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dramaticskeleton · 2 years

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How To Accurately and Not Concisely Explain the Turmoil of Thoughts In My Head

It's 2:21am on July 20, 2022, and I cannot sleep. Maybe it's the 24oz of coffee I drank at 6pm, or the maelstrom of thoughts blowing around in my mind, or the anxiety that's hit me from our imminent move or... no. It's definitely the coffee. Remind me to never drink coffee after about 2pm. I'm sure you've said it before, but here is my note to you to remind you to remind me again. I know I shouldn't drink it because it sets my mind down the path of cycling thoughts that shouldn't be thought or ones that are better left mentioned once, set aside (after being fully examined, turned over, and with careful discussion) and ignored for the Once-Important-Topic-But-No-Longer-Consequential subject it is. But here I am anyway.

Tonight's spiraling thoughts (and let me take this moment to mention that I say "spiraling thoughts" without the usual negative connotation we have both placed on it previously. Spiraling thoughts tonight consist merely of things I want to say to you, or about you, about us and our life together that have me lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes for more than a few seconds before flying open again. But none of these are bad, negative, upsetting, or saddening. In fact, they're all... exceptionally positive. Overwhelmingly exciting and happy thoughts) stem from a combination of Memory Lane Waltzing, a fleeting moment of worry and insecurity about how I came off tonight, and the thrill of emotion that I got when I happened to catch your sleepy eye as you fell asleep listening to me prattling off.

(Speaking of prattling...)

We are in the final few days of the big move. The transition from two homes to one communal living space. The mingling of one living breathing human, their current lifestyle, their history, their relationships and personality, their job, their routine, their every. waking. minute. with another creature, with their own parts of life. This is a huge step for anyone, of course, but two individuals in their mid-20s, after a slow development of a relationship and partnership unlike any either has experienced before... This is major. Or maybe it's just me. You've moved in with other partners before so maybe you don't have the same hesitations now, but you understand mine at least. Or maybe you do have the same concerns, since your previous moves haven't been ideal either. Regardless, this is a big step for us in the direction of our future. But I'm not scared, not anymore. I was, for a while, and the closer it gets to the day we actually spend in our new home together, the more panicked I got. But after tonight, after literally just sitting here in the bubble of peace and harmony we had, I have no reservations, no secret terrors, or fears not yet placated.

Today I was supposed to do the final packing of my apartment. Instead I had an IUD placed and was in severe cramping pain and could do no more than lie on the couch like a pile of goo. And when you came home, I did nothing other than hold a trash bag for you while you went through your closets. But in one of those boxes, you pulled out some cards written to you by your ex. I, being one of nosy inclinations, asked to read them. I asked for a couple reasons, which I want to say I explained to you, but I'm more inclined to say I told you, and didn't fully let you grasp what I mean.

I asked to read those letters because I have this weird desire to see what it was like for you before. I've heard you say it, I've listened to your stories, but somehow hearing it and seeing it are completely different. Not saying I didn't believe you, but reading those cards hit me differently. Somehow makes it more tangible in my brain, something I can touch and process. I wasn't lying when I say it was also a way for me to help see the perspective that you had, why you stayed, and have more empathy for the situation. It's easy for me, as a third party hearing everything, to immediately hate her and everyone involved, to call her a selfish, manipulative, horrible bitch and think of the most violent ways to punish her for what she did to you. But seeing those words, written in her own hand, helped me see that she was sick in a way that, while you could never have "fixed" her, you tried for her sake and I understand it. And having those on hand, for you to look back at and remind yourself of where you were, how far you've come, I get it. Not in a way of "I completely understand wanting to have these around forever" type of way, but in a "I understand that you process things differently and this helps you come to terms with what happened and what is happening now." Did I have a slight hiccup watching you put those cards back in a box instead of a trash bag? Sure. But not in a jealous way or out of fear that you'd read them, realize you put so much effort into her and still loved her and would go back. That fear hasn't been around for at least a year. That hiccup was more of the inherent female reaction of "I'm here and I'm better and I won so I want to remove any reminder that there was someone before me."

But I have this tendency to suppress those inherent reactions 99.98% of the time, and that 0.02% when it comes out never turns into anything more than a "I'm being stupid, stfu." That being said, I absolutely also asked to read those cards as a way to somehow prove to myself, solidify to myself that she wasn't better than me. Despite all that I've heard, there was (apparently) this little itch in the back of my brain that thought maybe what you said was an exaggeration. She couldn't be nearly as bad as you said. Not that you were lying about it, but sometimes these things get blown up to be just a little bigger than they were. I know thought I've done it with my previous relationships - yes they were terrible, but were they really as bad as I remember or am I just bitter about what happened? Did I make a mountain out of many molehills? And I guess I was worried that you did the same a little. Back when our feelings were still tentative (but slowly growing), I did have a fear that I wasn't nearly as good as you said I was. I couldn't possibly be this wonderfully supportive, loving, great girlfriend that you made me out to be. I was just average. Surely your last relationship had these aspects too. But reading those letters, seeing how many there were, more or less solidified to me that no, it wasn't like that for you. Everything I've given you has not been given to you before to the extent I've given it - and I don't mean that in a conceited "I'm the best" kind of way. They were a way for me to see that this other woman, this historical, life altering human you loved before was not a goddess and perfection incarnate, despite her flaws. I sit here feeling silly for the way my mind compared myself to her, as if I was pitting myself against her and trying to be better so you wouldn't leave me and go back. I see now that there was no competition. I have my own flaws, but if you're staying with me, it's not because I'm just someone to fill a spot, to replace her. I'm here because of what I offer and provide you, all on my own.

Spending the rest of the night on the couch, you watching Netflix, me going through old photos, was relaxing, peaceful, and utterly comforting. The silence between us, with only the noise from the TV (and my raging commentary) was nothing short of blissful. I didn't feel like we needed to fill the air between us with words, either loving or joking, or sarcastic. We didn't need to have a conversation in order to enjoy each other's company. We didn't need to be totally ensconced in each other's arms, groping and feeling. I scrolled through my facebook photos, you rubbed my toes. We spent the night in pure marital happiness (sans marriage). And when the night was over, when it was time to lie down and sleep, I panicked. You thought it was cute, but I was truly, genuinely worried.

Because we just spent a night not embracing, kissing, talking, or fucking. We spent it together, but not... TOGETHER. But... we did. And it threw me off. I was worried that by not talking, by not reminding you every 5 minutes with a touch, or a look, or a word, you'd forget that I loved you. I thought you might be upset with me, or mad that I ignored you. I didn't mean to ignore you, intentionally or not. I was scared that if this is what we did tonight, maybe it was the sign that things were already starting to go downhill and you were bored and tired of me already. And then secondarily panicking because maybe I was just overreacting and you were utterly fine and this is why I've never had a good lasting relationship because I had these kinds of nights before and worried so much about everything falling apart that I couldn't see that everything was fine - then THIRDARILY panicking because what if I was doing the same exact thing and then we fell apart because I couldn't see that everything was fine and you were sick of it.

So stressed and worried was I that I literally came up with a word to describe the 3 back to back mild panics.

But... you, in your infinite patience and reassuring smiles and crinkley-eyed-laughs, let me know that all of that, that whole previous parasgraph there, was not true and in my head and I was being crazy and not to worry. But you didn't say it like that. You said it with a smile and a tight embrace, a forehead kiss and a nose kiss, and fingers through my hair. You reminded me, as you have multiple times over the last 16 months, that you love me, you love my little inexplicable panics, and nothing was wrong. I must have asked you about 13 times in 4 minutes if you were upset or mad or if I'd done anything wrong and you only held me tighter and reassured me that everything was, in fact, okay.

And now I'm sitting here (3:22am now) with you sprawled out on your half of the couch, facing me, elbow touching me, my foot on your thigh, and I'm laughing at myself. Because you're so at peace with everything I am and everything we are and I'm so worried that I'm doing something wrong. You make me feel sane when I feel like I'm going crazy - and I know I'm crazy sometimes and I say stupid things, but you've never once made me actually FEEL crazy or (outwardly) said I'm being stupid. You've only ever loved me, unconditionally and wholeheartedly. I always say "Oh this is the thing that makes me understand you love me" or "You said this and now I can officially feel comfortable." And whatever it is you say or do that makes me say that I'm sure helps me come to terms with that one particular insecurity, whatever that is.

But this... this is a whole new level of "I get it now."

We are about to spend the rest of our lives together. We have been living together for the last 3 weeks now, sure, but I still have "My Apartment" and you have "Your Apartment." Come Saturday, we will only have "Our Apartment." We are going to sit on this couch every night together, some nights talking, other nights just brushing fingers and staring at the TV. Maybe we will even spend nights in two separate rooms. And those nights will be like tonight - comfortable, safe, Together-But-Not. And I'm ready for it. How can I not be when I look at you now, think of how we sat together today, and be happy. I'm not scared of spending an evening not talking every minute because I know that it's not a bad silence. It doesn't forebode a big discussion or argument, or signify a silent treatment, or general malcontent. It indicates comfort and happiness. And if there ever is something to talk about or hash out, I know that you and I will sit and talk it over together until we sort it all out, and end the night in each other's company again. Regardless of whatever comes out way, we will always end the night content with our relationship, our home, our life together.

I am not afraid to be open with you, whether that's about real topics or made up insecurities. I am not afraid of us and our future. I am not afraid of you, because I love you.

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dramaticskeleton · 3 years

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January 3, 2022

When I was younger, I had this vision of the most perfect man who was going to come sweep me off my feet, take me to some new location, and start a brand new life with me. He had dark hair. Black hair. Short. Blue eyes. Or green eyes, it didn't really matter but it had to be one of those two. He had these pearly white smiles he would give me. Flawless skin, a jawline sharp enough to cut wood. And there was nobody I would take in his place. There was not a single man in the world who was ever going to beat him, this perfect man I had created in my head.

The person I'm with now... is not that. He has long hair - almost longer than mine. This messy, brown, wavy cloud around his head. Murky eyes that were definitely not blue. Definitely. Not blue. He has some pimples here and there. Some acne scars. His teeth are a little crooked. He has scruff. Good god, he has scruff. There was nowhere in my future that I saw myself with someone with facial hair. It scratches you when you go in for a kiss, it rubs the wrong way. My perfect person was supposed to be clean shaven. This guy is not anyone my 12-year-old self would have fallen in love with.

But like...

His hair frames his face so nicely, and every time I see him, I want to tuck strands of it behind his ear cause he looks cute. His smile gives me jitters every time and I love running my finger on his chin. I actually get really upset when he has to shave for work.

The thing my younger self never realized (and how could she?) - the best relationship, the "perfect man" isn't all about looks. Physical attraction isn't even the thing that draws two people together. I've fallen in love with the way he runs his hands down my arm. I swoon to the sound of his laughter. Those murky brown eyes have a level of love and affection behind them that my younger, more imaginative self could never have even dreamed of experiencing. He looks at me the way you see the guy look at a girl in the movies. The kind of look that your fictional heroines are getting (that they don't see because they're too busy staring at something else). But I see it. And if that man asked me to marry him tomorrow, I'd say yes - brown eyes, scruff and all.

I'm on my way home from work to see him and I can't wait to sit on the couch and tell him everything from the First-Day-At-Work anxieties to clamping my lips together to not make an inappropriate comment. I can't wait to see his smile when he sees me again, and his laugh when I tell him how fucking awkward I felt.

He is my perfect.

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dramaticskeleton · 3 years

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January 2, 2022

It has been over a year since my last written post on Tumblr. It has been somewhere around eight or nine months since I wrote anything even in a journal. This past year was my first out of the school setting, into the work field, and I have been experiencing all the joys of adulthood.

The bills. From rent, to electric, to gas, to other little things I never recognized were so expensive!

The number of hours required of me for my job. I’m coming from studying for 80 hours a week to working 40. So it’s a decrease in the amount of work? Right. Absolutely wrong. I might have studied for 12 hours every day during school, but that’s probably not right. I honestly only studied the 12 hours for 4 days and then spent the rest of my time enjoying my life. Now it’s 40 hours of work every week with no time to make food, sleep, enjoy friends all at once.

Little emergencies that all tumble and end up becoming big financial emergencies - two car accidents (one of which resulted in me having to get a new car), having to move out of one horrible apartment complex and into another little apartment home. Having to find a new job.

On top of it all, balancing my mental stability - surprisingly harder even without the stress of school.

But it hasn’t all been bad things. I’ve got my lovely Azriel and his brother Cassian. I’ve got this wonderful person who loves me and cares for me in a way I’ve never actually experience (upon further introspection). And I’ve got his cat too! My family is around to support me in everything and genuinely are worried for me about certain things like money and health. I’m doing pretty good overall.

At this time of year, I always scoff at the idea of “It’s a new year! Got to become a brand new person!” I’ve never liked the idea of having to chance who I am. I LIKE who I am. Sort of. I have an idea of certain personality traits I’d like to improve upon but I don’t want to start all over. There are aspects that I want to enhance again - write again, meditate and yoga, read more, run. There are parts of me I want to downgrade - my quick-to-anger personality, my inherent suspicion of peoples’ intentions, my anxieties about literally everything. I don’t expect myself to close my eyes and wake up tomorrow completely changed. I recognize that this is going to be a process. Maybe it will take months, maybe it’ll take the whole year. But by the time that title says “December 31, 2022″ I’m hoping I’ll have at least had SOME change in the way I see myself and the way I see the world. That’s all I can ask for.

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Chapter 4: Weekend

Fancy:

In my 25 years, I’ve had one boyfriend, who turned out to be a grade A psychopath. I’ve had countless one-night stands since him. Some guys I’ve seen twice, or even three times. If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be with the same person for five months, I’d say they were crazy. I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I didn’t want that. I didn’t need that.

Yet here is Freddy, who has become my exclusive partner. How the hell does something like this happen? Maybe it was because he made me breakfast that first morning. Or because he called me asking for a second night. And then a third. And a sixth. There was something about him that made me want more. Some impulse had told me to ask him to stay with me and I felt elated when he had actually come. Somewhere along the lines, our little fling had become something different and I’m not entirely sure it’s a bad thing.

I look at him now, sipping his tea, the steam rising up into his face. His hair falls into his eyes and I resist the urge to reach across the table and brush it out of the way. I have to resist doing a lot of things to him when we’re in public. I want to touch him all over. But it’s not just sexual. I want to kiss his cute upturned nose, hold his hand, and listen to him speak. God, if he could just talk to me for hours at a time, I’d be happy.

“Can I ask you something serious?” I ask, suddenly shy. He turns his vivid blue eyes to me, sparkling with amusement.

“Are you capable of being serious?”

I kick him under the table. “Shut up.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you like this?” I wave to the air between us. “What we’ve got going on?”

“Yeah, I think it’s good.”

“Do you want to take it further?”

Freddy bites his bottom lip before saying, “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve met my sisters. You’ve met my cousin. We’ve only seen each other for the last five months. I’m assuming.” I give him a look as if to confirm. He nods his head. “Is it safe for me to call you my boyfriend now?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

“Well, I can’t very well call you my one-night stand forever, can I?”

He looks so uncomfortable that I’m afraid I’ve ruined things by asking. Maybe it would have been better to leave things as they were, without putting a label on them. I twirl the mug in my hands, waiting for him to respond.

“The last time I was that serious with a girl, it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?”

Freddy shrugs. “We were engaged.”

I gape at him. Of all things he could have said, that is the last thing I expected. “How is that not ending well? Isn’t that the goal?”

