Words, Words, Words

The bright light of the tired sun through the open blinds wakes me up. My aching eyes squint as I squirm in my bed, attempting to get comfortable again. I want to go back to sleep, back to my dreamland where I’m safe and happy.

But the grip I hadn’t felt before tightens around me, making my heart skip a beat as my eyes widen and I awaken completely. I twist around to see who’s beside me, only to see Oliver’s peaceful, sleeping face.

It's like he was a Greek god sent from above and I am a mere mortal on land. Possessed by his absolutely breath-taking features, I stare completely speechless. But then again, what am I supposed to say? I've never been in a situation like this. I don’t know if it would be considered unconventional to politely ask, “You were great last night. Is it time for you to leave now?”

Just to my luck, though, as I shamelessly keep my gaze locked on the sleeping figure before me, it begins to stir, moving more and more until Oliver furrows his brow and his eyes blink open. Just moments later, his hazel eyes meet mine and a confused look in the bright orbs comes and goes. Emotions run quickly through his facial expressions, as he remembers all of last night. We watch each other for what seems to feel like eternity before Oliver breaks the awkward silence and whispers seriously, “Yeh didn’ tell me it was yeh first time.”

I look away and shrug sheepishly, muttering, “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Of course it mattered,” Oliver angrily snarls under his breath. The insensitive tone in his voice catches me off-guard and I shoot him a dirty look before turning my back to him, pulling the sheets with me and getting off the bed. Oliver grabs a hold of the comforter and pulls it on top of him as I look around for my undergarments. I scan the room quickly before deciding to give up immediately and turn to my small nightstand. I pull the drawer out and grab a pair of panties and a bra out before shutting it and walk into my closet.

As I change into the underwear, I hear Oliver sigh and crawl out of the bed. I finish hooking my bra and turn around to see him leaning against the doorframe of my closet, his boxers clinging desperately onto his thin body. His colorful tattoos catch my eye and I stare for a little longer than I should have. But I quickly snap out of it and grab the sheet from the floor, pulling it over my own body. He rolls his eyes but instead says, “I meant what I said yesterday, Amelia.”

“Forget yesterday, Oliver,” I say. His eyes bore into me as I go on, “It never happened to anyone else’s knowledge. And if we just pretend it never happened then maybe it’ll just –“

“Go away?” He finishes sourly for me. I shrug as I turn and grab a dress off the hanger, not caring to hide my body, just to show less skin. He resumes talking, his rage obvious in his tone, “Sorry, Lia, but it doesn’ work that way. Last night will always be there, no matter what yeh do.”

I pull the dress over my head and snicker, not even thinking about what I'm saying, “You know, I think you owe me this one thing, Oliver.”

“Excuse me?” He questions after a pause passes through the room. I look at all my colorful clothes as I swallow the lump in my throat. I feel horrible – I shouldn’t have used that against him because he was trying to apologize and fix things between us. But how many times had he rejected my peace treaties? “Okay, Amelia, yeh just sit here in all yeh self-pity. I’ll leave yeh be.”

He turns and walks back into the bedroom. I hear him shuffle around, grabbing his clothing and pulling it onto himself. I try to think of something to say, something to stop him and forgive me. But all I can think of is how the tables have turned and how Oliver’s the one hurt and I’m the one feeling guilty.

The door opens and I hear his feet stomp against the hardwood floor. My body acts as if it has its own mind and drags me from my spot. I cooperate with it, calling out for him, “Oliver!”

He ignores me until we get to the bottom of the stairs and my mother calls out, “Lia?”

Both Oliver and I freeze, looking towards the entrance of the living room where my mother’s standing, wiping her hands on a rag. Her curious eyes look the stranger up and down and I know she sees something familiar but she just can’t put her finger on it. “Mom, uh, hi. This is Tom’s older brother - Oliver.”

A smile crosses my mother’s lips as she walks over to Oliver, him standing a good nine inches taller, and says, with her hand extended towards the lanky boy, “Now that’s why you look so familiar. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Oliver politely smiles and shakes my mother’s hand, his anger from upstairs suddenly masked with his charm, “’Ello, Mrs. Maurice. It’s nice to meet yeh, too. I’m sorreh, but I jus’ have to get home. My mum needs me to help her ‘round the house.”

“That’s sweet,” My mother replies, blinded by his bullshit. Oliver smiles and says goodbye to my mother, walking towards the door and excusing himself. As his car starts up, my mother turns to me and voices her own opinion, “What a nice boy. Why haven’t I met him before?”