade stands at the edge of the road and use the money for the ice cream man, and we’d catch fireflies in glass jars.” Sydney stops to collect herself, her eyes reflecting wet tears. “I remember everything about you, Oliver. You were real. Your life before what happened to you was real.”

My teeth rattle and my chest hums as I remain rigid on the bed, everything inside me wanting to tear my gaze away from the look in her eyes. I see more life and vitality in those eyes than I’ve felt inside my soul in the last twenty-two years combined. I’m envious of such a sentiment. I want to reach out and touch it…steal a part of it for myself. But I don’t move. I finally dip my chin to my chest and listen as her footsteps walking out of the bedroom. Sydney is gone, but she leaves a little spark behind. I suppose she always has.

All we know so far is what he’s told police: Oliver was held captive beneath the floor of some psycho’s house, fed lies, and brainwashed into believing he was one of very few survivors left after an atomic bomb poisoned our air. Unreal. Oliver’s eyes dip to my cleavage, but he glances away quickly. “I enjoy wildlife,” he replies. I smile wide. It’s a happy, genuine smile, because Oliver is speaking to me. He’s engaging. He’s opening up. The sound of his voice is low and gravelly, rich and beautiful like my favorite song, and I want nothing more than to play it over and over again.

Tangerine, perhaps.

LMAOOO

Her cheeks are still stretched with a bright grin as she holds out a gift, slightly winded. “Here. I thought you might get some use out of this.” It’s a sketch pad and a box of sharpened pencils. I take the items from her outstretched hands, my heart rate increasing. Excitement. Eagerness. Gratitude. “Might work better than the wall,” she adds with a wink. I savor the feel of the fresh paper, a brand-new canvas, heavy in my hands. I also savor the dazzling look in her eyes. I decide that I much prefer this one to the look I saw yesterday. “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice low and thoughtful. “This is very kind of you.”

AWWWWW❤️❤️

I can feel my limbs stiffening, my brick wall swiftly reassembling. I move backwards until I collide with the screen. Their voices sound farther away as I mentally retreat into my cell, reaching for the door handle and turning to slip inside. To hide. I don’t dare glance at Sydney as I disappear through the threshold. I’m collecting her looks like little treasures, and I’m certain she’s wearing one I’d rather not keep.

Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet.

same

The man’s words are sliced short when I feel his weight being lifted off me with sudden force. I’m confused for a moment, stuck to the bed by a torrent of terror and disbelief. But then I lift up on my haunches to figure out what the fuck just happened. My breath stops when I see Oliver Lynch in front of me, tossing my attacker to the floor, totally zoned out and throwing punches to the man’s face. Oh. My. God.

THANK GOD DBFHDJNRHDH

Only, the second I do, Oliver rolls them both over and ends up on top. The lamp collides with his skull.

girl 😭 u had one job

And Oliver Lynch rescued me. The man unable to even touch another human being just fought off my attacker without a second thought. “You saved my life.” My words are a hoarse whisper, my voice ragged from the screams. We sit across from each other on my bedroom floor, staring at one another through the cover of darkness, listening as the sirens grow closer. Oliver responds so softly, I almost don’t hear him. “I always save you.”

MY HEARTTTTTTT

“I, um, wanted to thank you for what you did that night. I can’t imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t…” She looks down at her swiftly moving feet as we approach the front door. “That took a lot of courage.” “You were still injured. I regret that I wasn’t quicker.” My confession causes her to jerk her head up, eyes sharp and slanted, hand pausing as it reaches for the doorknob. “You saved my life, Oliver. I’ll take a busted lip over a funeral.”

My lips pull up into a small smile, an instinctual reaction to her statement. I am liked.

“Oh.” Oliver nods knowingly, then swallows the rest of his bite. “I enjoy your smile as well. It makes me want to smile more.” Charming. One-hundred-percent charming. I swear to God I almost blush as I slip out of my cardigan, catching the way Oliver’s gaze travels over me, taking in my tank top and skinny jeans when I remove the extra layer. He’s probably shocked that I’m wearing something other than a T-shirt and black leggings. Folding my cardigan over his desk chair, I sweep my hair over to one side and watch his eyes drift back up to my face in a slow pull. They look darker, more ablaze, alight with a heated curiosity. I think he likes what he sees.

