Honestly, I've Never Really Been Honest With Myself.

He was doing it again.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I leant my head back against the wall. I stared at the ceiling intently, keeping my eyes locked on the white stucco. I couldn’t look forward - I refused to let myself look straight ahead, at the messy scene unfolding in front of my eyes. Watching it made it real. Watching it made it that much worse.

Her hand was down the front of his pants, making her work obvious to all party-goers that had the misfortunate to glance at them a little too long. His lips attached her neck, scattering warm breath over the stretched skin. I glanced away from the ceiling for a quick second, but it was long enough to know that they were still in such a compromising position.

I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran up and down my spine - I knew what it felt like to be trapped between him and the wall, with his breath sending delightful convulsions all over my body. I knew how it felt, to feel so loved in those few minutes as he ravaged your body. I had been there, I had done that, and even though I denied the thought as much as possible, I regretted giving up the feeling.

I moved my head back up to gaze at the ceiling, letting my scalp bang into the wall harshly. I was bored. I was antsy. I was stuck in a shitty situation that I had no control in changing.

I squeezed my eyes together tightly, trying to block the mental image from conjuring up in my mind. It was there, when I opened my eyes, when I shut them. All I saw was them - touching, stroking, groping. Sometimes when I saw the picture it was different - I was in her place, my hand grazing the inside of his too-tight jeans. Those images were worse, because those images were in the past.
‘
“Fuck me and fuck my life.” I muttered underneath my breath, banging my head softly against the wall.

I longed to get up and leave - to step out of the house and never look back, to sprint the entire way home, until I could hide underneath my floral duvet and watch Gilmore Girls reruns. I wish I had that type of control. I wish I had enough guts.

I was stuck, though. I couldn’t leave. Leaving would mean defeat. Even though I was a gutless, submissive, and weak little girl, I was stubborn. I refused to let my pride get hurt.

I had a fleeting thought that maybe the party would be better with some alcohol in my system, so I snapped my eyes open and stood up, getting to work on that. My only dilemma was that in order to get to the kitchen, I had to pass PDA Fest of the Year. I took a deep breath and sucked it up.

Pushing myself through the crowd, I held my breath as I passed. I don’t know why. It was a stupid defense mechanism. I had the faintest idea that maybe I could smell him - the mixture of cheap, drug store cologne and weed laced over his features. I think I missed his smell the most. It was comforting somehow.

He didn’t even look up as I walked by (not that I really expected him too, but maybe some acknowledgement might have been nice). I exhaled loudly, before turning into the kitchen. People were scattered around, some having drinking contests and others talking loudly. A few people nodded at me as I made my way to the alcohol.

I nodded back dumbly. I didn’t really know these people. I knew of them, and they knew of me because of the days I spent attached to Oliver’s arm. I guess I was notorious now, for being the first girl to ever break things off with him. People were really surprised that no one had said “no” to him before - I didn’t understand why. He was a selfish, cocky twat, with regards only towards himself and his feelings.

I found some pina colada mix and vodka. I filled the red plastic up 80/20, focusing more on the vodka than the pina colada flavoring. The drink tasted bitter on my lips, despite the mixer, but I still kept pouring it into my mouth generously.

I wanted to get shitfaced.

I leaned against the counter, my back pressing into the cold tile. I couldn’t go back out there. It was too hard.

The thing with Oli was that even though I said to myself that I didn’t miss him, I did. And what was worse that every time I started to think that I was getting over him, something happened - like him showing up to a party or that fucking song popping up when I had my iPod on shuffle - and I was back at square one, just as broken and bruised as before. It sucked, but I only had myself to blame. I was the one who ended it, after all. I was the one who stopped a beautiful thing.

“Two hours,” I murmured to myself. “Two hours and then I can leave.”

Two hours until it was past midnight and I could get away with slipping out the back door. Two hours and everyone would be too drunk to notice that I was gone. Two hours and I could stumble out into the street, making my way to my car. Two hours until I could sit inside my silver Honda Civic, realizing that I was too drunk to drive.

