We're Trouble Bound

Jaime didn’t call Oliver. She didn’t text him. And he bet that she didn’t even look at his number in her contact list. He was convinced that she was done with him, that she wasn’t even interested in speaking with him. He’d clearly hit some sort of nerve by calling her mental. But the truth was that he thought she was perfect, eccentricities and all.
He wanted to call her, if only out of habit. For months they’d spoke everyday; they never ran out of things to talk about. It irked his routine to have no one to call during long rides or free minutes. It was like all of a sudden he had nothing to do with himself. He couldn’t in good conscience think about her like he had before (usually sans clothes); it just made him angry. And if he thought about ways to get back on her good side, it just made him angrier. Because he shouldn’t care this much. In theory, it should be a good thing that Jaime didn’t want anything to do with him; he could finally get over the ridiculously unreciprocated infatuation. In theory.

Thinking he was alone, Oliver was pathetically scrolling through the pictures on his computer. Jaime had a fascination with Photobooth. So when together, they would make it a point to take endless pictures on his laptop. This resulted in hundreds of photos of them, pulling faces. Looking at these both soured his mood and made him miss her intensely. He sighed when he saw a picture that highlighted her eyes particularly. He recalled the green-brown striped with gold and the way they seemed so much softer than the rest of her. She looked at things, at him, so gently sometimes. Full of caring and concern. The harsh corners of Jaime contrasted her eyes.

“Yeh got it bad, Ol,” his brother’s voice halted his thoughts.

Oliver shut his laptop closed quickly. “Wha’ the fuck—yeh can’ be sneakin’ up on me like tha’…” He shifted around anxiously.

“Wasn’ sneakin’. Yeh was jus perving ‘bout them pictures,” Tom said, slightly amused. “Glad I didn’ wait ten minutes to come find yeh… Woulda found yeh wiff yeh hand down yer trousers…” He laughed.

“Piss off,” Oliver mumbled.

“I will when yeh quit bein’ such a mardy wanker. ‘S gettin’ righ’ pathetic.”

“Piss. Off.” He repeated.

“Yeh could call ‘er, yeh know.” Tom took a seat next to his brother.

“Wha’s it ‘bout ‘piss off’ yeh not understandin’?”

“Maybe the piss part, I dunno,” Tom joked.

“Can yeh jus’ let me alone?” He asked more directly.

“No,” Tom said simply. “We’re all finkin’ about ‘olding one of them interventions.”

“Wha’ the fuck—“

“Yeh need to lighten up, or do sumfin ‘bout this.”

“About wha?”

“Jaime.”

“’S nuffin ta be done.”

“Uh huh.” Tom wasn’t convinced of that. “I know yeh don’ got experience wiff this sorta fing but re’y…”

“I got lotsa experience wiff the lasses!” Oli defended.

“Not this situation, yeh don’. Yeh’ve never acted this way over a bird before. Least not since Secondary.”

Oliver couldn’t argue with that; it was just a fact. Jaime made him act like a complete idiot.

“So,” Tom began. “The way I see it, yeh can keep acting like a complete sod and keep mopin’ or yeh can do sumfin ta win ‘er over.”

“Win ‘er over? ‘S not like tha’.”

“Like ‘ell it’s not. Yeh been tryin’ ta impress her since the moment yeh saw ‘er,” he stated plainly before saying “I wish yeh would quit actin like yeh was the only arsehole ta ever fall in love.”

Oliver froze in place before turning his head to his brother slowly. “Yer lookin’ ta get yer teef knocked out…”

“And yeh can’t even admit it. ‘S no wonder yer so fuckin’ mithered. Yer in fuckin’ denial.”

“Can yeh please jus’ leave?”

“I will in a minute. Yeh jus’ gotta hear me out,”

Oliver raised his eyebrows curiously, wondering what his brother had to say. “Well, out wiff it.”

“’Ere’s my advice; take it or leave it…” Tom took a deep breath. “Ef yeh want her ta forgive yer sorry arse for whateva yeh did, yeh gotta go outta yer way. Yeh gotta go to her. They love tha’ shite… the girls, they can’t resist a romantic.”

