Chapter 122

Olivia

As soon as we stepped through the door, the weight of the evening pressed heavily on my chest. The villa, normally warm and inviting, felt empty and cold now. Part of me wanted to run back outside, back into the chill of the evening. Somehow, it seemed better than this.

“Well, Olivia?” Nathan asked, his figure looming in the dim light of the foyer. “Was that everything you ever wished for?”

I didn’t know what to say. Nathan’s words were like salt in an open wound. My vision blurred with tears, the weight of Alvin’s rejection still fresh and raw. I suspected that it would be like that for a long time to come.

Nathan sighed and closed the door softly behind us, his silhouette stark against the dimming evening light that streamed in through the thin curtains.

“Why?” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “Why did he push us away, Nathan? After all we did to help him…”

Nathan looked at me, his usually clear blue-green eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and frustration.

“I told you, Liv,” he murmured, his voice gentle despite the stern words. “Alvin has changed. You should’ve expected this. I did try to warn you.”

“But it was his hand, Nathan,” I countered, wiping away my tears angrily. “We restored it! We gave him back a part of himself. How can he not see that?”

Nathan let out a long, tired sigh. “Sometimes,” he began, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “when you lose a part of yourself, you lose it for a reason.”

I sank wearily down onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. The cold realization was settling in, and with it came a crushing sense of guilt.

“You were right,” I whispered, my voice muffled. “I should have listened to you. But I won’t let myself feel guilty for restoring his hand. It was the right thing to do.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of a lively cricket chirping beneath the window. A cold, salty breeze blew in from the ocean, and the cricket went quiet.

Nathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know what? I’m glad we did it too.” He sat down beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. “Maybe with time, Alvin will realize we did it out of love. He might come to see that we wanted the best for him.”

Pulling away slightly, I looked into Nathan’s eyes, searching for answers. “But why, Nathan? Why did he say his hand was a reminder of the bad things he did? It doesn’t make any sense…”

Nathan looked away, his gaze distant. “Alvin never spoke about it, but there were rumors, whispers really, about his time in the military. He might have... killed a lot of people. To him, losing his hand could've been a sort of rectification of his sins. A physical manifestation of his guilt.”

The weight of that revelation settled heavily between us, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to process the gravity of it all.

Nathan leaned in, pulling me into a tight embrace. As if moving on instinct, I nestled into the crook of his neck, drawing comfort from his warmth. For a moment, the weight of the evening seemed to lift, replaced by a profound sense of connection and understanding.

“Whatever Alvin’s demons, Liv,” Nathan murmured, his gaze fixed coldly on the open window, “we did what we thought was best. And in time, maybe he’ll come to see that.”

I nodded, allowing the comfort of Nathan’s embrace to wash over me. The two of us were always there for one another, no matter the storm. It took ten years to realize that, but now I understood.

“I’m tired,” I finally said after a long silence, slowly untangling myself from Nathan’s arms. When I pulled away, I noticed that Nathan’s cheeks had a slight red tinge to them. Mine probably looked the same.

Nathan slowly nodded and stood, his tall form towering over me in the darkness. “I am, too,” he said quietly, his figure a mixture of warmth and grapefruit.

Without another word, I began to walk over to the stairs. My foot was resting on the bottom step when Nathan’s voice carried over to me, causing me to halt in my tracks.

“Olivia?” he murmured.

“Yes?” I didn’t turn.

There was a long silence. Finally, as though carefully choosing his words, Nathan finally spoke haltingly. “Are you… Are you gonna be okay tonight? Sleeping alone?”

His words caused my heart to race. I knew what he was asking: if I would stay with him. I wanted to. I wanted his warmth. But I couldn’t. It would only cause more confusion between us.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied, before ascending the stairs without another word.

That night, I slept fitfully, haunted by visions of Alvin and the phantom weight of his lost hand.

The morning light brought clarity, but it also magnified the myriad of thoughts swirling inside my mind. I couldn’t help but replay the events of the past day, particularly those concerning Alvin.

Our decision to restore his hand had come from a place of genuine concern, fueled by a mix of nostalgia and compassion. But had we inadvertently unearthed a monster from Alvin’s past?

Alvin and I had shared countless memories as children; we grew up in the same small town, often playing together in the fields and sharing secrets under the vast expanse of the night sky.

It was almost impossible to reconcile that innocent image of Alvin with the brooding man who seemed to wear his guilt like a heavy cloak. What had war done to him? How deep were the scars on his psyche?

And if his hand was a symbol of penance, what exactly was he atoning for?

Despite the cloud of Alvin's reaction, my thoughts kept drifting towards Nathan. Throughout this entire ordeal, he had been my anchor, his unwavering presence providing a sense of stability.

Thinking about Nathan made the situation with Alvin even more perplexing. While Nathan and I had found solace and understanding in each other, Alvin had seemingly grown more isolated, tormented by his past. I had hoped that restoring his hand would bridge that chasm of alienation, allowing him to find some semblance of peace.

But had we, in our well-intentioned naivety, pushed him further into the abyss?

Morning came with a soft light filtering through the gaps in the curtains.

Nathan and I moved through our routines in silence, the events of the previous night casting a somber mood over our morning.

It was when we were sitting at the breakfast table, nursing cups of steaming coffee with not a word said between us, that there was a sharp rap on the door.

Nathan rose, curiosity evident in his eyes. “Who could that be so early in the morning?”

He returned moments later with a cream-colored envelope in his hand. The elegant handwriting on the front unmistakably belonged to Nathan’s mother. An unsettled feeling curled in my stomach.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice edged with anxiety.

Nathan broke the seal, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the contents.

“It’s… A dinner party at my parents’ house,” he said.

A dinner party. At Nathan's parents' house. The pit in my stomach deepened.