Either ‘two hours’ was a shitty mantra, or I should stop drinking now. I set my cup down on the counter with a sigh.

“Fuck me and fuck my life.” I repeated again. Maybe that would be my new mantra instead.

“Y’know, I read somewhere tha’ talkin’ to yerself is the first sign of insanity.”

Fuck me and fuck my life times two. I closed my eyes tightly, secretly hoping that if I couldn’t see him he would just somehow go away.

Except that wasn’t the case, because that was never the case. Of course he had to talk to me. How could he not, after all? There was nothing like taunting an ex to really keep up the morale of a drunken night.

“Please go away.” My words were weak, my voice plagued with desperation. I just couldn’t take it. Seeing him there, groping and touching was enough. I didn’t need to hear his voice. I didn’t need him to talk to me.

It had been a week and a half that I had gone without his voice, and I thought I was doing just fine without it. It wasn’t until now that I realized how must I missed his raspy tenor.

“Aw, love, now don’t be like tha’.” He protested cheekily, with a smirk present on his face. I opened my eyes to see him standing a foot in front of me, his posture slouched. He smelt strongly of alcohol.

“What do you want?” I asked him harshly. There had to be a reason for him to come bug me.

“I want to ask yeh why yeh relocated to the kitchen. Fuckin’ inconvenient for meh. Tried to get the bird to move with meh so you could still see the show, but she wasn’ havin’ it.”

“Fuck you.”

“If I recall, yeh already did.”

“Leave me alone.”

“But that’s no fun!” He laughed loudly, shaking his head at my sour attitude. “Lighten up, sweets.”

I glowered at him, using all my of strength to muster up the best glare I could. I could probably kill someone with that glare; perform bodily harm, at least. Maybe I could decapitate him if I concentrated hard enough. Maybe if I glared hard enough, his head would burst, like they were trying to do in that one Big Bang Theory episode.

If only.

“Can you please just leave me alone?” I was trying to be as nice about this as possible, without bitch slapping or junk punching him. He deserved both.

“Aw, Aubrey,” I cringed as he said my name. “Why yeh gotta be like that?”

“Y’know, Oli, you would think that since I broke up with you, you’d get the picture that I didn’t want to talk anymore.”

He didn’t waste a second in replying. “We were never together, love, so yeh didn’t ‘break up wiff me’. You just stopped stickin’ yer hand down my pants and suckin’ me off.”

My breathing hitched in my throat. I exhaled sharply, before pushing him roughly, making him stumble back and his drink spill over his hand.

I fucking lost it. All of my control was gone.

“Fuck you, Oliver Sykes!” I screeched at him, my voice reaching an octave I thought only audible to dogs. “Fuck you and your self-centered, egotistical fucking self! What the fuck did I ever do to you? Why the hell do you have to torment me so much? Does it make you smile? Does it get you off?”

He looked shocked, to say the least, with his mouth gaping open as his eyes resembling a fish. His composure was quickly gained, though, and soon his venom-filled tongue returned just as biting as before.

“Only yeh get meh off, baby.” He smiled maliciously, licking his dry lips. I could feel the argument brewing. I knew it; this was it.

It was either now or never. I could scream at him until I was blue in the face, or I could hold my tongue and rest in peace. Or rest in unspoken, angry words.

“Fuck you!” I screamed, even though I said that a million times. It seemed like the first thing to drop out of my mouth.

“Fuck yeh,” He repeated mockingly, shaking his head at me. “Is that all yeh got, love? Because if I’m to be honest, I thought yeh had more than tha’ in yeh.”

I was so angry. So mad at him for pressing my buttons, for making me mad. I felt like I could punch something.

“But then again, I’ve probably been the only thing in yeh for quite a long time, so…”

He trailed off, looking satisfied with himself as he smirked cockily. There was a group around us by now. There were a few drunken boys, cheering Oliver on, and a few sober girls, glaring at Oli for being such a prick. Or at least that’s why I hoped they were glaring at him.