He gives me a withering look. “Well, we obviously didn’t get married, did we?”

“Sorry. Why not?”

“After I gave her the ring, she wouldn’t stop talking about our life together, and getting a house, and children.”

“As one does when they’re about to get married.”

The corner of Freddy’s lip twitches into a sad smile. “I realized I wasn’t ready for it. Not really. I thought I was, but I couldn’t stop thinking about…” he pauses, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He hesitates to continue. I reach for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I just wasn’t ready to settle down yet. So I left her.”

“As simple as that?”

“Last time I talked to her was the night before I left. As far as I know, she’s still in France, so I can’t go back there. “

“Wait, did you tell her you were leaving?”

Freddy smirks. “No.”

“And you haven’t talked to her since?”

“Nope.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re literally the worst kind of person.”

He watches me with a calculating gaze. “You still wanna call me your boyfriend?”

I think about it for a minute. Obviously he’s got commitment issues and there is a good chance he’ll do the same to me. And given my growing feelings for him, I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. But at the same time, I think even a few more months with him would be better than ending things now. Call me masochistic.

“It’s kind of hot,” I say finally. “A young, tortured, angsty soul. It’s the new thing.”

Freddy makes a face. “I’m 27.”

“A baby. I’ll call you my boyfriend as long as you promise not to ask me to marry you and I won’t talk about a future with you beyond nightclubs and dinner. Maybe breakfast. That seems to be the problem. Easy fix.”

He laughs, and the deep sound sends a shiver throughout my body. It sounds heavenly. “Okay,” he says, “I can agree to that.”

“However, I do have one question about our immediate future that I must know the answer to.”

“Does it involve you being pregnant?”

My eyes widen. “Absolutely not!”

“Then shoot.” He gives me an indulgent grin.

“Will you go to Christmas dinner with me?”

Freddy freezes as he lifts his cup to his lips again. He sets the mug down again slowly, watching me carefully. His mouth curls into a half smile. “That’s basically a proposal.”

I blush. “I mean, that was never in our bargain.”

“Fair.”

“But really, will you?”

“Why do you want to go? I thought you hated your parents.”

I fiddle with my fingers, running them along the rim of the mug, playing with the spoon, looking anywhere but at him. Why did I want to go? My parents had kicked me out of their home seven years ago when I had made the ultimate decision to pursue my own path, not theirs. I had always resented them for it. They were my parents; they were supposed to support me and help me, the same as they did my sisters. But I think of Mercy and Grace, who had been there for me even after I spent years raging at them when we were younger. They were always helping clean me up after I started going to clubs and fucking around. If they can bear to forgive me my mistakes, maybe I could do the same.

I look at Freddy, who’s still staring at me. I lick my lips, thinking of my words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about what you said in October. How I’ve got to forgive Mam and Da before I can go back to them. And I think it’s time I did. It’s just bad if I keep resenting her if she wants to put things to right. She’s trying to make an effort and I need to do the same. And I… I want to see my parents.” I blink back the tears that start to well up.

Freddy nods once. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

I give him a watery smile. “You’ll have to dress up in something better than jeans and a white tee.”

He rolls his eyes in response. “Do I have to wear a tie?” he asks with a smile.

I pretend to think about it. “I think you can leave it off.”

~~~~~

When we get home, I run up to my room to change. I had convinced Freddy to go to La Dame Rouge tonight and I needed to look good. Even if I wasn’t trying to score a date for the night, it would still be fun to dress up. We hadn’t been to a club in weeks. Another testament to how much our relationship had changed.

I clean my face and apply new makeup, giving my eyes a dark and sultry look. I choose a violently red lipstick to go with it. The combination is delectable, if I do say so myself. I move to my closet, picking a short black dress with long sleeves and my thigh high boots. I grin at my reflection. I would have the boys dropping at my feet, and I’d have the pleasure of turning them down. Call me a tease.

I make my way downstairs, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. I find Freddy and Oliver standing unusually close together.

“Don’t,” Oliver is saying. I clear my throat and he looks at me over his shoulder. “Hi, Cici.”

Freddy looks around him and gives me a small smile. “You look gorgeous,” he says with a wink. I blush with delight.

Oliver snorts as he moves back to the table. “You look like a stripper.”

I take the seat across from him. He looks up from his phone, raising a brow. “I’m wearing far too much clothing for that,” I tell him. He makes a noise and rolls his eyes.

“Where are you two off to tonight?”

I turn around to look at Freddy. “I’m taking Freddy to La Dame Rouge.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

Freddy shoots a curious glance between the two of us. “What makes it so special?”

“It’s only the best club in Oxford!” I squeal. “It’s got the best music and the best drinks.”

“Not to mention,” Oliver adds, “The people. They either dress nice, or they dress like sluts. There’s no in between. It’s always interesting to see what people show up in.”

“Oh, that sounds… fun.”

I get up and sidle next to Freddy, planting a kiss on his cheek. “We’re going to have so much fun. Go on, get changed then.”

He smirks at me. “You’re dressed nice, so does that make me the slut in this relationship?”

I giggle and push him towards the stairs. Sitting back down, I find Oliver watching me closely.

“S,o it’s officially a relationship now?”

“Yeah, I asked him earlier, at the cafe.”

“Oh, you asked him?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes, is that a problem?”

“No, not at all,” Oliver shakes his head, frowning. “It’s nice to see you… settling. I was getting worried about you for a while there. I’m glad you found someone.”

I smile lightly. “Freddy’s a good guy. He makes me feel happy again. Truly happy.”

“Good.” I know he means it, even if he sounds lackluster about it. Oliver spent four years watching over me. I know the last two have been as hard on him as they have been on me and watching me spiral out of control and not being able to do anything about it must have killed him. I’m a bit ashamed, to be honest. But Oliver has been patient and understanding of it all, making sure I don’t fall too far. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.

I give him a sly grin. “Now it’s your turn to find someone.”

“This house is crowded enough with three people.”

“One more person won’t add too much.”

“You’d be surprised what four adults in one house are capable of.”

“Come with us tonight. You haven’t been with anyone in months! Not since Meghan.”

Oliver gives me a look with thinly veiled annoyance. “Your concern about my sex life is appreciated but unnecessary, thanks.”

“Come on,” I whine. “Just come to have fun then. When was the last time you weren’t working?”

Oliver just shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of clients recently. “

I look at him, taking in all of his features. His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through them hundreds of times just in the last hour. I note the bags under his eyes, and his gaze is dull. “You’re working too much. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious, come relax a bit with us tonight. For like, two hours. You can afford that, can’t you?”

“Why are you being so persistent?”

“I want to hang out with my cousin. Is that such a bad thing? I feel like I haven’t actually seen you in a while. Not since Freddy arrived.” I stop, a sudden suspicion clouding my mind. “You don’t like him.”

Oliver blinks at me. “He’s fine.”

“You’ve been avoiding us.”

“I haven’t.”

“What’s wrong with him then?”

“Nothing, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

I’d be inclined to believe him if it weren’t for the shifty look he gives me. “What were you talking about before I came down? You told him not to do something.”

“I was just telling him not to hurt you, is all.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a terrible liar.”

Oliver shrugs his shoulders, looking down at his hands. “He looks like someone I used to know.”

“What, like an old boyfriend or something?”

He rubs his face and leans back in his chair. “What? No!”

My eyes flare wide. “He was, wasn’t he? Oh my god, I’m sleeping with your old flame, this is so weird.”

He stiffens, his eyes shut.

“Oliver!” I hiss, kicking at him.

Oliver runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “God, you’re incorrigible. Not everything is a drama like that. He’s just someone I went to school with.”

“Did you have thoughts about him in school?”

He glares. “Stop it.”

I smile a bit. “Jokes aside, was he a good person back then?”

“Yeah, he was decent. You couldn’t have found a better person to be with.”

I give Oliver a grin. “Fine, so you’re not avoiding Freddy. You don’t hate him. You’ve got no excuse not to come to the club tonight.”

“God, are we back to this? Okay, look, I’ll meet you at the club, okay? I just have to finish one last thing and then I’ll go. I promise.” He holds up his pinky finger.

I smile widely, taking it in my own. “You can’t break this.”

“I know the rules.” He glares at me for a second before pulling his hand back. “How are your sisters?”

I lift my shoulder nonchalantly. “Fine. I think Mercy’s pregnant.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno, she looks fatter.”

Oliver spits his tea back into his mug, laughing. “What a horrible thing to say about your sister!”

“What? It’s a good thing! She’s fat because she’s pregnant. That’s good!”

“You can’t just call people fat, Cici!”

I pout, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I said it to her face.”

“Fucking good!”

A comfortable silence falls between us as Oliver finishes his tea. When he gets up to leave, he mumbles something about having to finish work and starts to walk out of the kitchen. As he reaches the stairs, I blurt out,

“Mam asked me to Christmas dinner.”

Oliver turns slowly and regards me with worry in his eyes. “Are you going?”

I nod. “I asked Freddy to come with me, because I don’t think I can do it alone, but I’m gonna go.”

Something like pain flashes across his face, so fast I wonder if I really saw it, before he says, “I’m glad.”

“What do I get them? I can’t show up empty handed.”

He shrugs and smiles at me before turning to leave. “Draw them something.”

I think of my drawing supplies, lying around to rot in my room. I haven’t touched them in nearly two years but maybe… maybe I could pick them up again. I could make a make a family portrait, something for both my parents and my sisters to enjoy. It will take me a while, since I’m so out of practice, but it’s a good time to start practicing. I’ll start tomorrow.

~~~~~

Freddy opted to match my black with black, wearing a tight fitted shirt and dark jeans. Maybe less dressed up than me, but I was okay with that. We have a quick smoke before going inside, the beat of the music loud enough to be felt as we lean against the walls of the building. I take in the site of Freddy standing in front of me, almost blending in with the shadows. He’s got his shoulders hunched against the cold as he puffs on the cigarette. His hair is brushed off to the side, making his face fully visible. He cuts a striking figure, dark and mysterious.

“You would make a good villain, I think,” I say to him. “You’ve got the right look.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment.”

“I’ve always liked the villain best.”

Freddy smirks and moves closer to me, pressing our bodies together. “The bad guy never gets the girl though.”

“Have you ever seen the women my age with novels? They, myself included, would give their right hand to be with the bad guy.”

“How about I give you my right hand instead?” He slips his hand down my back, landing on my ass and gives it a squeeze. I shriek in surprise, giving him a playful shove. His voice is sensual as he whispers in my ear, “I can do other things with it too.”

“Do you think of anything other than sex?”

He huffs a laugh and leans down. I can taste the nicotine on his breath as he kisses me. I let him into my mouth when he asks, running his tongue along my lips. It’s an effort not to melt as he explores me. I use the wall to support me. I start to grind against him, but he holds my hips in place. He starts to deepen the kiss, bringing his hands up to my face, but I pull away slightly. I’m panting a little bit as I say,

“Are you going to take me right on the street?”

“It’s called voyeurism,” he answers lazily, but he backs off. The smoke curls around his face as he takes a drag and exhales, and then he says, “I’ve been thinking about Oliver. What’s his story?”

I give him a look through half closed eyes. “Should I be jealous that you were thinking about my cousin while kissing me?” I laugh at his face. I continue, “You ought to know. Oliver said you guys were friends in school.”

Freddy’s face falls into a bemused expression. “Did he?”

“Oof, clearly not that good of friends. Don’t tell him you don’t remember him; he won’t take it kindly.”

He shakes head vigorously. “I don’t recall much past the last year, to be honest. So, tell me about this friend of mine.”

I laugh, resting my shoulder against the wall. “Well, he went to Goldsmiths’, obviously. Then he did a tour of Europe with a friend, but he ended up finishing it alone. He never said why, but I think it was a partner that left him.”

“That’s rough,” Freddy said, unusually soft.

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk about it much though, so I never got full details about what happened. And then his uncle on his dad’s side died a year later and left the house to him in his will.”

“Oh, is that where the gorgeous house comes from?”

“Yeah, it was lucky. I mean, not lucky that his uncle died, of course, but the house is a nice touch. He and I started talking again after I started living with my sister. I was looking for a new place to stay and he offered to let me live with him, so I took it up. I figured, a nice house, one of my favorite cousins, an artist like me. It was the perfect environment. And we’ve been here for four years now.” I smile at Freddy. “It’s been lovely. We had a rough patch about two years ago, but Oliver has always been there for me. He’s always cared about me.”

Freddy mumbles something under his breath that I don’t catch, but he’s got a smile on his face. “What’s he do?”

“He’s an interior designer. And I was talking to him earlier and he said he has a lot of clients right now, so he’s been busy. He hasn’t been avoiding you and he doesn’t hate you, in case you were worried.”

He shrugs. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, he thinks you’re great, and great for me, so you’ve got the Oliver seal of approval.”

“Wonderful, do I get a prize?”

I point to myself and waggle my eyebrows suggestively. Freddy laughs, dropping his cigarette butt and stamping it out with his foot. “Are you done?” he asks, pointing to the one in my hand. I let it fall to the ground too and slip my arm into his.

“Are you actually going to dance with me this time?”

“I don’t dance.”

“You did that first night,” I say, leaning into him. “And you were quite good too, as I recall.”

He shakes his head. “That was an exception. Besides, I like watching you seduce your way across the dance floor and then come back to me. Makes it look like I don’t even have to try hard to get you.”

I give him a light shove, but he pulls me back under his arm as we walk to the door. The man standing out front gives me a friendly nod.

“Hello Jordin,” I greet him.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, Fancy,” he says.

“I found a new form of entertainment,” I respond. He gives Freddy a quick once over and hums approvingly.

“And what a fine form that is. You two enjoy your night.” Jordin waves us in.

The music hits us as soon as we walk through the doors. It slams into our eardrums with a steady deep bass beat and the lights flash in time with it. I can see the dance floor is already crowded. I’m getting excited already. I look at Freddy.

“Are you sure you won’t dance with me?”

He gives me a little push in the direction of the crowd. “Go, I’ll get us some drinks.”

I run to the floor and mingle with the people moving to the music. I don’t know what it is about dancing, but it lets me forget my world for a minute. Someone puts their hands on my hips and I let them move me in time with them. I don’t think about work, or my parents, or Christmas. It’s just me, the music, and this one other person. I turn around, coming face to face with a pretty blond. She gives me a smile as the tune changes and suddenly we’re throwing our hands in the air, laughing as people bump into us.

“You’re really pretty!” she shouts at me over the noise. Her words slur a bit.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply.

“Do you wanna get a drink?”

I look over my shoulder, catching Freddy’s eye. I point to him. “I’ve got a date!”

The girl follows my finger and her eyes get wide. “Damn girl, that’s fair. I’d pick him, too.”

I move around people and on them. One guy tries to kiss me. Months ago, my first reaction would be to draw him off to the side with a flirtatious grin and convince him to take me home. But I ward him off with a finger and a shake of my head. After what feels like forever, I make my way off the floor, finding Freddy sitting in a lounge chaise by a window. He gives me an easy smile and holds out a glass to me. I take it from him and slide into his lap.

“Are you having fun, sitting in the corner alone?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve had at least four girls come up to me and try to get me to leave with them. It’s been entertaining. How are you doing?”

“My feet are killing me,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “I didn’t think my shoes through at all. But it’s been fun. I wish you would join me.”

I pout at Freddy, but he just shakes his head, smiling. I curl my feet up onto the chaise, taking a sip of my drink as I lean into his chest. It’s a rum and coke, my favorite. A little wave of pleasure spreads through me as Freddy runs his hand along my back. For a while, we’re content to just sit there, watching everyone else. I turn to ask him something and notice he’s playing with his necklace, a little coin with a symbol on it.

