Sequel: Pretty Bird

People Got A Lotta Nerve

We Are Nowhere & Its Now; Bright Eyes

Days never start out beautiful. Morning fog, colder temperatures, that disgusting, awkward feelings of just waking up. All of a sudden though, the sun shows itself through the clouds, the colors become just a little bit more vibrant, and things just seem to wake up. Oliver definitely woke up.

When I had last seen him at the shop, he looked about as disheveled as I had, thrown on clothes from the night before, hair messy and falling haphazardly around his face, sleep in the corner of his eyes. Now, though, he was in the store again, right at 12. This time, his clothes were new, no creases from folding, the jeans hugging his legs tightly. Even his shoes were new, the normal beat up black vans given a day off. His face, however, was still the same. He was expressionless, just his big dark eyes watching me, as I grabbed my purse from behind the counter and yelled to Bill about my lunch break. As I followed Oliver out of Northern Lights, I saw his hand reach out for mine, but quickly fall to his side again, as if he had forgotten how much of a shitty person I was this morning. I just sighed, the guilt all of a sudden feeling ten times worse.

Thanks to neither of us having a car today, we just walked around the shopping center the candle store was in, giving us few choices, especially with Oliver being a vegetarian. Finally, we turned into some restaurant claiming to be a French bakery, complete with the checkerboard print everywhere and some fat chef with a long, curly mustache. Oliver sat first, before immediately getting up and pulling out my chair for me. I blushed like crazy, quickly looking down so he wouldn't see it as much. I don't think it worked though, because he started laughing a few seconds later, as he sat down in his seat again.

"So..." I toyed around with the salt shaker, tiny granules of salt getting onto the tablecloth. Normally, I would have brushed them off, but now it didn't seem to bother me, all of my anxieties focused on the boy in sitting right in front of me.

"I'm happy you came." Oliver said. I could feel his stare burning into me, even if my eyes were focused on the salt shaker.

"Yeah, I don't really turn down too many invitations for food." I said honestly, trying to get him smile. It worked, sort of. The smile on his face was small and fleeting.

"I just wanted to talk to you, I guess. I'm not much of a conversationalist though." Oliver breathed in and out deeply, leaning back in his chair as his fingers nervously beat against the side of the table.

"You are always so fidgety." I looked up, watching his tattooed fingers treat the table like a drum kit.

He shrugged, and smiled up at me. "Undiagnosed ADHD?"

I smiled back, even if it was just as weak as Oliver's smile earlier. "Possibly. It would make sense, wouldn't it? You do tend to act like you're possessed on stage."

He full on laughed again. "It's part of performing, love. Gotta keep the crowd going."

I nodded, getting the basic concept. The table got quiet again though. Awkward silences never ever die, especially when it relates to me.

"You know," I started, inhaling deeply. "Maybe me and you would just never work out. I mean, I know you sent Matt in to talk to me after you left, and-"

"Matt talked to you?! Nicholls?!"

"No, Vegan."

"What the hell? Seriously?"

I nodded, our eyes locking for the first time since he picked me up for lunch. His fingers stopped drumming on the table, even for just a second.

"I never sent anyone to you, Chris. I just went back to the hotel and locked myself up in my room."

"Why did you do that?"

He was the one to shrug now, not really answering the question.

"Well," I continued again. "Matt came in, surprised the hell out of me. Told me all this stuff about how you want to be more than my friend."

For the first time ever, I saw Oliver Sykes blush. It was cute, ridiculously endearing, and kind of made my heart shoot up into my throat. I just watched him, watched his face tint pink and watched him crack his fingers impulsively.

"Matt said that?" He choked out, eyes locked on his fingers.

"Yeah, he did." There was a long pause before I decided to speak again. "Oliver, I'm not really girlfriend material, you know."

"I actually think you're perfect girlfriend material, love."

I sighed, propping my elbow against the table and resting my head on my palm. "No, I'm not. I barely even know you. You'd be gone, all the time. You could go and fuck how ever many girls you wanted, and then come back without me ever knowing what happened. I don't really think I could mentally or emotionally handle that. I can barely handle making friends, let alone dealing with a relationship." I tried to laugh, possibly lighten the mood, but Oliver wasn't having any of it.

"So you've actually considered it? Thought of me that way?"

"Thought of what? Who? In what way?"

"You've thought of me, you have a crush on me, Christian." He beamed. "You would never have said those things, about me being on the road, about not really knowing me, if you hadn't considered what it would be like being my bird."

I just started, completely blindsided. I'm not really used to being read like a book like that. "You're wrong." I was the one choking out responses now, not him.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his eyes kept their lock onto mine; I was unable to look away for some reason. "No, you definitely like me. You have a crush on me, but you're scared."

I scoffed, leaning back into my chair, away from his prying eyes. "I'm not scared of anything."

big....fucking....LIE!

Good Christian was screaming in my head, as if possessed by a demon.

"You're not scared of anything?" Oliver scoffed, clearly amused. "Love, if you're not scared of anything, why do you have to check the locks twice before leaving your house? Why do you have to count backwards from ten every time someone says something to you that you don't know how to answer? Why did you tell me you didn't need me that day you beat up Emma?"