“Tommy, yeh’ve met Jaime,” Oliver stared at his brother blankly. “Ef there’s one lass ‘oo don’t like fuckin’ romance, ‘s Jaime.”

“Even the toughest broads got a soft spot. And ‘ers is for you.”

--

“Yeh don’t look surprised,” Oliver said as Jaime opened the door for him.

“I’m not,” she said, blinking her eyes. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung to her mid-thigh. It wasn’t even eight in the morning; she’d clearly been sleeping. “But couldn’t this have waited until like noon? You know I don’t function well when I’m tired.”

“Yeh mad?” Oliver frowned. He hadn’t really thought this through. His plan had only taken him to her door step. He had no plans for after she answered.

“I’m tired,” she stated, not actually answering the question. “Are you coming in or what?” She asked.

“I guess…”

She opened the door wider and stepped out of the way. He entered, brushing past her slightly. She yawned and ran her hand through her tangled bed head. Her hair was still the bright red, but now had white blonde under layers, to add a bit more flair she had thought.

“Did Nadine tell yeh I were comin’?” He asked, sliding his shoes off in a corner.

“She knew? Huh…” Jaime’s nose scrunched in thought. “No wonder she was acting weird.” She shrugged.

“I didn’ know yer address…”

“Mmmhmm.” Jaime turned away from him and started walking towards her bedroom. Her bare feet hit the hard wood floor as she walked, creating a slight echo. It was the only sound as Oliver followed her. He watched her hips as she walked, swinging purposefully. She never failed to tempt him. Even when he knew she probably didn’t want him, he wanted her.

She pushed her bedroom door open and headed straight for her large bed. “I’m laying back down…” She crawled under the blankets, briefly exposing her blue knickers. When she’d tucked herself in, she looked to him. “You gonna lay down?”

Oliver didn’t say anything; he just undid his trousers and climbed in beside her, though he was careful not to touch her. He didn’t want to push it. So all he did was lie on his side, facing her. She was on her back, not looking at him. It was a peculiar quiet moment between them.

After the strangled silence, Jaime turned over to face him. “You know, I stopped being mad at you like thirty seconds after I walked away. But it would have wasted such an awesome exit if I came back right away,” she said.

Oliver wasn’t sure if she was serious or just trying to break the tension. “Oh…”

“I didn’t know it would take you like twelve years to come and grovel.” This time a half smile crossed the corner of her mouth. She knew that he wouldn’t say anything to this. His pride was already lower than it had ever been. She also knew that neither would actually apologize for anything. It wasn’t in their nature. So she moved close to him. She didn’t press herself against his body, just inched nearer. She just wanted him to know she wasn’t angry.

She closed her eyes, done with conversation for the present time. Eventually Oliver noticed her breath evening out. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall back asleep. When he was sure that she was sleeping, he laid and watched her for awhile. In the previous times he’d watched her sleep, he’d found that it was sort of fascinating. And he pushed her hair out of her face so he could watch her expressions change involuntarily. Her mouth would twitch, sometimes into a semi-smile and sometimes a frown. It bothered him when she frowned in her sleep. He wanted to know why it happened and he wondered if holding onto her would help. He wanted to test this out but didn’t. What would she think if he woke up with his arms around her?

This led him to another thought. What exactly did she feel when he held her at all? He wondered if she was feeling the same things that he was: confusion, elation, completion. She had never expressed anything even resembling talk of feelings. Yes, she slept with him and yes, they were prone to hand holding and cuddling and other disgusting cute things on occasion. But if she hadn’t said anything, he couldn’t know for sure.
Why did he even care so much anyway? Did he want her to have feelings for him?
Something his brother had said came to mind. “Don’ act like yer the only arsehole to ever fall in love.” That seemed like the absolute worst case scenario. In love? Him? That was insane.

--

Jaime woke up with a steel vice grip around her waist and a face buried into the curve of her neck. She was disoriented at first. She had gone to sleep the night before by herself, she was certain. She looked to the hands at her middle. When she saw inked fingers, she remembered that she had already been up once before that morning, to answer the door.
Oliver was lightly snoring in her ear. She tried to suppress a laugh. There was something she liked about waking with Oliver. He had an adorable quality about him when he was sleeping. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was so relaxed. There was none of that trying so hard pretense, just a calm expression. It was the most peaceful he ever was.