“What does it mean?” I ask, nodding to the chain. Freddy instantly stops fiddling with it and tucks it back under his shirt. He looks almost embarrassed.

“It’s just something stupid.”

I fish it out again, rolling the coin around my fingers. “I won’t laugh.”

He shifts uncomfortably under me. “It stands for love. A friend gave it to me years ago.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A friend, or a friend?”

“Someone very close to me.”

I drop the necklace. “Are you still close to them?” Freddy shakes his head silently. “Why do you wear it then?”

He shrugs weakly. “It’s sentimental. He meant a lot to me back then.”

I brush away the pang of jealousy that creeps into my heart as his words sink in. “He?”

Freddy blanches, looking like he wished he hadn’t said anything, but it’s out there now. I stare at him until he responds. He won’t look me in the eye.

“Yes, he,” Freddy finally says. “I used to have a boyfriend when I was in school. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, no, I’ve got nothing against it. It just surprised me. Was it a real relationship or just an experimental one?”

He looks a bit sad as he reminisces. “It was real. It was perfect. But then I made a mistake and I left him. I haven’t seen him since.”

I use a finger to turn his face towards me, staring into his eyes. His pupils are large, making his eyes look dark in the lighting of the club. I kiss him gently on the lips. “Everyone makes mistakes, Freddy.”

“Mine seem to be exceptionally stupid.”

I hesitate before asking, “Would you go back to him? If you saw him again, I mean?”

Freddy gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye and snorts. “That’s an unfair question for my girlfriend to be asking me.”

“I’m not trying to start anything. I’m just curious. If it was that perfect, would you go back?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. A lot has happened since then, a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

“I mean, if things could be the way they were before you left.” I pause, then say quietly, “If I could go back to my ex when we were sixteen, I would. Back when things were good between us and everything seemed like it would work out. When things were good, they were really good. I always wonder what would have happened if nothing had changed and we were still that happy couple. How different would my life be?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he chews on his lip. “That’s the problem with ‘What ifs’, isn’t it? You get lost in the wondering. I constantly think about it. What if I hadn’t left. What if I’d listened to him, trusted him? I’d give anything to go back to that day and change what I did. But it’s no use wishing for something that can’t happen.”

I nod, resting my head against his shoulder. “As horrible as things get, I try to think about where I am now, and how I wouldn’t be where I am if those things hadn’t happened. It used to be shitty and I hated it. But I’m starting to like where I’m at now.” My hand bunches his shirt. He covers it with his own, kissing the top of my head.

I’m blissfully aware of Freddy’s arm around my body when I notice Ollie pushing his way through the crowd. I lift my head and start to smile at him, but it dies on my lips as I note his panicked expression.

“Cici,” he says when he gets closer. “We need to leave.”

I lift my head slightly, frowning. “What do you mean? You just got here.”

“Trust me, we have to go. Come on.”

I snuggle back into Freddy’s arms. “You promised you’d come out with us. You can’t just come for a minute and then leave.”

Oliver reaches to grab my shoulder but before he can touch me, I hear it. My name.

“Oh, Fancy!”

#love #relationships #Somethings about to happen #campnano #nano2020

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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CampNano progress: Day 16

Words: 37391

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Chapter 3: Oliver

He’s handsome. That’s the only thought that passes through my head as I stare at the boy in front of me. He’s got a dark shirt on that clings to his body, showing off the muscles of his stomach. His black hair hangs in loose curls on his forehead and he stares at me intently with hazel eyes that have an expression I can’t place. I was going to be sharing a house with this person. The thought gives me a thrill of excitement.

“My name’s Freddy,” I say, sticking my hand out in greeting.

“Thank God for you, Freddy.” I can feel a spark flare up where he touches me, shaking my hand in a firm grip. “If not for you, I’d be stuck choosing between one thirsty girl or another.”

“You had a host of girls throw themselves at you, and you chose me for a roommate instead,” I laugh, “You don’t have very good taste.”

“Is that so? What are you like, then?”

“Well, I like art and getting drunk on the weekends, for starters.”

“We’re going to get along splendidly.”

~~~~~

A few weeks later, I sit at the table, editing the photos I took of Fancy. This one is particularly enticing. Her naked back is toward the camera, her spine sticking out faintly as she hunches her shoulders forward. She holds a green silk sheet against the front of her body with one hand, exposing just enough of the side of her breast to be tasteful. She looks at me over her shoulder, her other arm raised to run her hands through her hair. The photos capture the brilliant red strands slipping out from her fingers. Her makeup is sultry, making her eyes stand out.

My phone buzzes next to me. I ignore it, continuing to the next photo.

Fancy is on the ground, the camera angled to fly over her body. Her face is off to the side, so the focus is her fingers twirling a string of pearls around her neck. The light reflects in the blue nail polish. In the background, her breasts swell under the thin pink fabric of her bra. Her legs are bent, knees knocked in toward each other. I feel an appreciative growl escape my throat, remembering how I took her on the floor after I snapped the photo.

I flip to the next one - she’s on her stomach, her ass in the air - when a series of texts come in, one after another. After the fourth one I finally pick up my phone. They’re all from Fancy.

Come to Oxford ;) I want to see you ;) Please Freddy I know you’ve got your phone on you

Why?

I want to see you more often And I don’t want to drive an hour to do it.

I think about her implication. What had started as a night here and there had turned into a biweekly event and she had started staying with me during her visits instead of running off in the mornings. Our rough sex had turned into almost passionate love making. There is a different feel to whatever is going on between us now. Our fling had somehow become something more.

I type out, Maybe.

You can stay at my place. My cousin won’t mind

You live with your cousin? Is she going to join us? ;)

HE wouldn’t mind it, but I definitely would :P

Ah. I hadn’t been with a man in five years and I wasn’t about to start. When?

Come tonight. I’ve got a new set I want to show you ;)

I chew on my bottom lip, seriously contemplating it. I don’t have any solid roots in London, and there’s nothing left for me here anyway, seeing as I don’t go out anymore. My life has dwindled down to working at the table and fucking Fancy in the bed, or the other way around. Moving to a different city would be good for me. I could start over, maybe turn this thing with Fancy into something serious.

Give me a couple hours.

By the time I pull up to the quiet neighborhood, it’s nearly one o’clock. The dark stone house peeks out under strands of ivy climbing up the walls. It’s quaint, with stairs leading to the door and little flower boxes under the windows. I pull out my phone, messaging Fancy. Within minutes, I see a light turn on in an upstairs window. She comes out smiling radiantly. She grabs my hand.

“Oliver’s still asleep, so you’ve got to be quiet.”

I check at the name for an instant but she pulls me through the house, not noticing. The sitting room that looks like it’s straight out of a magazine. The blue couch is illuminated by the moon coming through the large bay window. A fireplace with low burning embers is on the adjacent wall. We go under an ornate archway into the kitchen and then through another one to a set of stairs. I let her lead me down the hall.

When we tumble into her bed, Fancy starts giggling.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“You asked, didn’t you?” I kiss her, slipping a hand under her shirt. “Haven’t you got something to show me?”

~~~~~~

I wake up to the feel of Fancy trailing kisses down my chest. She’s got her ass waving in the air and she lets out little hums as she moves. When she lifts her head, her caramel brown eyes sparkle. God, she’s hot. Fancy crawls to the top of the bed and kisses me, her fingers roaming my chest.

“Morning,” she mumbles into my mouth.

“Morning.”

Fancy pulls away and sits up. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like an angel.” My eyes slip to the art on her walls, drawn specifically to a vivid red cardinal, perched on a snow-covered branch. Its beady eye stares back at me. “Are these yours?”

She blushes prettily. “Yeah. I’m not very good.”

“They look good to me.”

With a happy smile, she leans in to kiss me again and then jumps off the bed sliding into the shirt and shorts I tore off her last night. “I’ll make lunch, yeah?”

I glance at the clock on the bedside table. It’s 12:45. “Alright.”

I stretch on the bed for a second more before getting up, admiring the drawings as I pull on my own discarded clothes. Next to the cardinal is a grove of trees, brilliant green foliage dappled with sunlight. Next to that, a gazebo covered in snow. She’d paid such attention to detail, it’s astounding. I give the cardinal another curious glance before lighting a cig and leaving the room.

By the time I get down the stairs, Fancy is already working at the stove She’s got the radio on and is swaying her hips to the music.

“Put that out,” she says without turning around. “There’s no smoking in the house.”

I douse the cigarette in a pot of water in the sink and sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and nipping her ear. I leave kisses on her neck, giving her a particularly possessive bruise on the area between her neck and shoulder. I start to slip a hand under her shirt. She whacks me with the spatula.

“Go sit down, you insatiable cad.”

I laugh, giving her ass a pinch before sliding a chair out. It affords me a view of the backyard. Purple and yellow flowers spill out of pots along the edge of the patio. The grass beyond is littered with brown leaves, though most of the trees are still bright red, orange, and yellow. There’s a little greenhouse off to the side, still green plants flourishing. It’s got a domestic feel to it.

Fancy brings my attention back inside by plopping a plate of eggs in front of me.

“I’m not the greatest cook,” she admits, “But I thought after all the breakfasts you’ve made me, the least I could do is try.”

I take one bite and grimace. “This is terrible,” I say as I spit it out into a napkin.

She giggles. “That bad?”

“I’ve had escargot that tastes better than this.”

She rests a hand on my knee. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t attempt.”

“Please don’t ever do this again,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.

She takes the plate with a playful scowl, dumping the food in the trash as I get up to take over the cooking. Fancy dances around the kitchen as I throw together eggs and spices. She comes up behind me and slips her hands up my chest, placing kisses on my back.

“Who’s the cad now?” I ask. I hear the front door open in the other room.

“Fancy, are you really making breakfast?”

I freeze. I’d know that voice anywhere. I had left it pleading and on the verge of tears in Greece and never expected to hear it again, least of all here. I can still see his face, sorrowful and distraught, begging me to stay. Telling me we’d get through everything, that we could do this. I shut my eyes, taking a shuddering breath in.

Fancy misinterprets my reaction and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just Oliver,” she whispers.

I know. I don’t say the words out loud, as if by not admitting it, he’ll disappear. I’m afraid to turn around, even as a part of me begs to see his face.

“Well I was trying,” Fancy is saying. “But Freddy didn’t approve, so now he’s doing it.”

“God, did you bring your flavor of the night home with you?”

I wince at the derision. Fancy moves away from me. “Don’t be rude. My flavor of the night, as you say, has actually been my flavor of the last few months.”

“Oh, is this why you’ve been running up to London every other week?”

“This is Freddy. Freddy, come meet my cousin.”

There’s no avoiding it now. I dump the food from the pan onto a plate and turn around. He’s sitting at the table, flipping through his phone. His hair is an array of curly tufts, just like I remember. The sun lights up his face and highlights the light stubble on his chin. The corner of his mouth is twisted into a frown as he says,

“What makes this one special?”

“Well, he can cook for one thing.” From the side of my eye, I can tell Fancy is looking at me, a grin on her face, but I only have eyes for the man in front of me. I set the plate in front of him.

“Thanks mate,” he says, finally looking up. His eyes, his beautiful, brilliant hazel eyes, flare wide within seconds and his mouth drops. All we can do is stare at each other. I drink in his features greedily, memorizing the shape of his face, the arch of his eyebrows, the sharp edges of his jaw. For a moment, it’s as if the years have fallen away and we’re eighteen again, meeting each other for the first time. He had looked at me the same way, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

I bite my lip and hear him mutter under his breath, “Shit.”

Fancy steps up to my side, interlacing our fingers. She kisses me on the cheek, saying, “He’s different, Oliver.”

When he looks at me again, he doesn’t look angry like I expect, like he should be, but there’s a touch of coldness that makes me flinch. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Don’t be jealous because I found him first.”

He scoffs. “You can keep him. He’s not my type.”

I deserve the chilly statement, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Fancy leans against me in what I suppose is a supportive gesture.

“Listen, I’ve invited Freddy to stay with us for a bit.”

“You did what?” He turns his fierce eyes to his cousin, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, he’s in Oxford and needs a place to live,” she lies. She crinkles her nose. “I’ve just remembered that I promised Mica I’d help her find a dress for tonight, so I’ll leave you two to become friends. Be nice.”

When she leaves the kitchen, a heavy silence falls. I’m not sure what to do so I just stand there as he picks up a fork and shovels the food around the plate. Fancy comes back down, waves bye, and leaves. Still, he doesn’t say anything. I feel nauseous and my head hurts. I wish I had finished that cigarette.

After another minute, he points the fork at the chair opposite him. “You can sit down, you know,” he rasps out.

I hesitate, unsure of if I want to run away or not. I decide to take the seat slowly. I watch his hands as he plays with the eggs, noticing with a jolt that he’s still wearing the silver and emerald ring I gave him years ago. I had gotten it for him as a graduation present, but it had meant something more too. It had been a promise. And I broke it.

I fiddle with my fingers, figuring out how to speak to this person. I settle for, “Hello, Ollie.”

He lifts his head, looking at me. Really looking. I think I see the frozen gaze crack and concern shine out for a brief second. I know what he must see - a pale, scrawny creature with gloomy eyes and a hollow face. I’m nothing like the vibrant, bright person he used to know.

“You look fucking terrible,” he finally says when an uncomfortable number of minutes pass. “You look worse than when you thought you could live off popcorn and biscuits.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say by way of explanation.

“Too busy to eat?”

“I’ve been eating.”

“Not enough,” he snaps.

A laugh slips out as we fall back into the old argument. “Alright yeah, my diet mostly consists of Bacardi and nicotine.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow, the worry too obvious to miss. He puts the fork down and folds his hands. He seems to fight himself before he asks, “Are you okay?”

I feel a pang at the question. Somehow, his ability to care for me hasn’t changed. “I’m fine,” I say quietly.

“That’s what you said in March, and then you disappeared again.” His voice sounds accusing, but when I catch his eye, he just looks sad. I think about that call, the kindness in his voice back then, the love that I could still feel radiating down the line. I hadn’t felt like I deserved it, so I had ignored the second chance he had given me. I had fucked my way around London to forget about the fact that he had invited me to visit him, and that he had said he missed me. The shame of it slams into me. I don’t have any words for him so I just look stare helplessly at the table.

Ollie runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, leaning back. “I don’t know whether to punch you, or kiss you.”

My lips twitch. I deserved the one and I desperately wanted the other. I give a weak shrug. “Both?”

He rubs his face, frowning. “I waited for you to come back, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I stayed in Greece for two extra weeks, thinking you’d walk through that door again, like you’d just gone out to walk it off. And then I waited at every damn stop on the tour we planned, expecting you to show up. I hoped for for weeks that it was all just an nightmare and I’d wake up with you in my arms again, and I’d kiss you, and love you, and everything would be alright.”

I can feel my heart breaking. “I’m sorry,” I choke out again.

“And then I woke up one morning and it hit me. You were gone. For good. You weren’t coming back, you weren’t going to call. So when I checked out of that last hotel, I shut the door on us.”

His face starts getting blurry. I try to blink away the tears but just succeed in spilling them. Through them, I see Ollie’s nose twitch, the way it always does when he’s lying. A flutter of hope rises in my chest. “I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Why hadn’t I? Because I had been so afraid of my past coming between us, that I had let it do just that. I had been scared of what he would say to me if I walked through those doors again after a week, two weeks, two months. I hadn’t wanted to see his anger, or sadness. I had betrayed him, and I hadn’t been ready to face that. So I had let the months slip by until they became years. And the more time I kept silent, the more scared I was to talk to him.