There is nothing juvenile about Oliver Lynch. While he does have a profound innocence about him, he’s not at all childlike. Oliver is all man, from the muscles peeking out beneath his cropped sleeves, to the rough stubble along his jawline, to the low, gravelly sound of his voice, to the brilliance of his mind.

I force my gaze back to the comics, scanning over the boxes filled with different vibrant scenes and landing on a little girl with golden pigtails. A worn teddy bear is clutched to her chest, while a faceless figure looms over her. “Who’s this?” Oliver’s cheeks tinge pink as he fidgets in front of me. “The Queen of the Lotus,” he replies. “And the Faceless Man. He’s the villain in the comics.” The Queen of the Lotus. Heart skipping, my insides fuzzy and warm, I inquire, “Is that supposed to be…me?” He nods. “Yes…I suppose it is.”

Oliver allows me to cradle his hand in mine while I dust my thumb over the divots of his marred knuckles, dragging him out of his comfort zone and encouraging him to trust another human. I inhale with a deep, shaky swallow, swept up in the powerful notion that this hand was what prevented a horrifying nightmare from unfolding. And then I’m stunned, frozen to the navy comforter, when Oliver releases my hand and lifts his own to the side of my face. I remain still, breathless and speechless, my eyes following his hand as it connects with my cheek, his index finger extending and drawing an invisible line along my bruise. His touch makes me shiver, mostly because I didn’t expect it, but also for reasons I can’t quite explain. Goose bumps tickle both arms, sheathing me in a flurry of new sensations and an unexpected feeling of…contentment. Fulfillment. Belonging. Home.

When his eyes find their way back to mine, I realize we are both breathing heavily, our faces inches apart. That same charged current I felt as we stared at each other through my bay window surges within me, only now I feel it tenfold. I raise my own hand and place it atop his, cupping his fingers in my palm as our gazes remain locked in a cogent clutch.

“Will you be my friend, Oliver Lynch?” And then I slip him a smile, lightening the moment. There is a noticeable hitch in his demeanor, a brief, silent battle between his inherent fears and his desire to conquer them. A war between his years of isolation, the only thing he truly knows, and…me. My heartbeat picks up as I await his response, my fingers crawling into the cracks of his own, pressing his hand further against my cheek. Oliver releases a surrendering breath, and his lips draw up into a smile that matches mine. A weight lifts. “I would like that.”

😭❤️❤️❤️

Unsure of what else to do, I pull out my cellular device. I suppose I should get some use out of it. Scanning through the plethora of icons, I find the one that allows me to transmit messages. I locate Sydney’s name and type out: Hi, it’s Oliver. Don’t be alarmed, but I’m standing behind you.

LMAO HES SO CUTE

It’s been three months since I opened up to Sydney on my bed, letting her in, allowing our friendship to organically unfold. She is, by far, the most perplexing, endearing, complicated, beautiful, and charming human I’ve come across so far. I’m drawn to her in many ways, and I’m not sure if it’s our past history that binds us, or if it’s something else.

Sydney has an essence about her, something intoxicating and pure. I find myself thinking about her when I’m not around her. I find myself staring at her far too long, much like I’m doing right now. She ducks her head, a bashful gesture, breaking eye contact. Something inside me warms in response.

Luckily, she doubles over with laughter, gripping her belly with both arms as if it aches. “Oliver Lynch,” she scolds with mock audacity. Her wink softens her words. “You’ve been picking up some bad habits. Must be that blasphemous girl next door. Terrible influence.” I stuff my hands into my pockets, head ducking briefly before glancing back up at her with only my eyes. “Yes, well…I must admit, I’m rather fond of her.”

THEYRE SO CUTEEEEEE

While I don’t have a vivid recollection of my abduction, I do recall the fireworks that night. I remember the cracks and booms lighting up the sky with pretty colors—a deceptive sort of beauty. I sat in the back seat of a strange man’s vehicle, my eyes fixated on the display outside the window, wondering why everyone else was watching the show on their front lawns with friends and family, while I was lost and confused, my arms roped behind my back.

my baby :(

The fireworks are the last thing I remember of that night before a blindfold was wrapped around my eyes and I was led into a new life of loneliness.

:(

“One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,” I tell her. “It would be a very sad world if that were the case.” Sydney’s smile reappears, but this time it’s accompanied with glossy eyes. “Your suffering matters more to me than the joy of fifty acquaintances and strangers. I hope you know that.”

