Page 16 of Pieces Into Place

Glaring at him, I shove as much as I can into my canvas bag with enough force to make an impression. My frustration only grows as he continues working and whistling,seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m still there. There’s something about him – powerful yet restrained. He carries himself with an energy that states he doesn’t give a fuck about what people think about him. It’s equally attractive and irritating, especially since it’s currently directed at me.

Finally, I grab my keys and storm toward the classroom. I want nothing more than to slam it with a hard thud, but the heavy door is designed to close slowly so kids don’t get their fingers pinched.

Even after I manage to pull it shut, his whistling follows me down the hall, mocking me all the way.

Despite the start of the morning, the rest of the day goes surprisingly well. I only have two nose pickers, one crayon eater, two exceptionally loud girls, and one over-sharer. He told me during share time that his mom and dad like to spend time alone together, watching adult movies, and drinking adult drinks. No judgment here. That’s probably how I would be as a parent, as well.

I glance up at the clock as I pack my things away and realize I’ll miss the bell. Not that it matters. I haven’t seen the janitor from hell all day, and he’s the one with the keys to lock up.

I was going to approach the administration about him after our first meeting, but after a long day with thirty kids in a cramped classroom, I realized I didn’t know his story. He might have just had a bad first impression of me, too.

Just then, he saunters into the room looking bored and disinterested. His tired eyes wander over the mess left behind by impatient children, shaking his head as he heads for the corner trash can.

He doesn’t spare me a glance until I crack a joke: “Did you make anyone else fall on their ass today?

“Nope. Just you,” he replies snarkily. “Did you try to steal the souls of any unsuspecting children?”

I arch an eyebrow in surprise at his unexpected wit. “Funny,” I say sarcastically as I take a moment to study him while his back is to me. He’s tall and lean with broad shoulders and wavy dark hair that tickles the nape of his neck. His work pants hug his trim waist, showcasing a surprisingly toned physique beneath a tucked-in shirt. I bite my lower lip as I let my eyes wander over the hard planes of his body before he turns and they meet his eyes. They sparkle with hidden depths, highlighted by flecks of orange like a campfire reflecting off a lake at night. A smirk reveals a dimple on the left side of his cheek that I could sleep in. Holy crap. Asshole Janitor is hot. But it doesn’t matter how good looking he is—he’s obviously a self-obsessed prick.

“You know what? I was going to be nice and tell you which desks have dried, crusty boogers underneath them. But your attitude sucks, so you can find them yourself.”

“Pretty sure I’m up to the task.” He chuckles humorlessly. His condescension is both rude and insulting.

“Whatever!” I exhale under my breath but loud enough to make sure he hears. He’s making me passive-aggressive. I hate passive-aggressiveness. Once again, he ignores me and does his job as if we haven’t begun a Hatfield-McCoy-sized feud.

“I hope you don’t fall into the toilet when you’re scrubbing all of the tiny turd messes,” I say. This garners me with raised eyebrows and a tiny smile on his stupid, handsome face.

I gather my belongings and move toward the door. His eyes follow me as I walk, but I don’t let myself slow down or be intimidated. I swing open the heavy entrance, feeling a sense of satisfaction when it closes behind me. Stepping out onto the street, I take a deep breath of fresh air. It’s like an elixir for my soul; it helps to wash away all of the stress from the day.

I make my way home to my refuge. Eight hundred square feet of stucco and windows is the only place where I can truly feel secure in who I am. My real name might be Simone Olivia Kildare, but here I am known as Olivia Eden Monroe – and that’s how it has been for years now. It’s confusing as hell, and I’d need a tree diagram to explain it accurately.

I was born Simone Olivia Holt. That was my name for my first thirteen years of life. Then, against my will, I became Simone Olivia Kildare. I was forced to live under that ruse for five more years. As soon as I was able to at the age of eighteen, I started going by my middle name and grandmother’s maiden name. It was partially to distance myself from my previous life and for protection. I’ve been Olivia Eden Monroe for over ten years now.

Somewhere along the way, I forget where each persona stopped and the other started. I’ve lived three different lives in my short 30 years and don’t entirely know who I’m meant to be.

Simone Holt had golden locks, a glistening white smile and a penchant for activities that didn’t involve sitting still. She was the life of the party, constantly surrounded by friends at sleepovers, pool parties and weekend trips. Her passion for sports showed in her trim figure, she could run like the wind and throw a baseball like nobody else. But most of all, Simone wanted to explore the world beyond her small town.

At thirteen-years-old, Simone felt invincible. Every day was full of excitement and possibility. One summer evening, she held hands with Connor, the star baseball player who she’d been crushing on since seventh grade. They kissed under the stars and Simone thought she’d found true love. If only she knew that as soon as their lips parted, so too would her dreams.

Then came Simone Kildare. When she stepped into a room, her eyes scanned everything and everyone with a practiced detachment born of painful experience. Her face was a mask of stoicism, but beneath it simmered a barely contained rage at the unfairness of life. Loss had hollowed her out and left her closed off from anyone who might try to reach out. She knew that fairytales were just stories, fictions created to distract people from reality.

Olivia’s hair was tinted darker than its natural color, an attempt at reinvention that failed to fully conceal the wounds underneath. She moved through life with cautious steps, always on guard against those who might hurt her. Intimacy was impossible for her – how could she connect with someone when she was afraid to let them get too close? Instead, she turned to dating apps, seeking quick, casual encounters in neutral locations that would end before any awkward post-sex conversations could occur.

I move through my small space, shedding the day as I go. Gently kicking off my shoes, I wiggle my toes in the plush carpet and sigh. Reaching for the top button of my blouse, I slowly undo the buttons one by one until I’m able to pull it off my body. Next, I unfasten my bra and let it fall to the floor with a satisfied sigh, feeling as though a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Slipping into a faded blue t-shirt and old sweatpants, I run a brush through my hair before banding it up into a messy bun on the top of my head. Turning toward the mirror, I smile at how comfortable and relaxed I look. Taking a deep breath, I grab a wine glass and fill it with a generous amount of Viognier before making my way out to the balcony.

The sun is setting on the distant hills, casting a warm pinkish hue over the valley below as dusk settles in around me. From where I’m sitting, I can hear birds beginning their melodic chirps and feel the slight chill of the evening breeze wash away any remaining tension from the day.

I bring the glass to my nose and inhale deeply, taking in the floral aromas of peaches and honeysuckle. As soon as the smooth chilled taste hits my tongue, I sink further into my chair and allow myself to relax completely.

Closing my eyes for a few moments to reflect on how the day went, I find gratitude that it had been a good day overall. I have some lovely students and a few that are going to be more challenging, which I welcome. I’ve found over the years that helping the most difficult children is the most rewarding task I undertake. They are often burdened by circumstances beyond their control, either with learning difficulties or problems at home. I can absolutely relate to the latter.

I formulate my plan for tomorrow and consider making a few changes to seating and reading groups if things remain the same by the end of the week.

Now that I have that figured out, I can let my mind roam free. The memory of the altercation with the janitor flashes through my mind and I clench my fists in frustration. It took all of my effort not to lash out, not to make a scene that would draw attention to myself. Blending in was key – drawing notice meant risking exposure, vulnerability, and more pain.

There was no reason for him to be so adversarial. Yes, I snapped at him, but only because he was clearly unfit for his job. Imagine if it had been a child who fell and got injured. Would he have been so glib then? I was just trying to teach him a helpful lesson.