“I couldn’t.”

Ollie scoffs. “That’s a bullshit answer. God, we had three years together. We were building something; we were happy.”

“Happiest three years of my life.” Not a lie.

“Then why’d you leave?”

I fidget with my hands, unable to look him in the eye. “I didn’t want you to be bothered by her anymore. I thought if I walked away, she would leave you alone.”

“I never would have let Leah come between us, if you had just trusted me.”

I flinch at the name of the girl who had ruined everything. The messages that had followed us across Europe still haunt me to this day. Leah had tried to drive a wedge between me and Ollie, and while she never succeeded in making him hate me, she still managed to destroyed our relationship. At least, she’d played a hand in helping me destroy it.

“You were so angry about it,” I whisper, wiping my face. “I hated seeing you like that.”

“Of course I was angry! She was ruining our trip.” He looks down at his hands. “I was going to ask you to marry me, you know. At the end of it all.”

It’s like a punch to the face. I watch him play with his ring, twirling it around his finger. “You should have done it at the beginning,” I say.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“It might have.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?” He sighs deeply. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve moved on and you’ve got Cici.” His nose twitches again.

I blink. I had almost forgotten about her. That’s right, I was only here because of her. I had entertained the idea that I was starting to feel something for her, maybe enough to start a real relationship with her. Those thoughts had gone right out the window at the sight of Ollie.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

In the rare moments when I had allowed myself to imagine meeting Ollie again, this was definitely not the topic of conversation. I shift awkwardly. He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Oh come on, it’s not a secret. I heard you fucking all night.”

“Sorry.”

“You still make that noise right before you get off.” I blush furiously and shoot him a rapid glare. He smirks mischievously for a second, and then it falls from his face. “You’re the first guy she’s brought to the house, you know. Says a lot about you.”

I don’t know what to say. I think of all the girls I’ve had between here and Russia and think it just means Fancy’s got poor taste in men. “I got the impression she had a lot of mates to sleep with.”

“Yeah, but she never brings them here.”

“I guess she thought it was time to meet you.”

“How long have you been seeing each other then?”

“Since June.”

He looks surprised. “That’s incredible.”

I scratch the back of my head, embarrassed. “It’s just three months.”

“That’s a record for her. Listen,” Ollie leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. “You can’t tell her about us, alright? She finally looks happy for once. It would devastate her.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “She wasn’t happy before?”

He hesitates for a second, as if debating what to say to me. Then he says simply, “She’s better.”

“I won’t,” I say. “Tell her, that is. I don’t even know how I’d have that conversation.”

“You would start by telling her you’re gay.”

I smile a bit, dropping my gaze. “More like bi-curious.”

“I’d hate to think you were just experimenting with my cousin.” His sharp tone makes me look up. He’s giving me a mild glare, his brow lifted. “She’s like a sister to me and I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her.”

I laugh, raising my hands defensively. “I’m not. I think I’m starting to feel something for her.” I’m a little startled as the words leave my mouth. I think of her smile from this morning and it sends a little thrill through me. I feel a bit guilty as I glance at Ollie. Nothing I feel for her could ever top the emotions that well up at the sight of him, but if he was trying to convince himself that he’d moved on, then maybe it was time for me to do the same.

“Good,” Ollie says, getting up. “I’m happy for you.”

I realize he means it. He might be sad to see me with someone else, but he’s not bitter about it. If I was happy with his cousin, then he would bury his own feelings for my sake. Like always, putting me before him.

“This you?”

I turn to see him standing by the sink, holding up my soaked cigarette. “Sorry, yeah. I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. I was gonna get it out.”

“You’re smoking again?” He sounds upset, and I catch his eye. He’s looking at me with such overwhelming concern that I feel my throat start to choke up.

“I picked it up in France,” I manage to sputter out.

Ollie drops the cig in the trash and then crosses his arms. “Come on, you know it’s not good for you.”

I remember the first time he caught me smoking, a couple days into our second month of living together. He had held my hand and cupped my face, and said exactly the same thing. I smile a bit at the memory.

“It’s a stress habit.”

He takes a step forward and rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop.”

“I can’t,” I say, looking down at his hand

He lifts my chin. “Try. For me.”

“Alright.” I find I mean it. I’d try, if he wanted me to.

“You want a cup of tea?” he asks, moving back to his seat at the table. I nod dumbly, still feeling his warmth on my shoulder. He points to the counter. “The kettle’s just there. I like Earl Grey, one sugar.”

He shoots me a smirk and it makes me laugh. I set about making a pot for the two of us

“Well, tell me about the last five years then. I expect there’s a lot to catch up on.”

#short story #writing #writer #novel #aprilnanowrimo #nanowrimo #campnano #april2020 #freddy #ollie #gay love #love

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Chapter 2: Sisters

A/N: Here's chapter two! I hope you enjoy. I'd love if you left a review! :)

~~~~~ "Turn your head to me. No, not that far, just a bit. Yeah, perfect." I take four photos, each one at a slightly different angle. Riley had asked for a photoshoot to advertise her new designs and Ollie had offered to model. He's currently wearing black pants and a vermilion button down with a white pattern on it. "You look good." He winks at me. "You think so?" "You'd look better if you took it off though," I reply with a smirk. "Oh, get a room, you two," Riley says, exasperated from where she stands by the window. I laugh. "Ollie, let's get one more of you standing and then you can change into the next one."

~~~~~

The days blur together. My schedule involves waking up at twelve in the afternoon, working for ten hours and then going out the until two or three in the morning. I still find a new girl in the clubs every few nights, but I don't take any of them back to my place. Fancy's making biweekly trips up to London and I find that I actually look forward to seeing her. She pulls a new trick on me every time and it's enough to make me curious about what else she's got up her sleeve. Eventually, I stop going out altogether, just filling my time with work between her visits.

We're sharing a smoke after another night together, sitting in bed with the sheets covering our bodies. She's got her leg flung over me, and her chest presses into my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, holding her close. I resist the urge to kiss the side of her head. I've already crossed a line by becoming exclusive with her.

She holds the cigarette up to me, her fingers lightly brushing my lips. I inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs before letting it out. I blow it gently in her face, watching as she crinkles her nose. It's cute. Not for the first time, I'm struck by her beauty. I wonder if she'll let me take photos of her. I haven't touched my camera in months, but I want to capture the expression on her face and the way the lamp light strikes her hair, turning it metallic. Before I know what I'm saying, I ask her if she'll model for me.

She puffs on the fag, contemplating. "I didn't know you were a photographer."

I shrug. "It's just a hobby."

"Are you a professional?”

"I make money off it, if that's what you're asking."

"I'll pay you in something better than money," she says, a naughty gleam in her eye. She moves to sit on top of me, grinding her hips suggestively. I pull the cig from her lips, stroking her face.

"I only accept cash."

She leans into the touch, turning her head to kiss my arm. I realize the exact moment when she notes the scars. Before I can pull away, she grabs my wrist.

"Are you ready to talk about this now?" she demands, tracing the marks with a finger. I shiver at the touch.

"No." She doesn't fight me when I retract my arm. I drape it off the edge of the bed, turning my palm down so the scars are hidden again.

"If you've got a problem, you should talk to somebody."

I shoot her a sharp glance. "And that somebody is you, I guess?"

"I mean, I'm here." She rolls off to the side, resting her head on my shoulder. A few quiet moments pass before she says softly, "I've been there, you know. I never did anything, but I thought about it."

I try to think about her, this flirtatious, lively, devilish woman, as I had been. I can't imagine her holding a knife to herself, crying in the dark. "You love life."

"I love distraction," she corrects me. She turns her head up and I can feel her breath on the bottom of my chin. I don't move as she admits, "I've got an ex-boyfriend I'm trying to forget."

Me too. I don't say the words out loud. It's not true, I'm not trying to forget him. I'm just trying to forget his sorrowful eyes as I left him in that villa. I'm trying to drown out the sound of his pleading voice, begging me to stay, saying we can get through the shit together. I often wish I had just listened to him; had turned around and let him hold me in his arms, murmur that he loved me, and continued on. My life would have been different. Better. Instead, I had been scared and walked away.

Fancy reaches a hand up, brushing away the tears I don't realize have slipped down my face. Her hands feel warm to the touch. She sits up and watches me for a moment, her eyes searching for something. Whatever she finds, it makes her cup her hands on my jaw, leaning toward me. This kiss is gentle, none of the rough passion we usually share. Her lips are soft against mine, feather light and tender. It feels more intimate.

She lays back down, resting her head on me again. She traces circles on my skin.

"He was abusive," she says randomly. It takes me a moment to realize she's gone back to the topic from before. "So I left him. And now I fuck around to try and remove the feeling of his hands on me. I thought once what it would be like to be rid of him permanently, but I wasn't brave enough."

"There's nothing brave about it," I say. My words are bland, toneless. I stare at the ceiling. "It's a cowardly move."

"You can't help what you feel."

I close my eyes. I've never spoken about almost killing myself to anyone. Nobody has been with me long enough to notice my attempt. I'm not sure if it's annoyance or relief I feel that Fancy wants to talk about it. On the one hand, someone would know. On the other… someone would know. The thought of placing my secret in another person's hands is terrifying to me. But there's a part of me craves the trust that would come with it, and the intimacy. I take a deep breath and Fancy goes motionless.

"I ran away from someone I shouldn't have," I start shakily. "I made a lot of mistakes after that. I almost got married but I left her too. I had my own business but it wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. It just got to be too much. So I decided it would be better if I just ended it. I came really close too."

"What was it like?" The curiosity in her voice makes my eyes fly open.

"What?"

She sits up and stares at me, a peculiar light in her eyes. "In that moment. What was it like?"

I think about the night five months ago when all my festering emotions came to a head. I can still feel the sharp metal on my arm. The pain had been almost unbearable as I dragged the knife along the taut skin. The blood had been warm as it dribbled out. I remember lying down, the sheets rough against my back, holding my phone to my face for a while, watching a video of my love's face, listening to him say my name over and over again. The thought that he would be the last thing I saw, the last person I'd hear had been like a balm on the fear that welled up in my chest as I felt consciousness leave me.

"I was petrified at first," I admit after a while. "Then my mind went blank and I was more at peace. I was ready to die."

"But you didn't."

My mouth twitches. "No, I didn't. I woke up an hour later." I don't mention the text that I saw when my eyes opened. The message from the one person I never thought I would hear from again, as if he knew what I had done. It had been a simple hello, and I had responded in kind, intending to leave it at that, but he kept sending texts, keeping me from drifting off into oblivion again. I don't tell her that I called him, just to hear him talk to me. He couldn't have known he was talking to me after an attempt at my own life, but I could tell he knew something was wrong. His voice had been kind and soothing as he spoke.

Fancy touches my face, bringing me back to the present. "I'm glad," she whispers. She gives me that gentle kiss again. But as she moves down my chest, I realize it's not her I'm seeing but him. I imagine it's him trailing down my body, rubbing me in the right places. When she looks up at me, it's his eyes I see, warm and loving. I blink and he's gone and I feel a pang of sadness course through me. I stop Fancy before she can go any lower.

"Later," I say, pulling her back up. She nestles against me. Before long, she's asleep, her breathing slow and steady. I continue to stare blankly into the air, one arm around her body. My mind is a whirlwind of memories and thoughts. After all this time, after all the women I've slept with, even after almost a year with one of them, he's still the only one I can think about at the end of the day. His laugh echoes around my head. I can see his half smirk as if he were standing right in front of me. I wonder what he would say if he were here.

Fuck, Freddy, you look awful.

I smile a little at the thought. Those are exactly the words that would leave his mouth. Then he would proceed to fix me up, making fun of my methods of drowning him out. He wouldn't hate me for what I did to him, he would just try to pick up where we left off. He would kiss me, and say everything would get better, now that we were together again.

