The Test
Rosara 6 1024
I sat at the dining table, though “dining” was a generous term for what was happening there. The mahogany surface was buried under a landslide of heavy forensic textbooks, stacks of graph paper, and a tangled web of red string. Five days. We had been here five days, and already the space felt lived-in, safe, and surprisingly studious.
I leaned back, clicking my pen rhythmically, my eyes drifting from a chapter on Serology and DNA to the living room. Olivier was there, silhouetted against the large front window . He was doing his physical therapy exercises. He worked out using the resistance band around his ankles. Even with the slight hitch in his movement, he looked incredible.
A small, unbidden smile tugged at my lips. I watched the muscles in his back as he transitioned to a set of light dumbbells. Olivier finished his set, exhaling a long, steady breath, and sank onto the leather couch. I didn’t give myself a chance to hesitate. I stood up, my chair scraping softly, and crossed the room.
He looked up and I sat directly on his lap, my legs draped over his, and circled my arms around his neck. His hands, still warm and slightly calloused from the weights, settled firmly on my waist.
“Hey you.”
“Hey yourself,” I whispered. I leaned in, closing the gap. The kiss was slow. I felt his fingers pulling me just a fraction closer.
When we finally pulled apart, I stayed there, my forehead resting against his. “You looked incredibly hot exercising just now,” I teased.
Olivier’s lips curled into a smirk. “Is that so? I thought you were supposed to be the one focusing on the physics of blood spatter, not the physics of my muscles.”
He squeezed my waist. “Hold onto me tight, Gabby,” he whispered.
“What—?”
Before I could finish the question, he braced his core and pushed off the sofa. He rose in one fluid, powerful motion, lifting me entirely off the ground as he stood. My legs instinctively locked around his waist to keep my balance, and I let out a small, startled gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“Olly!” I laughed, looking down at his face, impressed and a little breathless. “You’re so strong. Are you sure your leg can handle this yet?”
“The PT said I needed to work on my weight distribution. I’d say this is a pretty perfect way to test it.”
He leaned in again, capturing my lips in another kiss, this one more assertive, more certain. I held onto him, reveling in the feeling of being carried, of being safe in the arms of the man who had seen my darkest side and stayed.
When he finally broke the kiss, his face was inches from mine, his expression shifting from playful to intense. “Do you want to go to the room?”
I let out a soft laugh. I leaned back just enough to look at the wreckage on the dining table—the red strings, the textbooks, the looming shadow of my career.
“Believe me, the temptation is massive, especially after this. I want nothing more than to say yes. But...I have a string-line diagram and a chapter on velocity that are basically mocking me. I have to study, Olly. I really can’t fail this. We can tonight after class though.”
Olivier let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, though the grin never left his face. He slowly lowered me until my feet hit the floor, his hands lingering on my hips for a moment longer.
“Alright, fine. Go back to your bloodstains.”
I smiled, standing on my tiptoes to give him one last, quick peck on the lips. “Deal. But I could use some coffee though. A lot of it.”
“On it, babe,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll make it extra strong. You’re going to need it.”
“Yes I will.” I walked back to the table. “Fluffy, move.”
He had claimed the center of the table, sprawling his massive, marmalade body directly across Principles of Physics. He didn’t move; he simply rolled onto his back, exposing his white belly and letting out a demanding trill. I couldn’t resist. I paused to sink my fingers into his fur while purred.
I picked up my ruler and a length of red string, returning to my diagram. I was tracing a “Medium Velocity Impact” pattern, trying to calculate the point of origin based on the shape of the droplets.
In the kitchen, I heard the familiar sounds of the morning ritual: the grind of coffee beans, the hiss of the kettle, and the clink of ceramic mugs. Olivier walked over a few minutes later, setting a steaming mug of black coffee near my elbow—safely away from the textbooks.
He leaned over my shoulder, looking at the complex grid of lines and angles I had drawn.
“You look...lighter, Gabby,” he said softly. “I haven’t seen you this focused on something this much. Except when trying to find your mom.”
I took a sip of the coffee, the heat grounding me. “I need to master the math, Olly,” looking up at him. “The angles, the arcs, the velocity...it changes everything.”