Jaime tried to wiggle out of Oliver’s iron grasp. She managed to slide away from him. When his arms were free, he turned onto his stomach. She stood, straightening out her shirt and flattening out her hair. She faced the bed for a moment, staring at Oliver.
He had really just shown up at her apartment, firs t thing in the morning without any warning. When she heard his voice over her intercom, she had a brief moment of freak out. But before she made it to her door, she composed herself, employing the non-committal attitude she was so well known for. She couldn’t have him thinking that she’d spent the last three weeks wondering when he was going to break down and call her. She knew he would eventually. It wasn’t like him to give up; he was ridiculously persistent. It was one of her favorite of his qualities.

She headed to the kitchen, pausing briefly at Nadine’s room to see if she was there. She wasn’t. She was most likely steering clear of the apartment because Oliver was there; she had the idea they would want to be alone. Jaime shook her head, wondering instead which man Nadine was staying with.

The microwave clock informed Jaime that it was quarter til twelve, almost lunchtime. She considered eating breakfast, making a bowl of cereal or something. But she figured if she waited maybe Oliver would buy her lunch. She could probably talk him into it. Especially with the apologetic puppy act he seemed to have adopted for his visit.

Instead of breakfast, she got some juice and took her medication, 2mg of both Klonopin and Xanax, as well as her multivitamin before making her way to the bathroom. She didn’t know how long Oliver would be sleeping and she figured that it wouldn’t hurt for her to look above par when he did wake.

Halfway through her shower, Oliver knocked on the half open bathroom door. He groggily said “I gotta take a—“

“Go ahead,” Jaime said, securing the dark blue shower curtain shut.

“Yeh naked in there?” He tried to make usual conversation.

“No, Oliver, I shower in my clothes,” she said in a snarky tone.

“I’d still like ta see tha’… hopefully yer wearin’ white.”

Jaime smirked to herself and shook her head. He always had sex on his mind, another quality Jaime appreciated. “Are you hungry? I can make some food if you want… Or we can go out someplace.”

“Wha’eva yeh wanna do ‘s fine.” Oliver was trying to be as agreeable as possible.

“Are you staying long?” She called over the shower running and the toilet flushing.

“I gotta be en New York by Friday…” He responded, leaning against the sink. That gave them three days to do whatever it was they did.

“Are you guys hanging around until Bamboozle next week?”

“Aye… got shows next week around the coast.”

“Oh.” She rinsed her hair, waiting for him to speak. She knew he would.

“Jaime?” He said on cue.

“Huh?”

“I don’ fink yer crazy,” he stated simply.

She smiled to herself and pulled the shower curtain back, tactfully covering herself with it. He looked adorably sleepy in just his boxers and t-shirt. “You don’t?” She asked with raised brows.

He stepped forward, her bathroom was not large so this resulted in very little separation between them. “O’ course not… I jus’ don’ understand yeh sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?” She grinned.

Oliver stared at her. Her wet hair was dripping water down her shoulders. He followed one drop along the length of her arm.

“Eyes up here, Sykes,” she snapped her fingers and he focused back on her face and her green and gold streaked eyes. “Better… Now put on some pants. You’re buying me lunch.”

“I am?”

“If you want me to forget that you called me crazy, you are.”

--

It was just so natural for Oliver and Jaime to be at a bar together. It seemed to Oliver that most of their friendship was spent drinking, in bars or in the back of her band’s van or on any number of buses. It was what they had initially bonded over that very first day they met in the parking lot of a venue. That didn’t feel like almost a year ago to Oliver, though it had been. Time had slipped by him so fast. One day he was cracking open beers and toasting to bad first impressions with her; the next he was showing up at her apartment unannounced and apologetic. It definitely did not feel like he had just spent eleven months obsessing over her.

“This is my favorite bar ever. Right around the corner from the apartment… It’s perfect,” Jaime said over the clamor of the place. “Dine should be here somewhere…” She looked around, standing on her toes for a brief moment but didn’t seeing her best friend. “She’s here somewhere…”

Oliver tired to think of his favorite pub; he’d been to a lot of them in his day. But no specific place was coming to mind, only a particular situation. All his favorite times at bars were when Jaime was there with him.