I close my eyes, his face swimming in my mind as I drift off to sleep.

~~~~~ The next morning, Fancy wakes me up by poking me in the side.

"Hmm?" I mumble.

"I've just gotten a text from my sister."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, I just haven't gone to see her in a while. She's asking me to come visit."

"Alright, go ahead then," I say, starting to roll over, but she catches my shoulder. She asks shyly,

"Will you come with me?"

I open my eyes slowly to look at her, surprised. Increased intimacy, yeah sure. Exclusivity, fine. But meeting family? I hadn't realized we'd reached developed a relationship that meant enough to warrant that. "I don't… I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I mean, we're not really anything, are we?"

"Come on, it's been months. I haven't been with anyone else. Unless there's someone on the side for you?" She hovers over me, lips pursed together in a cute little pout. I give her a reassuring kiss.

"There's not."

"I've already told them I'm seeing you, so they want to meet you."

I raise a brow. "You told them about me?"

"I had to explain why I wasn't visiting anymore. So, will you come?"

I hesitate. There is a line in the sand that I'm not sure I want to cross. She is asking for something more from me and did I really want to start going down this path? All three of my last relationships ended terribly and I hadn't been with anyone seriously in two years. But Fancy had pulled me out of a downward spiral. I'm not losing myself in alcohol and smoke every night. Instead, I am almost sane again, and I look forward to seeing her texts every day. She makes me want to live again. The least I could do would be to do this for her.

"Yeah, alright," I say, sitting up.

"Well come on then, get up. We've got to go! " She yanks the blanket off with a happy shriek.

"What, right now?"

"They want us there for lunch." She rummages in my closet while I take a shower, pulling out a simple black shirt and a pair of jeans. It doesn't do anything for my pale features, but I don't complain. Nothing could make me look better. Next to me, she looks like a bright flower, in a little red dress and a yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

Within an hour, we're standing outside a white building with balconies jutting out above the street. The townhouse looks pristine with its window boxes and autumn wreath on the door. Fancy clasps my hand and squeezes tight.

"Ready?" I give her a slight nod and we walk up to the door. She taps rapidly on it, then takes my hand again. She seems nervous. A minute later, the door opens to reveal a woman who could be Fancy's twin. She's got the same burnished auburn hair, though hers is cut short to her shoulders. They share the bright brown eyes that reflect the warmth of the sunlight. The woman turns those eyes to me, running them down my body before letting them rest on my face for an uncomfortable amount of time. She smiles tightly.

"This is him?" she asks. Even their voices sound similar.

Fancy leans into me. I suspect it's more to support herself than to comfort me. "This is Freddy."

"Is he sick, or does he always look like this?"

"Mercy!" Fancy chides, pushing her way inside.

"Well, come in then. Grace has just arrived so we can start."

We follow her sister into the house. The inside is just as perfect as the outside. Everything looks professionally cleaned and the couches look like they haven't been sat on for years. She leads us to the kitchen off to the side, to the table in the middle of the room, where another woman sits in front of a bag of Maccies. Her blonde hair hides her face, but when she hears us walk in, she lifts her head, flinging her hair behind her.

"Oh, thank god," she says, tearing into the bag. "I'm starving."

"Grace, don't be rude. Say hello before you stuff your face." Grace already has chips in her mouth. She mumbles a hello around the food, giving me a little wave. The red-haired woman rolls her eyes and turns to me. "That is Grace."

I can't help the bark of laughter that comes out. "Sorry," I say as all three of them give me weird looks. "It's just your names. And you're eating fast food. It doesn't seem like it fits."

Mercy smiles winningly. "It's a guilty pleasure. Come on, sit down. We weren't sure what you wanted so we just got you a burger and some chips."

"That's fine," I tell her, taking my place next to Fancy. She rests her hand on my knee with a little squeeze. She lets her sisters grill me on where I'm from, my family, my job. I learn that Mercy is a psychiatrist and Grace is a doctor at the local hospital. They each have husbands who are notably missing. When I ask, Mercy just says,

"We didn't want you to be intimidated."

They tell me stories about growing up together and I admit to feeling a little jealous. As an only child, I never had interactions like that. When they run out of childhood stories, they go back to asking me questions. When the food is gone, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. On my way back, the sisters' voices float to me and I stop short.

"Is he sick?"

"No.”

"I can see the entire bone structure of his face. Is he a druggie?"

"No!" Fancy shrieks. "He's got his own business. Now, stop it, both of you. He's just had a rough time of it. He's a good person. He makes me feel… happy again."

"It's good to see you smiling," Mercy sounds soft, caring. "You look like less of a wreck too."

"Thanks."

"Honestly," Grace says, "I never thought you'd find anyone else after— ow! What?"

"Don't say his name, not in this house.”

"Sorry."

"Listen, Fancy," Mercy's voice takes on a cautious tone. "Mam asked after you yesterday. Asked if you'd like to come to Christmas dinner this year."

There are few moments of uneasy silence pass by. I can't walk in there now, not when there's clearly a moment going on, so I stay in the hallway, listening.

"Why?" Fancy finally demands. Her words come out clip and chilly.

"She said she regrets what happened between you two. She'd have called you herself, but she doesn't have your number."

"It's been seven years."

"She wants to make amends, Fancy," Grace says.

"Why?" Fancy asks again.

"She's been thinking about family. She wants us all together this year. Start over."

"She's the one that kicked me out."

"Yeah, and she made a mistake. Give her a chance."

"Why should I, when she never gave me one."

"Be the bigger person, Fancy."

"What about Da? Is he going to let me come back?"

"Da will do whatever Mam wants."

Fancy is quiet and then I hear her push her chair back. I push away from the wall I'm leaning against and make it look like I'm just on my way back. I walk into the kitchen at the same time she walks out and we bump into each other. I steady her with a hand.

"Are you alright?" I whisper to her.

"Fine." She looks to her sisters over her shoulder. "I'll consider about it."

Mercy nods. "That's why I told you now, so you'd have time to think on it."

Fancy smiles wryly. "Thanks. We're leaving now."

She grabs my arm and drags me down the hallway. I give a quick wave goodbye before we're out the door. The car ride back is silent and tense. I let her brood until we're at my place again. She goes to the bedroom while I set about making a pot of tea for us. When I bring the steaming mug to her, I find her lying in the bed with the covers over her head. I sit on the edge, putting the cup on the ground. I rub her through the blanket.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She groans. I climb over her and settle in the bed on her other side. When she lifts her head, I see that her eyes are red and puffy, streaks of makeup running down her cheeks. I pull her toward me, tucking her head under my chin. We lay like that for an hour, her sobbing into my chest, me holding her tight. When her weeping turns into soft whimpers, I ask again,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Instead of answering me, she tilts her head up and starts kissing me. She shifts on top of me, the need for distraction evident in her touch. I oblige her. She moves with a fierceness that hasn't been present since the beginning of our relationship. It's like she's trying to forget the world again. So I kiss her lips, her cheeks, the space between her neck and shoulders. She moans and grinds herself against me in fervor. I flip her over and start dragging her dress up her legs. She paws at my chest, bunching my shirt in her hands. I pull it off, letting her fingers roam my chest. But this is not the moment for slow and passionate moves. Our coupling is rough and quick. When we're done, I roll off her, letting her shift to her side, her back to me. I tuck her in close and breath in her scent. Right as I'm about to drift off, she stirs. She turns over. I can feel her watching me, so I crack an eye.

"Do you love your parents?" I just nod my head. "I don't. Does that make me a bad person?"

I prop myself up on an elbow, looking down at her. Running a finger along her exposed shoulder, I say, "I got lucky with my parents. They've been there for me through everything. But if yours weren't good to you, you aren't obligated to love them."

"My mam wants me to come home for Christmas."

"Do you want to go?"

"I don't know." Fancy buries her head in the pillow again. "I haven't seen them in seven years. It would be nice, but I don't know if it will turn out like she thinks it will."

"That bad?"

"They kicked me out because I wouldn't go to medical school and I haven't been back since. What would you do?"

I haven't seen my parents in six years, haven't been back to their home in ten. I'd jump at the chance to spend the holidays with them, but they've loved me from day one, so it's hard for me to answer her. I settle for,

"Can you forgive them?"

Fancy glares at me. "Are you my shrink?"

I shrug. "It's important. If you can't find it in yourself to forgive them, then you shouldn't go back. Not until you can put the past behind you."

"You're incredibly attractive when you're talking sagely. Come here," she stretches her hands out to me.

I give her a smirk. "Again?"

"Just hold me, idiot."

I pull her close to my body. She falls asleep with her head against my chest.

#romance #story time #love #opening up #freddy #writblr #writing #writer

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Colourful Writeblr Asks

Dusty Rose: Your personal favourite character in your wip

Sunset Orange: Your personal least favourite character in your wip

Lime Green: Your favourite kind of scene to write

Twilight Purple: Your least favourite kind of scene to write

Blood Red: Favourite piece of dialogue from your wip

Ocean Blue: Least favourite piece of dialogue from your wip

Morning Grey: Do you still want people to join your taglist?

Bubblegum Pink: If you could only write one genre for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Forest Green: What’s your favourite genre to write?

Primrose Yellow: What’s your least favourite genre to write?

Iced Coffee Brown: What is one character that readers wouldn’t expect to do what they did?

Caribbean Turquoise: Which character has the most traumatic past?

Brick Red: Which character gets the happiest ending?

Strawberry Pink: Ship trope you have in your book

Ice Blue: Ship trope you think is overused in writing

Forest Green: Of your main five characters, who is a tea, coffee, water or soda person?

Daffodil Yellow: Does worldbuilding come easily to you?

Leather Jacket Black: Anything you think I left off!

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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April Camp Nano Day 1: 2528 words

Good progress

#nanowrimo #campnanowrimo #camp nano #word count #im gonna write a book #writing #writer #amateur

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Chapter 1: Dance With Me

Ollie opens his eyes, catching my stare. He looks beautiful, swinging his body to the music. He moves like he was born for this. He moves to the edge of the dance floor, holding his hands out to me. “Dance with me, Freddy.” I give him a smile and shake my head. Ollie pouts, coming closer. He grabs my hand and I feel like my body is on fire at the simple touch. “Just this once? For me?” “I don’t dance, you know that.” ~~~~~ The alcohol is starting to hit my system when I see her. She’s on the dance floor, her little green dress fluttering around her. I watch her sway her hips to the music, arms moving in the air above her head, copper hair framing her face in sheets. I lean forward, drink in one hand, playing with my necklace with the other. The movement comes easy to her, that’s obvious. She looks graceful. She seems to feel me staring because her eyes fly open and she finds mine easily. She smirks and swings her way toward the edge of the dance floor, singing along.

I don’t usually go out this late at night To the place where animals go But baby I’m here and I’m watching you move There’s just one thing you should know

She holds out a hand to me, motioning with her finger, telling me to join her. I give the slightest shake of my head. She comes to me. She takes the drink out of my hand and sets it on the table, then puts her hand on my shoulder, pushing me back in the chair. She moves behind me, trailing her fingers along the exposed skin of my chest. Her body sways side to side and she lean over me, singing in my ear.

Girl you are my fire Only true desire Swear I’m not a liar, you should dance with me You should get to know me Kick it with the harmonies Let go of your worries, you should dance with me.

She clasps my hands in front of my chest, still moving her hips to the music. She hums as she dances, only pausing when I reach up to grasp her arm. She shifts so that our fingers are interlaced and moves in front of me She tugs on my arm, crooning:

Dance with me Dance with me

I let out a little sigh as I get up, a faint smile crossing my lips as she squeals. I let her drag me to the dance floor and turn to face me, watching as the lights and shadows play over her body. She reaches up to brush the hair off my forehead. I grab her wrist and place it on my shoulder instead. She grins, clasping her hands behind my neck. She closes her eyes and lets the music move her. I slowly lower my head toward her, closing the space between us. She runs a finger along my jaw without opening her eyes and it catches on the stubble I haven’t shaved away. I knot a hand gently in her hair, the silky strands sliding through my fingers. I tilt her head up until our noses touch and I can feel her breath mingling with mine. I move her head a centimeter more until our mouths are level. My lips curls in a smile as I let them brush against hers. She manages to release a moan that sounds both elegant and erotic and I can feel my body twitch to the sound of it. I spin her around, wrapping my arm around her stomach and crushing her back into my chest.

I don’t usually go out this late at night To the place where animals go But baby I’m here and I’m watching you move There’s just one thing you should know

My fingers ride up her sides as she moves to the beat. She presses back, my frame supporting her. She reaches her arms behind her to clasp around my neck again and I lower my head, my lips skimming over that area between her neck and shoulder. She hums with pleasure as she dancing against me. She leans her head back, giving me more access.

Girl you are my fire Only true desire Swear I’m not a liar, you should dance with me You should get to know me Kick it with the harmonies Let go of your worries, you should dance with me.

She whimpers when I move away, but I just grab her hand, taking her off the floor. I take back my seat, dragging her onto my lap. I hold her in place with one hand on her back, one on her bare thigh, her dress riding dangerously high. She bunches her fingers in my shirt while I stare her with primal desire. She leans over me and I lick my lips, looking between her eyes and mouth. She flips her hair to the side and I use the opportunity to surge forward and bury my face in her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the sensitive skin. She sighs in response, twisting her fingers in my hair. I lift my head and catch her lips. It’s just a kiss of need but that doesn’t make it any less passionate. I can taste the rum on her breath. I slide my hand up her leg, her bare skin prickling under my fingers. Suddenly she pulls away and latches a hand onto my arm.

“If you’re going any farther, you’re going to have to take me home.” ~~~~~ This is not a night for passionate love making. It’s a rough and heavy moment between two needy individuals. We barely make it through the door before we’re kissing again. I push her against a wall, nuzzling her neck. She cries out as I nip at her skin, tugging my jacket off with quickly growing fervor. I hoist her into the air, her legs wrap around my waist, and I carry her down the hallway. When I put her down, she immediately starts pulling off her dress. The black scraps of lace underneath do nothing to cover her assets. I move in to kiss her but she holds up a finger, a playful smirk slashing her face. She points at me saying,

“Your turn.”

I grab the back of my white shirt, tugging it over my head and letting it slip from my fingers. I’m not exactly toned, but I’m fit enough. She seems to agree because she comes forward to runs her hands down my chest and stomach. She can feel me through my pants and she smiles wickedly as she unbuttons them. They drop to the ground and she falls to her knees in front of me. I inhale sharply as she takes me in her mouth right away, one hand holding me in place. The hot feel of her makes me shiver. I place a hand on the back of her head as she moves, groaning as she works faster.

I stop her before I lose it. She stands up and looks at me, eyes dark and heavy with lust. I kiss her roughly, pushing her to the bed, removing her underwear along the way. She sprawls on the bed, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back and pushing her breasts up. I reach down to slide an arm around her, lowering my head to her already peaked nipples, grazing them with my teeth She squirms under me. I reach a hand between her legs, feeling that she’s wet and ready. Barely any foreplay needed. Good. I slip a finger in and she bucks her hips against my hand. I use my thumb to flick her sensitive spot and her breath comes out faster. I position myself between her legs, holding myself at her entrance, teasing her. I growl appreciatively as she whispers,

“Please.”

I plunge in all the way and she shrieks. It gives way to a moan of pleasure as I move inside her, pulling out and shoving back in. After a moment, I flip her on top, hands grasping her hips. She moves in circles along my length and it feels heavenly. It doesn’t take long for her to find her edge, and when she clamps around me, I follow soon after.

When she climbs off me, she says something, but I don’t hear it. I finally let the fog of the alcohol take over. I close my eyes and everything goes black.

~~~~~

I wake up because I can’t feel my arm. I open my eyes blearily, the morning sun filtering through the shades like knives on my senses. I lift my head from the pillow to look at the girl. She’s nestled right in the crook of my elbow, auburn hair splayed out. I’ve got my other arm draped over her stomach, feeling her lithe, naked body under my fingers. I blink away the image of her writhing on top of me last night. I carefully disentangle myself from her.

My head is already pounding. I stumble from the bed to get meds from the bathroom, hoping to stem this hangover quickly. I look in the mirror, a pallid face looking back at me. My eyes, once bright blue, are dull. My cheekbones and jaw stick out sharply. It must be attractive because I’ve had girls throwing themselves at me for weeks. Apparently “Pained and Suffering Artist” is the new hot thing.

I scowl at my reflection. I took it too far last night, I chide myself. It’s always the same - I go a few drinks past my breaking point and I end up waking up with someone in my bed. She’s the first one since I’ve come to London though, which is a record for me.

I jostle her awake, probably not as gently as I should have. She moans, her brown eyes opening slowly. I do admit, she is an attractive creature. Her hair frames her round face nicely and I get the impression her eyes are kind when they’re not screwed up in agony. I hand her a couple of pills and a glass of water.

“Morning,” I say gruffly.

She smiles at me, a gentle thing. “Good morning.” Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitch up. I find I like her velvet voice.

“D’you want breakfast?”

She looks surprised at the question. She nods blankly. I pull on my clothes quickly, throwing her dress at her and leaving her to get out of bed in her own time.

I’m already sitting at the table when she eventually comes out to the kitchen. She’s got her purse hanging off her shoulder and she’s pulled her hair into a messy bun at the base of her neck, a few strands falling loose already. She’s a conventional beauty.

“That smells lovely,” she says, taking the seat across from me.

I push the plate towards her. “Do you want tea?”

“I’m more of a coffee person.”

I set about making a pot of coffee while she finishes the rest of the crepes. I lean against the counter, running a hand through my hair. I sigh through my nose as the craving for a cigarette passes through me. I haven’t had one since before I started this mess with this girl and my body can feel it.

“My name’s Fancy, by the way.”

I close my eyes. I try to avoid exchanging names with the people I bring to bed. It makes it more personal than it needs to be. What’s the point of knowing the name of a person I’ll never see again? I don’t answer her. She’s not to be deterred though.

“Do you often make breakfast for your one-night stands?”

I turn to face her, crossing my arms. “I don’t usually bring them to the place I’m staying.”

“Oh, am I special?”

“If it makes you feel better.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not used to having to talk to people in the morning.” I pour her coffee and place the cup in front of her. “And I’ve usually had a smoke by now.”

She rummages in her purse and pulls out a pack. She hands one to me. “Don’t stop on my account.”

I wait a moment to see if she’s joking. She just raises an eyebrow at me, as if challenging me. The decent part of me fights with the craving. I’ve grown so used to keeping my cigarette smoke away from people, seeing as they don’t like it. She obviously wouldn’t mind, but it would be better to hold out and wait till she left. I could probably do it. But I can feel my fingers tingling with the need and my body wins out in the end. I take the cigarette, our fingers brushing. I hold it between my lips as she lights it for me and as I breathe in the smoke, I can physically feel my body relaxing. God, I hate this addiction.

“So,” Fancy says around another mouthful of food. “What do I call you?”

I look out the window, smirking. “Your one-night stand.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she starts to say. I freeze. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, wary.

“I’m not interested in anything serious, if I haven’t made that obvious,” I tell her abruptly. I wince at the rudeness. I never used to be like this.

