Status: Finished.
This Empty Love
Chapter o6
“So how ‘ave things been, ya’know?” Tom Sykes, my best friend and husband’s brother, asked me. Tom was, and I don’t blame him, unwilling to chose sides in this ordeal. Instead, he watched from the sidelines and made sure neither of us killed the other.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms defensively. “Well, I’m here if that says anything.” I replied, my voice defeated, “We’re talking so that’s good, but other than that we’re basically at a dead end still.”
In front of Tom and I was the Bring Me the Horizon stage. They hadn’t gone on to play yet, leaving enough room for Tom and I to get in a few minutes of talking before the music, and screaming, started.
Admittedly, one of my favorite times to see Oliver was when he was performing. He had this love for it, one that could never match what we used to have, and it showed. The way he looked on stage is a way I wished he always looked; he was happy and angry all that the same time, giving him that indescribably and irresistibly look.
I also admit that one of my least favorite times was also when I saw Oliver performing. I doubt any girl liked the site of her husband being chased after by hundreds of teenage girls, especially when, at the moment, he is a bit more interested in them that me.
“Yeh just really need to let him know what all is goin’ on in your mind. Tell him what yeh are really feelin’. We both know he’s not as heartless as he comes across.” Tom told me, taking a sip from his open beer bottle.
“If he’s not as heartless as he comes across,” I mumbled, glancing over at Tom, “Then how come he doesn’t seem to care when I cry in front of him?”
Tom never got the chance to reply because the lights dimmed and music started immediately as Oliver and the rest of the guys ran on stage, the crowd going crazy in response. Looking away from Tom, I stared over at the stage as if I had never seen them before.
A few songs into the set, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Taking it out, I realized the sender was Tom and he was pointing out the obvious. ‘You still look at him like you did when you first fell in love. Tell him and talk to him, xx.’
Why did the younger Sykes brother have to be the smarter, more sympathetic one?
Ignoring the text, for now, I continued to watch the stage, taking in the sound and lyrics. Oliver stopped screaming at the end of Suicide Season and started to talk to the crowd, “This is a new song we’ve been writin’ and somethin’ my therapist said would be good for me, hah. This is the Sadness Will Never End.”
At first, I paid no attention to the start of the song, until a few certain lyrics hit me like a train, taking the breath from my lips as Oliver glanced over at me, his eyes baring into me as he sang.
I won't give up on you
These scars won't tear us apart
So don't give up on me
It's not too late for us
And I'll save you from yourself
And I'll save you from yourself.
Hearing this made my lungs beg for air and my hear beat too fast for my body to keep up. Not only was my stomach turning to knots and my mind spinning, but I was covered in goose bumps with my hands shaking. And those lyrics weren’t even the worst of it.
I'm not coming home tonight
I'm not coming home tonight
'Cause dear I fear, dear I fear
I'm not coming home tonight
I'm not coming home tonight
'Cause dear I fear
This ship is sinking
Is there hope for us?
Can we make it out alive?
I can taste the failure on your lips
Is there hope for us?
Can we make it out alive?
I can taste the failure
I quickly stood up from my chair, positioned to the left of the stage, and turned around, tears brimming in my eyes. Without a second glance towards the stage or Tom, I practically ran out of the venue and into the cold air, gasping for air.
My feet took me far enough away from the venue that I could no longer her the music I had been shutting out since I exited the doors. Between here, in the parking lot, and my spot next to the stage, I had come to the conclusion that Oliver Sykes must be bi-polar, because why else would someone act like they didn’t care, and then say it’s no too late for us?
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms defensively. “Well, I’m here if that says anything.” I replied, my voice defeated, “We’re talking so that’s good, but other than that we’re basically at a dead end still.”
In front of Tom and I was the Bring Me the Horizon stage. They hadn’t gone on to play yet, leaving enough room for Tom and I to get in a few minutes of talking before the music, and screaming, started.
Admittedly, one of my favorite times to see Oliver was when he was performing. He had this love for it, one that could never match what we used to have, and it showed. The way he looked on stage is a way I wished he always looked; he was happy and angry all that the same time, giving him that indescribably and irresistibly look.
I also admit that one of my least favorite times was also when I saw Oliver performing. I doubt any girl liked the site of her husband being chased after by hundreds of teenage girls, especially when, at the moment, he is a bit more interested in them that me.
“Yeh just really need to let him know what all is goin’ on in your mind. Tell him what yeh are really feelin’. We both know he’s not as heartless as he comes across.” Tom told me, taking a sip from his open beer bottle.
“If he’s not as heartless as he comes across,” I mumbled, glancing over at Tom, “Then how come he doesn’t seem to care when I cry in front of him?”
Tom never got the chance to reply because the lights dimmed and music started immediately as Oliver and the rest of the guys ran on stage, the crowd going crazy in response. Looking away from Tom, I stared over at the stage as if I had never seen them before.
A few songs into the set, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Taking it out, I realized the sender was Tom and he was pointing out the obvious. ‘You still look at him like you did when you first fell in love. Tell him and talk to him, xx.’
Why did the younger Sykes brother have to be the smarter, more sympathetic one?
Ignoring the text, for now, I continued to watch the stage, taking in the sound and lyrics. Oliver stopped screaming at the end of Suicide Season and started to talk to the crowd, “This is a new song we’ve been writin’ and somethin’ my therapist said would be good for me, hah. This is the Sadness Will Never End.”
At first, I paid no attention to the start of the song, until a few certain lyrics hit me like a train, taking the breath from my lips as Oliver glanced over at me, his eyes baring into me as he sang.
I won't give up on you
These scars won't tear us apart
So don't give up on me
It's not too late for us
And I'll save you from yourself
And I'll save you from yourself.
Hearing this made my lungs beg for air and my hear beat too fast for my body to keep up. Not only was my stomach turning to knots and my mind spinning, but I was covered in goose bumps with my hands shaking. And those lyrics weren’t even the worst of it.
I'm not coming home tonight
I'm not coming home tonight
'Cause dear I fear, dear I fear
I'm not coming home tonight
I'm not coming home tonight
'Cause dear I fear
This ship is sinking
Is there hope for us?
Can we make it out alive?
I can taste the failure on your lips
Is there hope for us?
Can we make it out alive?
I can taste the failure
I quickly stood up from my chair, positioned to the left of the stage, and turned around, tears brimming in my eyes. Without a second glance towards the stage or Tom, I practically ran out of the venue and into the cold air, gasping for air.
My feet took me far enough away from the venue that I could no longer her the music I had been shutting out since I exited the doors. Between here, in the parking lot, and my spot next to the stage, I had come to the conclusion that Oliver Sykes must be bi-polar, because why else would someone act like they didn’t care, and then say it’s no too late for us?