“There she is.” Jaime pointed and grabbed Oliver’s arm to lead him over to where Nadine was seated with another girl. “That’s Beth,” Jaime whispered into his ear. “You haven’t met her before.”

At the corner table, Nadine and the girl Beth were looking between Jaime and Oliver and sort of smiling. It was slightly uncomfortable but he owed Nadine one after she’d helped him arrange this visit. “Hello,” Nadine greeted, mostly to him. She directed her attention at Jaime. “Dave’s here; he asked about you.”

“What’d you say?”

“That you’d be here tonight.”

“And what’d he say about that?”

“Just that he owes you a drink.”

“He really does… He spilled mine last week.” Jaime glanced around the room. “Do you know where he is?”

“At the bar, I think,” Nadine answered, looking at Oli anxiously for a moment.

“Alright, I have to go up and get drinks anyway,” she said. “What do you want, Oliver?” Her head was tilted to the side, waiting for a response.

“I can buy ‘em ef yeh want—“ He started digging in his pocket for his wallet.

“As if I pay for drinks here,” Jaime rolled her eyes. “I know all the bartenders.” She patted his shoulder. “How about a JD and Coke with more JD than coke?”

“Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Alright…” She swiftly left to retrieve drinks for them and to talk to this Dave character. Oliver tentatively took a seat at the table with Nadine and Beth.

“How’s it going?” Nadine asked.

“’S… good.”

Nadine rolled her eyes Jaime style and said “I mean how’s it going with Jaime.”

Oliver’s mouth pulled into a frown “’S good.”

“Uh huh…” Nadine sipped her pink drink. “Don’t get discouraged, hun.”

“I’m not—“

“She does appreciate you coming here… Even if she’s not showing it.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He’d been in Pittsburgh two days and the closest thing she’d been to excited was when Nadine invited them out. Jaime wasn’t being any different with him than she had been before they’d had sex. But there was something distressing about how when they were sitting together on a sofa, she wouldn’t crawl into his lap and when they stood next to each other she didn’t stand on her toes and peck his lips. Not that the physical was the most important part of their relationship but it certainly encouraged him.
Jaime didn’t return from the bar right away. This bothered him; mostly because he really needed a drink. He looked around searching for her. He didn’t’ see her right away but he did see a lot of fit lasses. He had the notion that maybe he could give up this fruitless Jaime obsession and get back to his real ways. He really honestly wanted to do this. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up Jaime. It was impossible now. She was the only one ever.

Jaime reappeared with her hands full and a guy at her side. She sat a shot and a drink down in front of Oliver while the guy gave Nadine and Beth their own shots. “Dave bought us a round,” Jaime said. Why could this guy buy drinks but he couldn’t? “Oh, Oliver… this is Dave. Dave, this is Oliver… Dave’s a tattoo artist.”

“How’s it going, man?” Dave stuck his hand out.

“O’reight?” Oliver shook his hand, if only to make Jaime happy. He didn’t like this guy already. He had a smug smile on his face. Dave had one full sleeve of tattoos . Oliver thought he had the monopoly on smug smiles and tattoos. Oli’s fists were clenched under the table.

Maybe it was the way Dave was looking at Jaime, coveting, that made Oliver so aggressive as they drank together. But maybe also the way Jaime laughed at Dave’s jokes, even though they weren’t funny. Even the kind of beer Dave was drinking, a cheap light beer, pissed Oliver off. Dave wasn’t like Jaime and Oliver who were throwing back liquor. The words ‘fucking pussy’ was coming up in Oliver’s head. This guy was trying to put off a tough air with his crew cut and Black Flag tattoos but Oliver knew better. This Dave was a wanker. So why was Jaime hanging around him?

They were all fairly deep into their drinking, Nadine and Beth were even verging on what Jaime would call ‘shwasty’. When Oliver noticed Dave lean over to Jaime, hand on her thigh and whisper something in her ear, his nerves continued coiling. Though she didn’t respond particularly favorably to this and she pushed his hand away, she didn’t seem upset by this advance. She acted like it was normal. Was this normal for them?