“I’ll be in the area for another day,” she continues, blinking. “If you’re interested, we can see each other again. Cuts out the work of trying to find someone new at a club every night.”

She’s got a point. I chew on my lip, thinking about it. It had been good sex last night and I wonder if changing my habits would be worth her mouth on me again. She slips me a business card in my silence.

“Think on it,” she says, leaving me alone in the kitchen

I can hear the front door open and shut as she leaves. I take another drag from the cigarette, picking up the card. It’s thick ivory piece of paper with her name in bold letters in the center.

Fancy Atkinson Court Interpreter Document Translator 01865 436721

So she’s from Oxford. This is a little far to go for a club and a fuck. Finishing the cigarette, I drop the card.

I gather up the empty plate, putting it in the sink to wash later. I shuffle back to the bedroom, picking up my jacket off the floor where we had let it fall last night. I throw it into the closet, not bothering to hang it up, and flop onto the bed. I can still smell Fancy on the sheets. I should wash them. I pull the covers over my head instead, drowning out the morning sun. I’m not actually tired, but I can’t think of anything else I want to do. I let sleep drag me under.

When I wake up, it’s almost dark. I drag myself from under the sheets, forcing myself into the bathroom for a shower. The water soothes the aching in my muscles. I lean my head back into the stream, letting it massage my scalp.

When I go to wipe my face, I can’t help but catch sight of my arms. I grimace as I look at them. The wounds are mostly scarred over now. I’d been wearing long sleeves for so long I almost forgot they were there. Almost.

I get out of the shower, the air cold enough to cover me in goosebumps. I get dressed and light another cigarette, walking around the house aimlessly. I end up in the kitchen and see the card still sitting on the table. I walk over, staring down at it. A chuckle escapes my throat. The other girls I’ve brought home understand that, even if I treat them nice the morning afterward, I still didn’t want to see them again. This Fancy woman has balls, I’ll give her that.

I opt to stay in for the night, opening my laptop and working on some of my sorely neglected projects. Her card keeps drawing my eye, taunting me. I flip it over and push it to the other side of the table. I don’t need to see her again. When I’m in the mood, I’ll find some other hapless lover. All I had to do was twist my lip the right way and crook my finger and I had girls begging to sit in my lap. I’d been exercising the gift more frequently in recent months. So I’d find someone else.

I work until the clock reads 2:30 and then crawl back into bed. I sleep until midafternoon the next day, doing the same thing all over again. I stare at the screen, but I’m not seeing the pictures.

I think about Fancy’s tongue licking me, and the feel of her moving under my hands. I wonder what she tastes like and wish I had gotten the chance to try. I slam my laptop shut. Fuck, she’s just another girl. There’s nothing special about her and it’s not like sex was mind-blowingly unique, so why can’t I stop thinking about her? I probably haven’t crossed her mind once, just another body for her to count.

It’s because she told me her name, I reason. She made it too personal. I hate it. I didn’t care about names. I haven’t since Greece, five years ago.

By the third day, I’m mental. Around eleven at night, I finally flip over the card and dial the number. It rings twice before she answers.

“Fancy Atkinson, how may I help you?” She sounds professional, put together. I can picture her in a business suit, her hair up in a bun, a pen sticking out of it. Immediately, I imagine undressing her. I chew my lip.

“Hello?”

“I thought about it,” I say simply.

There’s a pause and then she makes a noise that sounds like a purr. “Oh, it’s you.” Instantly, her voice changes from businesswoman to a phone sex operator, silky and smooth. “I was disappointed you didn’t call sooner.”

“Well I’m calling now.”

“But I’m already back in Oxford.” I ignore the jab of disappointment that comes with the sentence. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Keep your bed open for me.”

Her voice caresses my ear long after she’s hung up. I sit there for another ten minutes before making a decision. She was just another girl, nothing special. I could find a hundred like her within an hour. So I change my shirt for a patterned button down and leave for The Lux. I order drink after drink until things get blurry around the edges. I turn from the bar with my fifth one when a woman bumps into me.

“Sorry,” she says, even as she presses her breasts into my chest. My drink spills on her, glistening on her sizable cleavage and down the front of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her green eyes peer at me through dark lashes, her equally dark hair tucked behind her ears. I hurriedly put down my drink.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Let’s get you out of those.”

I take her in the bathroom stall, a new low point for me. I have to cover her mouth to keep her from being too loud. I close my eyes for a second and when I open them again, I see Fancy staring back, a wicked gleam in her brown eyes. I speed up, feeling my edge coming faster at the sight of her. I finish inside of her, leaning down to rest my head on her shoulder. When I pull away, it’s not Fancy anymore, but the black haired girl yelling furiously at me.

“What the fuck!” she’s screaming. She cleans herself up and then storms out of the stall. I follow soon after, ignoring the interested gazes of the other women in the bathroom. I head home, looking forward to my bed, but when I get there, I find myself utterly dissatisfied. I twist in my bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Finally I just lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.

There’s only ever been one person whose very face made me lose it like that and I haven’t seen him in five years except in pictures. He had messaged me a few months ago and I had called him. He had invited me to visit him, but he had also been piss drunk at the time. I wonder what would have happened if I had packed up my bags and gone to him when he had asked. Would we be the same as we’d always been? Unlikely. Five years is a long time to harbor resentment. I was afraid that’s exactly what he had for me. How could he feel anything else? So instead of going there, I had buried myself in work and girls for the past three months, hating myself with every passing minute. I knew I was spiraling out of control, but anytime I wasn’t working, drinking, or fucking, I was thinking about him and the way we used to be. And that was unacceptable.

Rubbing my eyes to get rid of the image of him, I roll over and grab my phone, opening to that number I had called earlier. I start a text to her.

Can you come sooner?

I don’t get a response until the following morning.

Impatient.

I snort at the short message. I send back, Are you going to make me beg?

Oh that does sound lovely.

I don’t answer that and she doesn’t say anything else. I spend the day working on my projects, lounging in shorts and a tee for once. I’m about to head back to bed when I hear a knock at the door. I’m not expecting anyone so I’m a bit wary as I open the door.

She stands there in in a grey dress that hugs her every curve. Her auburn hair is gathered over one shoulder, her eyes bright as they look at me.

“I came up here for you, specifically,” she says to me, stepping over the threshold. She reaches a hand around my neck. “I deserve a present.”

“Is fucking me not enough?”

She grins, pulling my face towards hers. I lean in to kiss her but she pulls back a smidge. “What’s your name?”

I yank her hand down, pin her arms to her side and push her against the door. I don’t care if the whole neighborhood sees us. I kiss her roughly. I can tell she wants to resist, but after a heartbeat, she melts into my lips, opening her mouth to me. I shove my way in, touching every surface - the roof of her mouth, her cheeks, her tongue. She moans pathetically as I let go of her wrists and cup her face. Her hands go up my back and then she digs her nails in, clawing me through the shirt. I jerk my head back. She moves with me, peppering my neck with kisses. I let her do it until she reaches a ticklish spot and then I make her stop, pushing her against the door again. I place a hand above her head and lean in.

“Freddy,” I say huskily. “My name is Freddy.”

“Well, Freddy,” she says, reaching a hand down to grab the front of my pants. I gasp at the touch. “Looks like you’re ready for me.”