I ran my finger along a curved line on the graph paper.
“It gives the power a purpose. If I can understand the ‘how’ through physics, maybe I can use the ‘what’ to actually help dad. It makes the monster feel...useful.”
Olivier reached down, his thumb grazing my cheek. “You’re not a monster, Gabby.”
I smiled, leaning into his touch. “Thanks babe.”
“Now, get back to your strings. I have some studying of mine to do too.”
“I hope you can get in and join me Olly.”
“Me too.”
I sat in the third row, my back straight, my fingers around a black ballpoint pen. On the projector screen, a slide showed a complex diagram of arterial spray patterns.
“The tail of the droplet always points in the direction of travel,” Professor Sterling’s voice droned, punctuated by the rhythmic tap of his laser pointer.
I scribbled notes frantically. Directionality. Impact angles. Arc of movement.
“Clear your desks,” Sterling announced. “It’s time.”
The rustle of paper and the collective groan of the class sent a spike of static through my head. This was it. The mid-term. I had been in this class for six months, pouring over textbooks until my vision blurred, but looking at the blank cover sheet of the exam felt like staring into a void.
I flipped the page.
Question 1: Calculate the point of origin for a high-velocity impact with the following coordinates...
My mind went blank. The numbers swam. I forced myself to look at the math. I pictured the red string diagrams on my dining table. I imagined the physics of the blood, the gravity, the velocity. Slowly, the equations began to knit together in my mind. I started writing.
The lecture hall was nearly empty by the time I handed in my paper. My hand was cramping, and my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Professor Sterling was stacking the exams, his expression unreadable behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I lingered by his desk.
“Professor?” I started.
He looked up. “Yes, Gabrielle?”
“I...I just wanted to say I’m trying my hardest,” I stammered, twisting the strap of my bag. “The physics, the math...it doesn’t come as naturally to me as the observations do. I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up.”
Sterling set the stack of papers down. He looked at me for a long moment.
“Forensics isn’t just about what you see, Gabrielle. It’s about the discipline to prove it,” he said. “I’ve watched you these last few months. You have an intuitive grasp of crime scenes that most of my graduate students lack. You see the story in the silence.”
He stepped around the desk, offering a rare, encouraging nod.
“Focus on what you are having trouble with. Don’t doubt yourself, Gabrielle. You’re doing well. Keep that focus.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. “Thank you. That...that means a lot.”
In the bedroom the cool night air from the cracked window. I lay draped across Olivier, my head resting on his chest. His skin was warm under my cheek, and his heartbeat was the only sound I cared to hear.
I let out a long, shuddering sigh, the tension finally draining from my muscles for the first time in days.
“I needed that,” I whispered into the crook of his neck. My fingers traced the line of his collarbone. “I really, really needed that, Olly.”
Olivier’s arm was a protective weight around my shoulders, his hand idly stroking my hair. “Me too, Gabby. You’ve been deep in those textbooks.”
I shifted slightly, propping myself up on my elbows so I could look at him. The moonlight caught the soft curve of his smile.
“That midterm was...it was so much,” I confessed, my voice trailing off. “I’ve spent months looking at string diagrams and calculating velocities, but sitting in that hall today, it felt like the numbers were giving me anxiety. Physics doesn’t just come to me, Olly. It’s so hard. I’m so scared I’m going to fail.”
Olivier stopped his hand on my back. He reached up, cupping my jaw.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Look at me.”
I lifted my gaze to his.
“You are not going to fail,” he stated. “I’ve watched you stay up until eleven at night. I’ve seen the way you even talk about it in your sleep. You’ll nail it, Gabby. You just need to keep that focus.”
He leaned up slightly, his forehead pressing against mine. “You’re the strongest person I know. A physics test isn’t going to break you.”
“You always know exactly what to say.”
I leaned in, closing the small gap between us. I kissed him—a slow, lingering press of lips. When I pulled back, I nuzzled my nose against his.
“Thanks, babe.”
Olivier grinned, pulling me back down into the crook of his arm, tucking the duvet securely around us. “Anytime.”
I closed my eyes. The test was over, the night was quiet, and for the first time in a week, I felt like I could actually breathe.