Again Oliver’s temper flared. His teeth clamped together. No breathing exercises or bullshit coping mechanisms were going to help this situation. If he continued to sit there, he was going to hit something, someone. Oliver stood, nearly knocking over the high stool he’d been uncomfortable perched on. Without saying anything, he left the table and eventually the bar all together.

Outside the building he grew livid thinking about Jaime and Dave. He’d never had to deal with Jaime flirting with anyone but him. Her rule of not messing with dudes on tour had been true, with one exception. But this Dave was not on tour; he was stationary. He followed her rules.

Oliver didn’t even know why he was getting so twisted about this. They weren’t exclusive; they never were and probably never would be. He’d spent the entirety of their tour friendship going about his normal sexual business. But the minute he’d slept with Jaime, no other girl had sparked his interest even a little. He couldn’t say if Jaime was abstaining in the same way he found himself doing; she didn’t have to. It wasn’t an obligation. But he wanted her to. He wanted something he never knew was possible for him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Jaime called from behind him. Just by the tone of her voice, he could tell that she too was angry. Not wanting his own frustration to explode at her, he just kept walking in the direction of Jaime and Nadine’s flat. “I know you heard me, Oliver.”

He took two deep breaths and turned around. She was rapidly catching up to him. “Wha’?” He snapped at her.

She was briefly taken back by his attitude but immediately after said “Where do you think you’re going?”

“On a walk,” he responded, though he hadn’t really had a plan. He kept walking because every time he looked at her, he had flashes of Dave in his mind.

“What the fuck,” she mumbled. “What are you pouting about?”

“’M not poutin’,” he said over his shoulder.

“You are; you’re acting like a fucking child…”

“Fuck you,” he retorted before he could stop himself.

Jaime stopped walking and stared at him in surprise. He was still moving swiftly. By now they were almost to her building; she’d been quite accurate in saying it was just around the corner. “What’d I do to you?”

“Nuffin’.”

“So there’s no reason why you were being a complete douchebag to my friends in there?” She hated yelling at his back. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

“Was treatin’ Nadine and the otha bird jus’ fine…” His teeth were locked together. He really didn’t want to get into it with her. She was lucky he was probably in love with her.

“Yeah, but you were being a dick to Dave.”

“So wha’? ‘S how I am.”

“Bullshit. You may be an asshole but not like this.”

“Like wha’?”

“Like you were. Giving him your fucking death glare for no fucking reason.”

“Oh, there’s a reason.” By this time they were at her complex and she had caught up with him.

“Would you care to elaborate or are you just gonna keep being vague?” She yanked open the door but stood in the entry way so he couldn’t get past. “So?”

“’E’s jus’ a wanka, ‘s all.” Oliver shrugged.

“You can tell that from the four words you said to him? Yeah, okay.”

“Maybe I could tell from the way ‘e was eye fuckin’ yeh the whole time like a fuckin’ sod.”

“Eye fucking me?” A sick smirk fell on her face. “You’re acting this way because you’re jealous,” she accused, an almost amused look on her face.

“No,” he quickly jumped to the defense. “I jus’ don’t like my best mate bein’ touched on by a proper twat like ‘im.” Now he pushed past her.

“I can be touched on by whoever I want. You’re pissed because it’s not you.”

She was really pushing his limits and he couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or not. “See ef I eva care about who fucks wiff yeh again…”

“Care? Babe, when you start caring about anything, you can have a say in who touches me.”
Oliver halted at the bottom of the stairwell. He couldn’t believe what she had said. “Are yeh fuckin’ mental?” He turned to her. “Yeh fink I don’ care ‘bout anyfin?”

She’d flinched at the word mental. “Anything but yourself.”

He’d already started up the stairs. She couldn’t honestly believe that. “Yer the one fuckin’ ‘round wiff everyun like a right slut and I’m the one ‘oo don’t care.” He didn’t look at her but he knew that this was the wrong thing to say.

“Like a slut? Fuck you!” She reached and grabbed his arm and tugged. He stumbled and cracked his knee against a stair but kept going. “No, look at me…”

He pulled his arm out of her grasp.