#romance #one night stand #freddy #fancy #story #writing #chapter one

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dramaticskeleton · 5 years

Text

Freddy and Ollie

Serious trigger warning. It ends happy but please be warned there are bad parts in here.

~~~~~

Freddy

I sit on the bed, glancing at the clock. The blue block numbers blare out: 1:24 AM. I look at the two tools lying next to me, a phone and a kitchen knife. The smart thing to do would be to pick up the phone and throw the knife back in its drawer. I should call somebody. My parents maybe. No, they don’t need to see their son like this. There’s only one other person I can think of to call. But I hurt him too. Who knows if he’d even want to talk to me? But he of all people deserves to know. He deserves to mourn me.

How do I tell him? What do I tell him? It’s been five years since I last talked to him, I can’t just pop up and say goodbye. It’s got to be meaningful. Heartfelt. I want him to know everything I’m thinking, not just the superficial things.

I pick up the phone and scroll through my contacts. When I find him, I realize with a jolt that I never removed the heart after his name. I tap on it, opening a series of texts that I never responded to. Asking how I’ve been, where I am, what I’ve been doing. And then they just stopped coming. He stopped caring.

I bring up the keyboard, fingers flying over the screen as I start typing out my message to the one person who loved me more than anything.

“Hello Ollie. It’s been a while, and I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing okay. I haven’t talked to you in a few years, but I miss you. I’ve missed you from the moment I left. I wish I hadn’t, but it’s no use talking about ‘what ifs’. I needed to let you know. I’m killing myself tonight. I want you to know that you’re the only thing I can think about.

I remember when I first met you, when we were eighteen. Do you know that was almost ten years ago? You were my first friend at school.”

My eyes prick with tears at the memory.

“My name’s Freddy,” I say, sticking out a hand to the boy in front of me. I had found his post looking for a roommate on the class page and commented. I think I was the only guy who was interested.

“Thank God for you, Freddy,” he says, shaking my hand in a firm grip. “If not for you, I’d be stuck choosing between one thirsty girl or another.”

“You had a host of girls throw themselves at you, and you chose me.” I laugh, “You don’t have very good taste.”

“Is that so? What are you like, then?”

“Well, I like art and getting drunk on the weekends, for starters.”

“We’re going to get along splendidly.” He grins at me, then motions toward the house. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ll help you with your bags.”

I grab one while he takes the other and I follow him to the flat. Walking through the door, I see a hallway all the way to the back of the house. To the right, the wall opens into a sitting area, a modern looking room with two upholstered chairs with no armrests and a glass table between them. A fireplace is built into the opposite wall. On the other side of the hallway are two doors. Bedrooms.

“Yours is the second one,” Ollie is saying, dragging my luggage down the hall. “Here you are. You’ve got your own bathroom. I haven’t gotten much in the way of furniture. I figured it would be your space to design as you wanted.”

I join him at the door, peering into the room. There’s a bed and a desk in the room but it’s otherwise empty. I nod. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“The kitchen’s that way,” Ollie says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to make some lunch; do you want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

“We were good flatmates, we lived well together. I miss those days. If I could live in that place with you again for the rest of our lives, I think I’d be happy. Even if you were a bit of a lazy git. Do you remember the one time we ran out of tea? It was in the beginning of our second year living in that flat and I think it was the moment I realized I was in love with you.

“Freddy! Freddy, we’re out of tea.”

“Then go get some more tea,” I call from my bed.

“I don’t want to get more tea.”

“Then don’t complain about it.”

I’ve got my laptop open on my left and reams of paper spread over the quilt. I’m not willing to mess up anything, for fear of losing an important piece of my design. I can hear Ollie coming down the hallway. I roll my eyes. He pops his head around the doorjamb, narrowing his eyes at me

“Are you sassing me?” I grunt in response, returning to my work. “And now you’re ignoring me! That’s not good.”

I look up to see him coming into the room, hands raised, fingers wiggling. My eyes widen.

“No,” I say, shaking my head furiously and holding up my arms to ward him off. “No, no, don’t you dare. This is important.”

He jumps on the bed, sending my papers flying everywhere and tackles me against the pillows and I shriek as he starts tickling my sides. He’s stronger than I am so I can’t shove him off. I’m helpless. My shrieks turn into howls of laughter as his fingers move to my neck.

“S-stop it. Stop it!”

Finally, he relents, rolling off to the side. He rises to an elbow and he rests his head in his hand. “Go get me some soup.” He looks at me, his eyes dark with some emotion I can’t describe. His black hair is sticking up in places, in a way that one might find devastatingly handsome. In a way that I find incredibly attractive. I blink away the thought

I flick him on the nose. “I’m not getting you soup, get over it.”

“Then at least take a break. You’ve been working since six.” He’s watching me, kind face tinged with a bit of concern. A fuzzy feeling bubbles in my stomach.

He’s always fretting about me, making sure I’m not stressed out, that I’m eating enough, and getting out. Isn’t that what flatmates did? But his worry always feels different, like he cares a bit more than the average person. I trust him. I feel secure around Ollie in a way I’d thought was no longer possible. He makes me enjoy life again. I like being with him, going out to clubs and bars, getting disgustingly intoxicated. I like knowing that, even when we were home and working on our own projects in different rooms, he’s just around the corner if I need anything. I like the peace I feel with him.

I love him.

“Yeah alright,” I say softly, my realization hitting me hard. “Now that you’ve scattered everything I was working on, I guess have to.”

“Great, so since you’re on a break, you can get some tea!”

I smile a little as I recall that moment, and many more like it. Ollie had been physical with me since we first moved together, brushing shoulders, playfully patting my cheeks, tousling my hair. It hadn’t affected me until then, though, when he held me down, running his hands down my sides.

“I realized after that moment that I desperately wanted to give myself to you. I don’t think you ever realized something had changed for me when it came to you. I couldn’t look at you without wishing you would hold my hand a little longer and touch my face more often. But it wasn’t just physical. I wanted to tell you about my history, let you into my every secret. I wasn’t brave enough to invite you into my bed, but I thought I could build my way to it by inviting you into further into my life first.”

I clench the mug, trying to calm the fluttering in my stomach. Ollie had pulled off his mask last night as we sat passing the bottle of rum back and forth. He had told me about his lowest points, his dreams and what was holding him back. He had trusted me enough to open himself up, to let me see past the flirtations and jokes. It was only fair that I do the same thing. But it isn’t just about paying him back for his honesty. I was ready to tell him everything.

Ollie shuffles into the kitchen, his hair sticking up. He’s got his grey robe on, loose enough that his bare chest is exposed. I try to not imagine tracing my finger along the dark lines of his tattoo.

“Morning,” he says through a yawn, pouring himself a cup. He sits at the table across from me, resting his head in one hand and stifling a groan. “Have you got as bad a hangover as me?”

I shake my head, smirking. “I’m not the one who drank a bottle and a half.”

He grimaces as he turns to look at me. “God, I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s what you said last time too.”

“I mean it. Throw out all the bottles, we’re a sober house from now on.”

I smile softly, watching him swirl his cup before taking a sip. I study the dregs of my own tea, suddenly shy. I want to talk to him, but I don’t know how to start. I can’t just jump right into it, but I can’t think of a way to segue into the conversation. Maybe now isn’t the time.

“What is it?”

I raise my head, catching his surprisingly clear eyes. “What?”

“You’ve got a look on your face that says you want to say something. So, what is it?”

My fingers tighten and I’m afraid the ceramic will break under my grip. He’s observing me with a curious expression. Before I can lose my nerve, I say, “Can I tell you something? Something important.”

Ollie straightens. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s… it’s about my past.”

“Ooh, your mysterious past. I’m intrigued.”

I hunch my shoulders. “You might not like me afterward.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Did you kill somebody?”

“No! I didn’t do anything.”

Ollie gets up to pour himself another cup of tea, filling my mug too. He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Then nothing you say can make me hate you.” He sits in his chair again, crossing his legs. His foot brushes my leg under the table.

“There was this girl. Her name was Leah,” I say, choking on the name. “She was my girlfriend for two years at the end of secondary school. She was beautiful but—.”

“But psycho?” Ollie interrupts. He nods sagely. “They always are.”

“I think she was actually sick. I told her my plans for coming here and it’s like something just switched inside her. I started noticing bruises all over her body, but when I asked her about them, she would just wave it off. I was really concerned about her for a while until I realized that she had started telling people that I beat her.”

“What the fuck?”

“I didn’t notice it at first, because she was the sweetest when we were together or in public. But people started looking at me weird and avoiding me. My friend, Ian, confronted me about it one day and I was so confused. I’d never raised a hand to her in my life. And I tried to explain it to him, but he didn’t believe me. I went to talk to Leah about it and found her hurting herself. I broke up with her that day.”

“Fucking good,” Ollie exclaims, his face furious.

“I still had to finish school,’” I continue, “So I had to deal with people hating me for the next couple months. But then we graduated, and things seemed to calm down a bit. I had planned to take a gap year and just be with my parents for a while. But then Ian showed up at my house one day when my parents were out.”

Ollie says immediately, “I don’t like him.”

My mouth twitches. “He said Leah had told him the truth. I, of course, had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t explain before he attacked me. He came at me so fast, I didn’t have time to defend myself and I fell. I just remember screaming at him and his fists pounding into my face. It’s how I got this,” I say, reaching up to brush the scar on my eyebrow. I realize I’m shaking. Ollie notices at the same time. He takes my hand, covering it with both of his in a tight grip.

“I think he would have killed me if my dad hadn’t come home. He pulled Ian off me and kicked him out. I must have blacked out because I woke up in the hospital. Mum told me I had to leave as soon as I could, that it wasn’t safe for me at home anymore. I hated the idea of leaving them, but she was right. Everybody believed what Leah said so someone else was bound to find me and do the same thing if I didn’t go.”

“What was she telling people?”

I clench my jaw, not wanting to say it. Ollie just sits there, waiting. He would probably sit there for hours if that’s how long it took me to say it. “That I raped her.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he snorts in response. He comes around the table, circling my body in his arms. “I appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me. I believe you.” I hold back a sob at the three little words.

I stop typing to wipe a tear from my eye. I remember the way his arms felt around me, warm and comforting. With those three little words, he had made me realize I was safe. And I loved him for it.

“After that, things changed for us. Where we had been close before, now we were inseparable. We went everywhere together. We were touching more often, and longer. People thought we were a couple long before we admitted it to ourselves.”

“You’re really cute together, you know.”

I turn to look at the girl speaking. She’s smiling at me, her face caked with makeup. She’s barely got a stitch of clothing on. I feel my face heat up. “We’re not together.”

“Oh. Could have fooled me.”

Ollie catches my eye and gives me a wide grin, motioning me to come over.

“Excuse me,” I tell the girl, well aware that I’m not backing up my statement very well.

“There’s my beautiful blue-eyed friend,” Ollie says, flinging an arm around my shoulder. I subconsciously slip my own arm around his waist. He turns into me a little more. I realize that the people he’s been talking to are classmates and I blush as he tells them, “This here is the prodigy of design. He’s got a better eye than anyone in our class and I dare you to fight me on it.”

I try to extricate myself from his hold, but he only pulls me closer, pressing his lips to my temple. “You’re going to be great,” he whispers to me.

I freeze at the touch, the first time he’s ever done anything like it. An arm around me, sure. Leaning into me whenever we’re walking? That’s fine. But a kiss? That’s new. I don’t think I mind it.

“Do you remember that time you made me dance? You always asked when we were in the club and I always said no, but that night was different. We had decided to take the Friday night in for once, but you still managed to get piss drunk, and you came into my room, demanding, and you wouldn’t stop until I did.”

The music from Ollie’s room is getting steadily louder. On my bed, I tap my foot to the beat, flipping the page of my book. I don’t notice at first when he comes in, until he says, “Dance with me.”

I look up to see him swaying his torso, surprisingly steady for how much his words are slurring. I shake my head. “I don’t dance, you know that.”

“I know you don’t dance in the club. This is different.” He swings his hips to the side, closing his eyes for a moment to feel the music.

I laugh at the sight of him. “You’re wickedly wasted.”

“I know, and it feels amazing. You know what else feels amazing? Dancing.” He lurches toward the bed, reaching out to grab my hand.

“Come on,” he whines, “It’s just us here, nobody’s watching.”

I arch an eyebrow and turn my head, but I can’t help the twitch of the corner of my mouth. I return to my book, trying to ignore the tingle where Ollie’s fingers are entwined with mine. He pulls on my arm, and when I don’t respond, he yanks my book out of my lap, throwing it closed onto the bed. I give out a yell of protest.

“It’s just us, you and me,” he repeats. He bends down until our noses are brushing. “Dance for me?”

I feel a flutter of excitement at his words and his proximity, but I say, “I’m not drunk enough.”

“I can fix that.”

I let him drag me to the kitchen, then raid the liquor cabinet. He plies me with drink and with each one, I can feel my inhibitions loosening. The music doesn’t move me, but Ollie does. Watching him sashay around the kitchen is mesmerizing. I’m struck by the fluidity of his body as he rolls one way, then another, spinning in time with the melody. He stretches out a hand to me as the music changes to a slower song.

“You promised,” he says

“I never promised,” but I take his hand anyway. I shuffle back and forth, not as musically inclined as Ollie. He laughs at my attempts. He puts his hands on my waist, digging his fingers in. I let him shift my hips for me, until I’m moving in time with him.

Ollie steps in closer, running his hands up my chest. I shiver at the touch, feeling the heat of his fingers through my shirt. He murmurs, “You’re a good dancer,” after a minute.

“You’re such a liar.”

His expression is clouded but contemplative as he looks between my eyes and my lips. I feel my breath coming in shallow gasps as I wait for him to make his move. After what feels like hours of standing there, he just rests his head on my shoulder, our bodies now swaying out of time with the music.

“We had our first kiss the next day. it’s probably simultaneously the most shocking and thrilling thing I’d ever experienced. It was exciting for me because I had dreamed of the moment for months, never thinking it would actually happen. You were always flirting with me, but you never took it any further and I had thought that I would be okay with that. But the moment your lips touched mine, I realized I could never have settled for anything less.”

I let out a gasp, that kiss searing through my brain.

I storm into the room. Ollie’s sleeping form is curled in a ball on one side, beautiful and peaceful. His mouth is turned down in a cute frown.

I flop onto the bed, raging, “You’re not going to believe what Michael just did to me!”

Ollie jerks awake with a grunt. His hair is mussed from sleep and his eyes are bleary as he looks at me, confused. “Freddy?” he mutters, sitting up. He hasn’t got a shirt on, exposing the tattoo across the right side of his chest. For once, I’m not mesmerized by the whorls snaking down his arm as he moves to rub the sleep from his face.

“The bastard knew I was going to go in this weekend. He was there, like he was waiting for me. And he was so creepy about it, just watching me while I worked. I left to go to the bathroom and when I came back, it was gone. He deleted it. He said it was an accident, but how do you just accidentally delete someone’s work like that? I spent hours, hours on that project and now it’s just gone and I’ve got to start all over again. I’ve only got two weeks to finish.”

I look over when Ollie shifts. His eyes are glazed over as he stares at me, his mouth hanging open a little. I feel a pang of irritation. “Are you listening to me, Ollie?”

He shakes his head as he admits, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Before I can retort, he surges forward. His hand cups my face, his skin warm, and I feel a spark where his thumb is touching my cheek. Suddenly, he’s kissing me. I flare my eyes wide as his hot mouth presses against mine in earnest. He moves his other hand to my face and tries to pull me toward him, as if we can somehow get even closer. My eyelids flutter closed as I melt into his kiss, resting my fingers on his bare chest. He twitches under my touch and I feel a huff of laughter slip out.

Ollie moves us so that I’m lying down and he’s bent over me. He doesn’t break our kiss for a second. The need is palpable, and I wonder vaguely how long he’s been waiting to do this. I find I don’t care, as long as he keeps doing it. When I pull him on top of me, he leans back, sitting on my legs and playing with the hem of my shirt.

“Take this off,” he demands, breath coming in heavy pants. I sit up, yanking the fabric over my head. He kisses my neck, pushing me back onto the sheets. He progresses down to my chest, dragging the backs of his hands down my side. I can’t help but moan and squirm under his ministrations. He leaves a trail of soft caresses down my body, each one a blooming fire. I knot my fingers in his hair as he moves dangerously lower. I’m unsure whether I want him to keep going or not, but he makes the decision for me. He stops just short of the top of my pants, brushing his lips along my V-line in a way that has me writhing. His lips curl in a smile against my skin and he moves he way back up to my face. His kisses me roughly, briefly, before rolling off.

Ollie lays on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. He shoots me a mischievous grin. “I didn’t know you could make noises like that.”

I feel a blush creep across my face. He wiggles his way to my side, resting his head on my chest and draping his arm across my torso.

“I’ve been wondering what it’d be like to kiss you,” he says softly.

“Was it everything you imagined?”

“Better.”

I run my hand down his arm, at a loss for words. The kiss, the feel of his body touching mine had far surpassed my own fantasies too. It gave me a thrill of pleasure, knowing he has been as curious about me as I have been about him. I think back on the three years of flirting and touching between us and wonder when it had turned into something more for him.

I open my mouth to ask but I realize Ollie’s breath is coming out steady and slow. He’s fallen asleep again. I smile and snuggle into the bed, closing my eyes.

“Kissing you was my single most favorite thing to do. And every evening we spent together after that was my favorite night. I enjoyed the feel of our legs entwined in bed, and your mouth on me, all over me. I loved exploring your body in the dark, hearing you mutter your curses when I touched your most sensitive spots. God, it was delightful. We must have had a solid week where we didn’t leave the flat. At the time, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. You were perfect.

I wanted my parents to meet you. I wanted them to know I was happy, and why. Do you remember how I agonized over what you should wear? I made you wear that ridiculous striped button up, because I thought it made you look more proper. I should have just let you wear whatever you wanted. They would have loved you regardless.”

“Stop fussing, you look fine.”

Ollie continues to play with his buttons. “It’s not every day I get to meet my boyfriend’s parents for the first time.”

I pointedly look away from him. “Is that what we are?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, and then he grabs my arm, whipping me into his chest. His eyes are half closed with barely contained desire. He whispers in my ear, “Shall I do that trick with my mouth again to prove it?”

I shove him away halfheartedly, blushing furiously. Not from embarrassment, of course, but because I remember the secret move he pulled on me last night, the way his tongue flickered out, and I craved it.

“Stop it,” I hiss through my teeth. “They’re here.”

Indeed, it is impossible to miss it when mum and dad walked into the waiting area. The room instantly lights up. I wave to them, and the smile that spreads across mum’s face is phenomenal. I know I’ve got one that looks just like it. She hugs me tight, as if she can put three years of love into a single motion.

“Freddy darling, how are you?”

I give dad a hug too as I say, “I’m fine, mum. You look fantastic.” She’s not a conventional beauty, but with her hair pulled back in a loose bun and a pretty red dress on, she looks radiant. “We’re just waiting for a table.”

I look back to see Ollie standing behind me, patiently waiting for us to finish. I reach a hand out to him. “Mum, dad, I want you to meet Ollie, my… my boyfriend.”

Mum positively beams as Ollie shakes their hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Brown,” he says.

She scoffs. “Pish posh! None of that. I’m Susie, and this is Hank.” Ollie smiles in acknowledgment.

A waitress calls out, “Freddy, table of four!” We follow her to the back corner, lit by a small lamp on the wall. When we sit down, Ollie grabs my hand under the table. It’s a little clammy. I give him a reassuring smile and squeeze.

“So, Ollie,” dad is saying, drawing our attention back to them. “You’re at Goldsmiths, too?”

“Yeah, in the same class as Freddy.”

“Is that how you met?”

“Well, we met because I needed a flat mate,” Ollie laughs.

I sit back and listen as they continue to ask him questions about his family and where he came from and what he plans to do. He answers them easily, the nervousness that he started with dwindling away with every passing moment. I can tell my parents like him, though how you couldn’t like this charismatic, fascinating person, I don’t know. He’s talking animatedly about his goals after school, something about a trip to the continent before starting his career, when he looks over at me. His smile is magnificent.

Mum turns to me. “And how are you doing there, Freddy? At school?”

Ollie answers for me. “He’s top of the class.” A touch of pride resounds in his voice. “He’s comes up with the best designs and everybody loves him.”

I give a shy nod at the joy on my parents faces.

“Darling, that’s wonderful. You’ve always been fantastic at art.”

I pull out my phone to show her my project, explaining each piece in detail. When the food comes out, we dig in, talking around mouthfuls, and laughing. It feels like being home again. They tell me they’re staying in London for a few days to see the sights, so Ollie and I offer to give them a tour of our favorite haunts. We leave the restaurant leaving a significant dent in their chocolate cake supply, walking off the food with a stroll down the street. After a while, dad calls a cab while mum hugs me again.

“We’ll see you tomorrow darlings,” she says. Ollie sticks out a hand to her when she turns to him, but she waves it off and hugs him instead.

Ollie and I watch the cab drive off and after it’s lost in the traffic, we start our way back to our own car.

“They really like you,” I tell him unnecessarily.

“Duh.”

I shove him with a laugh but he pulls me back. “I really like you,” he says.

I lean in. “Well, I really like you.”

He presses a hand into the small of my back, holding me against him. I brush his jaw with a finger. His breath comes out shallow at the touch. “I love you,” he finally utters. I catch his lips in a kiss, letting my emotions course through it. When we pull apart, he stares at me intently, expectantly.

I just smirk. “Duh.”

“I’ll admit the next year is a blur to me. We had settled into a routine. We still went out to clubs like a couple of idiots, but people stopped trying to flirt with us because it was obvious that we had become something more. The ardor never left and we shed our clothes with as much eagerness as before, but there was now a domestic feel to our relationship. And then there was that night when you kissed me, and it felt different. It felt… more. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

We stumble through the door, laughing and holding each other up.

“Alright,” Ollie vows, “We’re never going back to that bar. Ridiculously overpriced. Didn’t even get us that drunk.”

I let go of him for a second and he almost topples to the ground before I lunge in to steady him again. I’m laughing enough that my whole body shakes. “You can’t even stand up straight, Ollie.”

“I’ve got rum in the cabinet,” he says, pointing toward the kitchen. “Onward!”

“I think you’re drunk enough.”

“Come on, Freddy.” The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. It feels different than normal. “Just a bit?”

I relent to the imploring look in his eyes with a smile. We shuffle into the kitchen, grabbing the rum from the bottom shelf. Ollie opens it and drinks directly from the bottle, a solid four seconds passing before he passes it to me. I take a quick swig of it as he says, “Let’s go to the room.”

I help him down the hall with great difficulty. When we get to his room, he lets go of me, using the wall to support himself. I move to the bed, drinking as I go. He motions for me to give him the bottle. He totters around the room, blearily looking at the decorations on his wall.

“This one’s from my cousin,” He points to a sketch of his face. He spins on the spot, looking at me. He stares at me intently. “You have the most stunning blue eyes. I bet she could draw you and capture the way the sun makes them look like oceans.”

I smile indulgently at him. He stumbles over to the bed, sitting next to me. The closeness sends tingles down my arms. He leans his shoulder into mine. “Let’s do a trip around Europe when this is all over.”

I let go of a sharp, “Ha!” and look at him, shaking my head. “Where are we going to get the money for that?”

“I’ve got some savings. And I’ll ask my parents to help.”

I take another sip of the rum. “We can leave our mark all over the continent, so the whole world can know us.”

I freeze when he grabs my hands, removing the bottle. “I mean it,” he says.

My breath comes out in shallow gasps as he stands up to tower above me, letting go of me. I suddenly feel cold when he stops touching me. Involuntarily, I reach out, grasping his shirt in my fingers. I look up at him as he runs a hand through my hair. “What do you think? Just you and me, Freddy.”

Just Ollie and me, traveling together, continuing our lives with each other. The last four years have been a dream. Living in this house, studying together, doing stupid things like getting piss drunk every weekend and kissing in the dark. I had always had the nagging thought in the back of my mind that it would all be over when we were done with school. That we’d go our separate ways when we were finished. I’d been dreading it for months.

I stand up, clinging to him to keep us from falling over. “You want us to stay together?” I can’t help the disbelief that’s in my voice.

“Maybe forever?” he breathes.

I slide my hands around his waist and he engulfs me in his arms. I smile as I lurch forward, nestling my head on his broad shoulder, breathing in the scent of pine and rum. What Ollie’s asking changes everything. He’s not just asking for another year together. He’s asking for more. And I realize that I want to give it to him.

“I love you,” I say in response. “I love you more than anything. I’ve been so worried about this ending, about us ending. I thought you’d want to move on after school and I’d never see you again. I-I’ve been preparing for it, to be honest, even though it hurts to. But what you’re saying… you want to build a life together? With me?”

“I love you too, Freddy, but you can be so daft sometimes.” He holds my face in his hands, tilting my head up. “We’ve already created a life together. We’ve built a house for our love. What I’m saying is I want to build a palace with you.

I tell him, “Say my name again.”

“You’re really fucking cute when you’re demanding,” Ollie laughs leaning his head into the space between us. “Freddy.”

My whole body shivers as his breath caresses my skin. My insides tremble like he physically touched a nerve.

“Your turn,” he nudges.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” I shoot a glance at those eyes again before looking at his lips again. “Oliver.”

Ollie crushes his lips against mine without question. It’s not like our first kiss, or the hot and heavy moments we’ve had since then. This kiss is light, tentative, like we’re new at this all over again. But the longer we stand there, the more I want. So I press a little harder. Ollie’s hands slide up my back, pulling our bodies together. A moan passes through my lips and he uses the opportunity to slip in, brushing against the roof of my mouth and playfully circling my tongue. This kiss has got more intensity behind it, not just basic human desire or curiosity. I never want it to end. There’s a fire in the very center of my being, flaring at this new type of passion.

We separate a few inches and Oliver says, “Alright?”

I reach a hand out and tangle my fingers in his dark hair. “Who said you could stop?” I demand, before pulling Ollie’s face towards me again.

“God, I wish I could go back and just freeze time right there. That was the epitome of happiness, hands down the highest point I’ve ever been at. You wanted me. I wanted you. It was simple. Easy. But when you got that text… I want you to know I’ll always hate myself for leaving that life with you. I hate that I got scared. Not of you, never scared of you. I was scared of her coming between us. You said you believed me, that you loved me. But how many times could she message you before you got sick of it? Before you realized you couldn’t handle the baggage the came with being in love with me. I was scared you might start believing her. So I left before that could happen. I should have trusted you to love me despite everything, as you had before. My number one regret is walking away from you. Number two is not kissing you before I did.”

The villa we’re staying at looks beautiful in the morning sun. I stretch my legs out on the brick fire pit, enjoying the warmth on my face. A few feet away, the pool is a brilliant cerulean blue. It reflects the perfect puffs of clouds in the sky. We’ve been in Spain for a total of two weeks, but it’s already on the top of my list of favorite places. I’ll be sad to leave.

I sit up as I hear Ollie walk out. I take in the sight of him, his khaki shorts falling beneath his knees, a white shirt hugging his frame deliciously. I take another drink and then hold it out to him. As he gets closer, I can see his face more clearly. He looks uncharacteristically somber. “What?”

He hesitates, then touches my arm gently. “I… I got a text.”

“I get those too,” I say, trying to flash a cheeky grin. He just stares at me with uncertainty in his eyes. Immediately, I panic, “Is it my parents?”

“No,” he says, “Your parents are fine. It… it was from Leah.”

For a second, I just stare at him. Then I blink a few times, trying to clear the confusion crowding in my mind. Because he can’t mean who I think he means. That’s impossible. I say as much. Ollie sits down on the chair next to me.

“She got my number from the directory at Goldsmiths somehow.”

“How’d she know?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is soft, like he’s talking to an easily spooked animal. He’s got apprehension in his eyes.

“What did she say?”

“The same bilge she tried telling everyone else. That you beat her and raped her.” I flinch at the word. “Sorry. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what you wanted me to do.”

I feel a flutter of anxiety in my chest, building until it’s choking me. I raise a hand to my throat. Ollie is calling my name, I think, but I can’t hear anything. All I can think of is her face, that mane of curly hair around deep set green eyes, taunting me.

“Do you believe her?”

Ollie grabs my wrists and tips his head until our foreheads are touching. “It’s not true. I know it’s not true, and nothing she says is ever going to change that. It’s not true.” He continues to repeat himself me until I can see straight again.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Block her number.”

“Shall I throw my phone into the pool?”

A little laugh escapes me. “No, it’s fine.”

“Are you ready for Hungary tomorrow?” he asks, driving the conversation in a different direction.

I smile, excitement bubbling up. “Already packed.”

“Well listen, we can either spend our last day here going back into town or we can spend it in that marvelous four poster bed.” His gaze tracks down to my mouth and then lower, lower, before coming back up to meet my eyes. He smirks at me, lust clear on his face. I chew on my bottom lip, pretending to think, but he already knows what I’m going to say.