All of a sudden, defensive mode definitely kicked in. "You don't know shit, Oliver. You barely fucking know me, you know. And here you are with that stupid look on your face trying to tell me about myself! What if I just like to make sure my house doesn't get broken into? What if I really didn't need you to help me? What if I don't need you at all!" I was trying so hard to control my voice, but I could feel everyone around us staring at me as if I was a crazy person.

Oliver leaned back slowly, his hands clenched together as he watched my face. "I know you don't need me....you tell yourself you don't need anyone."

I leaned back in my chair again, my hands clenched into my lap the same way Oliver's were. I couldn't speak, just kept my eyes locked on his, the heat of the anger I felt surging through my body like an electrical current.

He continued again. "You tell yourself you don't need anyone, but I bet it gets pretty lonely all locked up in that house of yours. Christian, I see the look on your face whenever you open the door for me to come in, and I saw how happy you were when all of us were over there before the show for these few days. You say you don't need anyone, but maybe you're just scared of letting anyone in...Why are you so scared?" One of his hands came up from his lap, and rested on the table, inviting me to place my hand in his.

"I don't want to talk about this." I whispered, my eyes focused on his outstretched hand. For a split second, it reminded me of a life preserver, as if I was sinking in some deep, murky abyss in the middle of nowhere, the black water splashing and languid around my neck. I was sinking fast, my legs growing tired and weak, and the only thing there to save me was Oliver's hand, reaching out for me as I began to sink lower and lower into the waters.

"Christian, I just want to help you."

"Oliver, stop. Please." I looked at him, his pleading eyes meeting mine. I tried to shake my eyes away from the look on his face, but my mind had already committed it to memory.

"If not me, then who?" He asked, that look of his still burning in my head.

I shrugged, looking down, my body imploding and folding into itself even more. "I don't want to talk about this. Not here, anyways."

Oliver was quiet now. He just stared at me, as if unable to determine what to say to me. I looked down also, at my shoes, at my hands nervously cracking my fingers, anything but Oliver's face.

Before I knew it, I heard Oliver's chair slide out, and I felt his body get up, even if my eyes were still focused on the ground.

----

I had protested the entire fucking way home. I had screamed, yelled, pleaded, almost cried, begging Oliver to let go of my hand and let me go back to work. But, the ridiculously strong vice grip he hand on my hand never wavered, and now we were here, in my bedroom, Blake giving Oliver and I a ride home without question. This time though, I wish he would have said no when Oliver stole my cell phone from my pocket and asked Blake for the ride. I wished Blake had to work the afternoon shift today or something, just anything, anything to have me not be here. Oliver was sitting on my bed, on the side he normally slept on after we had sex. This time though, we were both fully clothed, minus our shoes thrown in the corner by the door. Oliver's eyes were still set on me, never moving, as I fidgeted under his powerful stare, staring at anything. I tried to count the wrinkles in my sheets, tried to count how many pieces of random things were stuck to my carpet, tried to count backwards from 10 over and over.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Can we talk about it now?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Good fucking god, Oliver, cant you take no for an answer?"

"No..." He whispered. "Not when it comes to you."

"What's so fucking great about me! You do know you can have any girl you want, right? I am not the last human on earth with a vagina!"

"Maybe that's it...I cant have you."

"...What?" I cocked my head to the side.

"Christian, I cant fucking figure you out. Girls, they're normally like books. Touch them right there, say the right thing here, and they're good as gold. You....I've done all my tricks, you know? I've done everything I know how to do and you're still sitting there by yourself, acting content as fuck without me."

"Well, think about it Oliver. Why the hell would I put myself through all this? Fall in love with a guy I've known less than 6 months, just to have him go again in like what? A week?"

He shrugged, and looked down at my bedspread. "You're the one mentioning love, you know."

"Uhm," I scoffed. "Well yeah. What are you expecting?"

He shrugged, still focused on the bedspread. "Taking it one day at a time, I guess."

I rolled my eyes. "Here you are, convincing me to let you in, and you don't even know what you want."

"I want you, Christian."

"Yeah, well, we cant always get what we want, can we?"

I felt the bed shift...and his body close to mine. "I'm sorry about what happened to your sister."

"Yeah? Me too." I lifted my legs up and folded them under me, indian style. "Life's a bitch sometimes, isn't it?"

"You can't be blaming yourself though." I felt his side against mine, his long legs looking even longer against my short ones. "What else do you blame yourself for?"

"Nothing. Stop trying, Oliver."

"Just let me help, please." I felt his finger under my jaw, pulling my eyes up to his. God, I couldn't get over that fucking puppy dog look of his. I was torn, between smacking it off his pretty little face or just full on making out with him.

"Its stupid, okay?" I exhaled heavy, the breath somehow breaking down my defenses.

"No it isnt. Just tell me."

I laughed under my breath. "You're a persistent one, aren't you?"

He smiled, his laugh harmonizing with mine for just a second. "I've got all day, love."