The sound of my hand hitting his cheek echoed throughout the room. It seemed louder than the music. His entire hide snapped to one side. As my hand fell, the red swell was already forming.

Oliver’s fingers pressed against the spot on his cheek tenderly, and he watched me with seemingly sober eyes. Maybe getting bitch slapped helped him sober up.

He didn’t say anything as I turned on my heel and stormed out of the house, practically falling down the concrete steps until I reached the grass. People looked at me as I passed, each one with a different, unreadable expression on their face. I tried to walk away with my dignity still in tact.

However, it would be expected for someone as stubborn as Oli to follow me, of course. I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard him shout my name from the porch.

“Aubrey! Aubrey, will yeh fuckin’ wait?”

I quickened my steps, digging my car keys out of my pocket as I approached it. I heard him before I felt him. I heard his footsteps and then I felt his fingers as they clasped tightly around my upper arm.

I tried to yank it away, but to no avail.

“Will yeh quit fuckin’ running?” He asked me, his eyebrows furrowed in anger as he pulled me straight in front of him. He was at least four inches taller, easily towering over me as I stared up at him.

“What do you want?” I practically growled at him through gritted teeth.

“I want to fuckin’ talk to yeh!” He exclaimed, his eyebrows going wide at disbelief at my stupidity.

“You want to talk to me? You humiliate me at a party full of your friends and then you have the audacity to come and try and talk to me? What the fuck have you been smoking, Oliver, because it’s obviously messing with your brain.”

He looked distressed. “Why did yeh slap me?”

I looked at him like he was stupid. Which he was, but whatever. “You know why.”

He shook his head. “No, not that. I know the technical reason why -’cause I made some fuckin’ joke ‘bout being in yeh, whatever. Tell me exactly what I did to make yeh so mad - I know yer mad for more than just the joke, Aubrey. Tell me why.”

I shook my head at him. “You know why!”

“No, I don’t.” He insisted. “I don’t.”

“You fucked me over!” I yelled. “You ruined me! Everything that I had going for me, my dignity, my pride, all vanished the second you got your greasy fucking hands on me. I tried to stop that - stop the way you made me feel like I was nothing. I wanted more than that, Oli! I wanted a relationship, not just some quick fuck in the bathroom at a house party. I wanted something that you weren’t able to give me, so I fucking ended it. Then you had to go and ruin whatever remains of a social life I had, telling all your friends about my ‘services’ and everything!”

He looked so satisfied, standing there with this smug look on his face. “I knew it.” He muttered underneath his breath. “I fuckin’ knew it!”

I blinked at him. “How could you know?” I asked. “I’ve hardly been honest with myself, let alone you. Now you think you knew it? Knew what, exactly?”

He dodged my questions completely, shaking them off with a turn of his head. He moved his hands, so now they were both clutching the sides of my cheek. I couldn’t move my head, and that made me nervous. He took a step towards me, closing the gap between our bodies.

“I knew that you wanted this.” He whispered, his warm breath scattering over my freckled face. I shivered before him, my body letting him know that he still had that affect on me.

I was still shaking with anger though, so unbelievable mad at the way he had pushed my buttons. “I don’t want it.” I lied through my teeth. “I don’t want it at all.”

“You need it,” he countered, shaking his head softly before pressing his warm lips against mine. It felt foreign, him kissing me without his tongue trying to get inside my mouth or his hand not trying to find a way to slide up my shirt. It seemed innocent somehow, which was strange, because nothing about Oliver seemed innocent.

His lips moved against mine, and I had to try so hard to keep myself from responding. I kept myself still underneath him, not willing to give the satisfaction that I neither wanted nor needed him. Even though I did. I so did.

Oliver broke away with a shaky breath, staring at me through half-lidded eyes. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I know I’ve been a prick, but I jus’ had to know if you really needed it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

He pressed his lips against mine again, but this time I didn’t protest, because he was right. I did need it.

Oliver was a downright prick, with an ego the size of China and knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he made me feel alive. He made me feel good, and even though I didn’t know where this was going, I wanted it.

I had to be honest with myself.

I needed it.