Chapter Text
The day after the curse, Oliver found himself attracted to the bar without hesitation. “A White Russian, please,” he said, voice louder than he intended, and sat in a dark corner. The bar was lively, friends laughing together, others silently enjoyed their drinks. While he waited, he noticed a woman two seats away. She glanced at him, her gaze edged with quiet disgust. “Oh, it’s you,” she muttered.
Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Avery.” She rolled her eyes and took a slow sip. The bartender set his drink down. Silence thickened between them, heavy and awkward, like smoke that refused to clear.
“What did you do to her?” Avery asked, voice suddenly sharp. “Her?” Oliver frowned, caught off guard. “Who’s ‘her’?” Avery stood up and shoved him against the wall. “What do you mean, ‘who’s her?’ You dickhead!” She hit him a few times before the bartender cut in. “Hey! What’s going on?” He pulled Avery back. Avery shouted, “This man hurt my best friend!” The bartender sighed, weary. “Leave if you can’t stop this.” Oliver touched the bartender’s shoulder. “Wait, sir. I’ll go. She won’t stop unless I leave.” He whispered it, then walked out with his drink half-finished. Avery opened her mouth, but no words came. She only watched him leave.
“What the fuck was that?” Oliver lay on his bed, still dressed, the air conditioner silent and dead. “What did she mean? I don’t know her, other than her dislike for me. But how could I do something to her friend?” He muttered to himself. “I should just sleep.” He closed his eyes and lay motionless, but couldn't sleep. 6:11 AM, The clock glowed in the dark. He had spent the night drowning in sweat, he couldn't stop thinking about what happened. “I’ll jog,” he thought. He gradually got up, and stepped out of his apartment.
The sun wasn't fully risen. A child hurried to school. People gardening. Cars going by. Everything was ordinary. But neighbors paused to stare. “That’s Oliver? The 'Productive Oliver'?” they whispered. His dark eyebags, his wrinkled clothing, messy hair. It was very unusual for them.
Eventually he reached the park. “I’ll take a break,” he mumbled. He scanned the benches and found one nearly empty, except for a woman sitting at the far end. She looked up, then clutched her bag closer to her chest. Oliver sat down. She felt vaguely familiar. “Excuse me, madam,” Oliver said nervously. “If you don't mind, but may I ask what’s your name?” She did not turn. “You don’t need to know my name. And you never will.” The woman replied coldly. Oliver felt hope for a split second, and immediately lost it. Somewhere deep in his mind, too deep to reach, was a forbidden phrase: "My Madison."