~~~

Going to Hungary the next day only takes a three hour flight. We’re waiting for our luggage, laughing about the couple who had given us such dirty looks on the plane, when my phone goes off in a series of dings.

“Someone’s popular,” he tease. I open my phone and the smile immediately drops from my face.

I’m going to tell him You think you escaped this? Just because you ran away doesn’t mean you can hide the truth. You think you can build a life on a lie?

“It’s her.” I mutter a curse under my breath. I had the phone to Ollie so he can read the texts.

“Pathetic,” he says, deleting them. He hands the phone back to me.

The texts keep coming, a new one every day. They range from intimidating to insulting. She threatens to tell Ollie everything, and then to call the police. She calls me everything from a liar to a criminal to a scoundrel. Ollie laughs at the last one when it comes through. He traces circles on and says flirtatiously,”

“Well you are that.”

She follows us to Austria, Germany and Poland. It’s almost funny after a while, especially when Ollie unblocks her number.

“I want to see what she’s saying,” he says by way of explanation.

There’s a flit of anxiety in the pit of my stomach about it. Soon, it’s not just Leah texting us, but her friends too, and anyone from my hometown who knew about her lies.There’s too many to get rid of. No matter how many times I block a number, there’s another one to take its place. Or they find me through other venues.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ollie yells. He’s two rooms away, but I flinch from where I am sitting on the couch. He storms into the space, waving the phone in the air. “This girl won’t fucking quit. Listen to this. ‘You are a deplorable human being, aiding and abetting a criminal and ought to be hung by your toes and dragged through the streets on the back of a car.’”

“I give her credit for poetry.” Ollie is too furious to laugh.

She’s harassing him because of me. A part of me realizes how stupid that sounds, she’s harassing him because she’s unstable, but the rest says this is all my fault.

I’m the one who ultimately brought Leah into his life. I’m the reason he looks like he like he’s ready to punch a wall. I’ve never seen him so angry. Suddenly, I picture him not as he is now, but maybe a few weeks down the road, haggard and pale. Waiting for the next set of insults. How much more of this can he take? Probably not much more, if he’s this fiercely enraged.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I sputter, standing up abruptly. I brush past him and into the bedroom, pulling my bag out from under the bed. I’m not even sure what I’m doing as I pull clothes off the hangers.

“Freddy, what are you doing?” He sounds weary.

“I’m leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

I spin on my heel. “Not we. Me. I’m leaving so you don’t have to deal with this bullshit anymore, so you can live a life without my drama.”

“No you’re not. No you’re fucking not!” Ollie shouts wildly as I turn. He grabs my shoulder, whirling me around and forcing me to look at him. “It doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind the bullshit, the drama, the texts, none of it. I can deal with it.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because I love you, idiot. This whole thing is madness, but we’re going to get through it together. You and me, remember? Frederick and Oliver, taking over the world.”

I slide my hands around his back, leaning into his chest. I try to smile, but it doesn’t come to my lips. I can’t feel it. All I can think is that this might be the last time Ollie looks at me like that, with love and devotion and how it’s already being marred by fear. How much longer do I have before he learns to hate me, like everybody else? I pull away and shake my head.

I turn to throw the rest of my clothes haphazardly into my bag. Ollie lets me. He just stands there, as if he’s rooted to the spot. I avoid looking at him. It’s better this way, I tell myself. It’ll hurt at first, but it’ll be better than watching him slowly fall out of love with me. He’ll forget about me eventually. He’ll find someone else to love, someone who hasn’t got as much shit to deal with. He’ll be happier that way. I close the zipper and lift the bag off the bed. When I face him again, he’s watching me with such deep sadness in his eyes.

“We can do this,” he whispers to me. I feel my heart crack.

“I can’t,” I say, my voice cracking.

“If I had a genie and he said I had three wishes, I’d tell him I wish I’d had more time with you. I wish I had never left you. And I wish I could have one last kiss from you. God, I wish I could kiss you again.”

My fingers stop moving. I read over the text feeling tears well up and fall over. I’ll cut first, then send after, so I don’t have to worry about getting a response. Yes, that’s how I’ll do it.

I close out of my message and open the photos, finding ones of me and Ollie. I pull up a picture of us at a school function. He’s got his arm around my shoulder, I’ve got mine around his side, pulling him close. His body is turned into me, his head leaning against mine. We’re making stupid faces and I can’t help but laugh a little at it. I prop a phone up against a pillow, Ollie’s face staring up at me. He’ll be the last thing I see.

I take a shuddering breath as I pick up the knife. I try to wipe away the tears, but they keep falling. My throat closes up as I realize this is it. Alone in a dark room in the middle of the night is how I’m going to die. Pathetic. I press the blade to my wrist, the metal cold and cruel. I clench and unclench my fist, steeling myself for the cut.

I cry out as I drag the metal across the taut skin. It barely scratches the surface. I adjust my grip on the handle and try again. This time, the knife cuts harder and deeper. I bite my lip; I can taste blood in my mouth. I pass over the wound again, the pain almost unbearable. Red droplets fall on the bed sheet, making little patterns of death. I switch hands, grasping the knife in my left and outstretching my right arm. I can’t keep from screaming this time. I drop the knife, watching it bounce dangerously close to my foot. A giggle leaks out of me. I just destroyed my arms and here I am, worried about my foot.

My mind is hazy. I fumble for the phone, hissing at the pain radiating throughout my body. I look at Ollie’s face, his puckered lips and dilated eyes peering back at me. I scroll through the other photos. There’s one where he’s got his lips pressed against my cheek while I’m grinning. I haven’t been that happy in years. The next one is an action shot of me jumping into his arms. It’s caught at the right moment where it looks like he’s holding me, but I remember toppling to the ground with him, laughing. I flip the screen once more and a video pops up. The footage is just closeups of his face. It’s shaky, but for a moment, there’s a clear shot of Ollie’s half smile, his eyes staring at the camera, his hand running through his hair.

“Fuck off, Freddy,” he says. I inhale sharply. I play the video again. And again. And again.

He’s beautiful. I’m glad I got to know him and love him.

I lay down, dropping my phone. It buzzes on the floor, but I ignore it. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

~~~

I open my eyes slowly and blink.

I blink again.

The glare from the clock lights the ceiling with a blue haze. I can see a small crack where the paint is peeling away.

I failed. I’m still alive. Not that my method was guaranteed to actually kill me. Maybe that’s why I chose it. There is a part of me that still hangs onto life. Still, the rest of me feels a pang of disappointment. I know myself enough to know I won’t be brave enough to try again. Maybe I could hire a hit man. I let out a huff of a laugh. I move my arm to rub my face, yelping at the pain. I stare at my wrists. They’re both messes, with dried blood clinging to the edges of the wounds. I poke at them, sucking in a breath. Idiot.

With a bit of a struggle, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My phone is face up, the little notification light blinking at me. I reach down slowly to grab it, turning it on. My eyes go wide. It’s from Ollie.

Hey Freddy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oliver

Through the fog of alcohol, I have the sense to hesitates before hitting send. I’d just lost my girlfriend and I am wasted at the bar and am literally about to drunk text an ex-boyfriend. I am no better than the girls Cici and I make fun of at the club.

Hey Freddy.

As soon as it’s out there, I wish I had never sent it. I’m being stupid. But it’s out there now. After nearly an hour, I give up waiting. I slap some money on the bar and start to pull on my jacket when the phone vibrates. I fumble to get it out of the pocket, almost dropping it in the process. On the screen in a simple,

Hey.

I’m a little crestfallen at the short message. An obvious sign that someone wants to be left alone. But I try again anyway.

Where are you nowadays?

This time, the response comes almost immediately.

Are you drunk?

Is it that obvious?

Freddy doesn’t answer until I’m almost home. I wait until I’m in my room to read it.

I’m in London.

What are you doing there?

The next texts come in rapidly.

I’m looking for a job. I started my own business Looking for new clients.

I smile. Freddy had always wanted his own business; it’s nice to see he’s fulfilling his dream.

Where are you living?

Different AirBnb places.

I send the next text without thinking. Come to Oxford. I miss you :(

Silence. Then, You’re really drunk, aren’t you?

A bit.

I can almost see Freddy chewing his lip as he contemplates his words. I can’t.

Frowning, I put the phone down. I don’t know why I feel such disappointment. It’s not like I actually expected him to say yes. We had been as close as two humans could be once. The distance that has grown between us hurts a little bit more tonight. I’m almost asleep when the phone rings. I answer it blearily.

“Hello?”

“Hello Ollie.” He sounds rough, like he’s had as bad a day as I have.

I let out a low chuckle. “Hello Freddy.”

Freddy takes a shuddering breath followed by what sounds like a whimper of pain.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Fine,” he says, his voice hoarse.

I’m instantly concerned. “Freddy, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been five years.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s been happening?”

Freddy is silent, as if thinking about what to tell me. I don’t expect him to say, “I almost got married.”

“Really?” I don’t let him hear how much the sentence cuts me to the core.

“Yeah, a girl, Lizzie.”

“Oh.”

“I ran away.”

“Why?” I clamp down on the flutter of vicious joy.

“She started talking about moving in together, starting a family. I’ve only ever wanted that with—.” He stops. With you, I can almost hear him say. I silently beg for him to say it. Instead, he continues, “I got scared, so I left. I just… left, without saying anything to her. I haven’t talked to her in four years.”

I don’t know how to respond so I keep my mouth shut.

“What about you?” he asks after a moment.

I scoff. “Well I just lost my own girlfriend.”

He makes a small sound like he’s trying to cover up a laugh. “Should have seen that coming.”

“Thanks?”

“Ollie, you’re the gayest person I know.”

I grin widely. “Shut up.”

The line goes quiet for a few minutes. Freddy says quietly, “You should get some sleep.”

I blink the weariness from my eyes as I offer again, “Come to Oxford. I mean it. I’ve got a spare room in my house. I’m sure you could find a bunch jobs here. Just for a little while. What do you say?”

Freddy hesitates. Finally, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

“My house is always open to you, Freddy.”

“I appreciate it.”

I smile. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

I let him hang up first before putting the phone on the bedside table. I fall asleep while a smile on my face.

~~~~~~~~~

#romance #love #gay #writer #writing #short story #freddy and ollie

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