“Fine,” she seethed. “A slut… isn’t that a little pot-kettle?”

“I don’ go around flauntin’ it.”

“Uh huh, okay… fine. I’m a slut. I’m a slut even though the only person to have their dick in me all year is you. I’m a slut. But at least I’m not a fucking pussy.”

He stopped again, this time at the 4x4 landing between flights. “Pussy?”

“Only a pussy would wait three fucking weeks to apologize for something totally irrelevant. Only a pussy would—“

“You fucking—“ Oliver was over holding his temper back just for her sake.

“Slut?” She finished his sentence. It wasn’t what he was going to say but it suited the purpose.

“Yeh can’t say I’m the only person yeh fucked en a year an’ then let some wanka grab on yeh like yeh was fer sale… like a fuckin’ sket.”

“Alright, I’m a whore and you’re a fucking pansy. That’s fair. At least I have some fucking spine.”

Oli’s pent up anger reached a peak and he quickly face the concrete stairwell wall. He immediately rammed his fist into it as hard as he ould. He knew that it probably hurt; he could feel the crunching, but all else he could feel was adrenaline surging. It was almost a good feeling to get it out.

“Fucking moron…” She mumbled. “Shoulda just hit me.”

Oliver turned sharply to her. “Yer the daft one ef yeh fink I would.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she sneered.

Nursing his hand, he snidely said “I believe it; yeh probably provoked ‘em.”

Although he didn’t exactly expect the next thing she did, he knew that he’d deserved it. Her small clenched fist made hard contact with his mouth. “Fuck you. You have no fucking idea what you just said to me… How fucking dare you.” She was livid and clearly considering hitting him again. “You asshole…” She raised her arm once more and he grabbed a hold of her wrist with his non-injured hand. “Don’t touch me, you mother—“

Instead of letting her finish, he pushed his mouth to hers forcibly. She was rigid for a moment before she used her free hand to push him away. She escaped his grasp and fled up the stairs.

“Jaime! Stop!” Oliver followed her, taking two stairs at a time. He caught up to her at the second landing. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her body against his chest. She was flailing and struggling. “I didn’ mean—“

“I swear to God if you don’t let me go, I’ll—“

He turned her around, flinching at the pain this caused his throbbing hand. He was stronger than she was but it wasn’t easy keeping her still. “Jaime… ‘old still.”

“What?” She halted her swinging momentarily.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said before he tried kissing her again. This time she didn’t push away. In fact she clutched a hold onto his shoulders. This encouraged him to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue over her lips and moving his hands to her neck. It was urgent, not slow or romantic or careful. She bit his lip, harder than she normally did but it earned a satisfied groan from him anyway. Her fingers scratched at his back through his t-shirt, no doubt leaving marks. He pressed her back against the stairwell wall and let his hands push down her sides to grasp her hips. One of her legs hitched up and he took the opportunity to hook his hands under her thighs and lift her off the ground. His hand was searing with pain but the way she was sucking at his bottom lip felt way too good to stop now, so that’s what he focused on. That and how she was wrapping her legs around his waist to keep herself off the ground.

She tugged at his hair sharply. All of her actions harsher than they’d ever been before. But he didn’t care. She could punch him seven or eight more times and he’d still want to kiss her. He’d still love her.

His mouth moved to her neck, aggressively navigating her skin with his lips. Small puffs of sound left her throat; she was holding back. So he moved to the spot below her ear, the place his memory told him she liked best. This achieved a louder sigh and he smirked against her neck. He went to kiss her lips once more.

It was then that he noticed the state of her. Her cheeks were covered in a thin layer of moisture. Her eyes were red and gleaming. Jaime was crying. Jaime, who never got so much as choked up, was crying.

Oliver was surprised at how bad this hurt his chest. It was worse than the pain in his knuckles; it was deeper and fuller. It was a grand hurt, so starkly sharp. It was unbearable thinking that he had made her cry.

His urgent kisses cooled, slowed. He pulled away languidly and looked into her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t want him to point out her tears; it would wound her pride. So instead, he kissed each of her cheeks and at the corners of her eyes. He sweetly kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, hoping that if he was gentle enough she’d forget the terrible things they’d said and done to each other.