Crouched down to my knees, I watch as she scampers over to the far wall where a canvas sits perched, facing away from me. Alexis rubs her body against it as she strolls back and forth, and my curiosity stirs. I rise to my feet and pace the few steps over to the canvas, bending to read the markings etched in pencil along the back side. Oliver Lynch—01.22.17 My heart lurches inside my chest. The date is from years ago, long before my return. My hands tremble as I reach for the canvas and flip it around, closing my eyes for a simple second, then popping them back open. Alexis lets out a soft meow, masking the gasp that surely passes through my lips. It’s a portrait of myself—though, how Sydney could determine my physical appearance as a grown adult is a mystery to me. The details are exquisite, the resemblance uncanny. I’m looking slightly upward, to the left, my hair overgrown and dappled in various browns, reds, and golds. My eyes seem to match the color of my hair, and there is an expression in them that I can’t quite pinpoint. Worried, whimsical…haunted, perhaps.

“We’ll be best friends forever, right?” “Yes. Until I die.” “Even then, I’ll find a way to bring you back.”

“I’m sorry for my indecency,” Oliver forces out, a crack in his tone. “I wasn’t aware there was a lady present.” Sorry that my whore eyes just drank you up like a tall glass of water.

SHES SO REAL FOR THAT

“I was listening to an assortment of songs you recommended, and it made me want to see you,” he replies softly. His focus trails over me with tender appreciation, and he adds, “You look lovely.”

😭 this precious man

His eyes are ablaze as they sink into me, coasting over my curves, and he answers easily, “Sometimes I think of you.”

WELL DAMN

“Danny DeVito.”

GIRL- LMAOOOO

He’s huddled up inside the dark, enclosed space, his head buried in his hands as he rocks forward and back. Oh God. I rush to him. I don’t think, I just run, collapsing to my knees before him and pushing my way between his legs until we’re face-to-face. “Oliver. Talk to me.” My tone is hushed and encouraging, my fingers trailing up the front of his chest until they curl around his neck. When he finally raises his eyes to me, my heart cracks into a thousand tiny fragments. He’s petrified. He’s breaking. He’s someplace else.

💔💔

“Oliver, you’re safe. I promise you’re safe. You know that, right?” Oliver stares at me with red-rimmed eyes, his skin blanched and layered in a light gloss of sweat. He nods mutely with a hard swallow, and I can feel his entire body shivering. His own hands lift, clasping my wrists as I stroke my thumbs along his cheekbones. “I never want to go back there.” I shake my head, adamantly. “You won’t. It’s over, and you survived. Do you trust me?” Another slow nod. “You’re the only one I trust.” Oliver’s voice is ragged and strained, but his words put my shattered heart right back together. “Good, because I won’t lose you again.”

“There is beauty to be found everywhere…even in the things that scare us.”

“They found the guy, Syd. They found the bastard who took him.” “Oh my God. Is he alive?” A frown creases between Oliver’s eyes as he rises to his feet. We stare at each other as Gabe replies, “No. They found him with his head bashed in.”

i mean, HIGHLY deserved

Mustache Man leaned back with crossed arms and a hum of frustration. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would Mr. Ford go to all that trouble storing a kid in his basement for over two decades, without some kind of twisted perversion involved? Sexual predators might do this. Even cult members might do this. But a lonely farmer with no priors?” He shook his head, his dark eyes squinting at me. “It doesn’t add up. Why doesn’t it add up, Oliver?”

bro is acting like the victim is at fault-

“Pardon my forwardness, but I believe that’s your job to figure out, sir.”

periodt

Sydney sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes, and I think it’s meant to make me laugh, but all I want to do is kiss her. Oh. My breath catches when I inhale an abrupt breath. “Fuck.”

AHHHH💕💕

My fingers muss through my hair as these strange new priorities begin to infiltrate me. “I would like a wife one day. Children too. I fear I won’t measure up in the eyes of a woman.”

AW HONEY

“Oliver…” She reaches for my hand, interlocking our fingers. “First of all, fuck what other people think. If a woman doesn’t think you ‘measure up,’ then she’s an idiot and not worth an ounce of your time. Second, I think you’re jumping the gun a little. Right now, you should be focusing on learning and growing—healing. Finding yourself. Figuring out who you are.”