Words, Words, Words

A full week had past since the incident with Oliver. Tom had apologized several hundred times for his brother's words and actions. I smiled at him, accepting his apology and told him everything was fine. It wasn't.

I didn't want to go to the Sykes' household after that. Tom invited me over and I'd always lash out a different, stupid excuse that I knew he could see right through. Yet, he pretended to believe them and instead would drive to my house - which was where we were right now.

We sit in my living room, staring at the television screen. I can tell that Tom is growing tired; he keeps checking his phone or picking at his hair. It's obnoxious but I had asked him to come here so I wouldn't be alone in my house. My parents are at one of my father's work's fancy events.

"Oi," He pipes up, a smile forming on his thin lips. I unwillingly tear my eyes away from the television as he says, "Yeh comin' to my birthday party, righ'?"

"Your birthday's coming up?" I gasp, widening my eyes in fake shock. Tom glares at me for a moment before I laugh a bit. He shakes his head as I say, "Just kidding. Of course I am, Tommy. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"And yeh know Oliver's hostin' it, righ'?" He says uncomfortably. I bite my lip and shrug a bit. I had already figured his older brother, party king, would be planning the big bash. "And yeh know there's gonna be booze and weed and shi', righ'?"

"Tom, are you trying to convince me not to go?" I ask, looking the boy right in his breathtaking blue eyes. His eyes widen then quickly soften up as he shakes his head and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Course not. Yeh the one person I absolutely wan' there. I'm jus' givin' yeh a warnin' so yeh can prepare yehself," Tom says, grumbling the last part lowly. I bite the inside of my cheek as I think about what the night would be like. I inwardly shudder.

"It's okay, Tom," I say with a smile, patting the hand on my shoulder, "I'm a big girl. I'll be able to take care of myself."

He smiles and casually lifts his hand from my shoulder then drapes his full arm behind me. Scooting closer to me, he whispers, "So Lia..."

I shoot him an odd look.

"Wha' are yeh gettin' me for my birthday?"

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I park my car at the bottom of the crowded street with an irritated sigh. I haven't even stepped foot into the party yet and I'm already annoyed. I grab my present to Tom and pull the keys out of the ignition before stepping out.

Closing the car door and locking it behind me, I pull my black coat closer to my body. Underneath the bulky coat is a white wife beater tank top layered under a black high waisted skirt. I matched a silver necklace with the outfit for a bit of flare.

As I walk towards the front door, the people outside smoking cigarettes and talking casually stare at me. The music rings through the neighborhood as I glance towards them uncomfortably until I walk through the open door. Inside, the smell of weed and alcohol hits me hard. My brow furrows as I try to find someone familiar through the crowd of grinding bodies in the dark house.

I make my way to the kitchen, noticing that a lot of people are already drunk. I clasp tightly to the gift bag as my heels click against the tile floor. I see Tom serving drinks to a few girls in the less crowded kitchen. A smile forms on my lips when I see him.

"Tom," I call out over the music and gushing girls. He glances up at me instantly and smiles wide. Pulling away from the pouting girls, he rushes over to me and wraps his arms around me. I laugh, "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, love. Tha' my presen'?" He asks eagerly as he pulls away from my body and glances at the baby blue gift bag. I nod sheepishly and hand it to him. He smiles and pulls out the tissue paper, pulling out the gift - rolls of films for one of his cameras and a picture frame with an old photograph of us in it that we took with my laptop years back.

"It's not much. I guess it's the thought that counts," I say shyly as I smile up at him. He looks at me and embraces me again, tightly. I giggle a bit and wrap my arms around his neck.

"I love it," He mutters against my neck. I smile and pet his hair as he pulls away. He stares at me for a long time before whispering softly in my ear, "I love yeh, Amelia."

"Been drinking, haven't you, Thomas?" I smile. He shrugs but smiles a wide, guilty smile as he put the rolls of the film and picture frame back in the gift frame. I smile back but pointed a finger in his face and warned, "Hey, kid, you're not legal just yet. Don't go overboard."

"Yes, mum," He laughs as he puts the gift bag on a table where the other gifts sat. The smile remains on my face as Tom pulls me farther into the kitchen. He saunters over to where all the alcohol is and pulls a cup out.

"What are you doing?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. A mischievous smirk appears on Tom's chubby face but he doesn't look up at me. He pours some cran-raspberry juice into the glass filled with ice followed by some vodka. "Tom, I just told you not to drink so much."

"This isn' for me," He laughs a bit before handing the cup to me. I take it with a furrowed brow as I look up at him. I'm not one for drinking, Tom knows that. But he says, anyways, "C'mon, Lia, jus' for t'nigh'? It isn' gonna be any fun if yeh aren' at leas' buzzed."

I snicker at him followed by a sigh. I glance down at the purple-pink liquid with a twisted face before pressing the glass against my lips and taking a little sip. It tastes sweet with a tint of bitterness from the alcohol. I cringe a bit but when Tom asks me how I like it, I don't lie, "It tastes okay."

"Good. Now, c'mon, let's go dance," He smiles. Grabbing my hand without hesitation, he pulls me towards the dance floor. As I stumble over people's feet - and my own - I take a big gulp of my drink. Tom's right, I am going to have to be at least a little buzzed to have any fun.

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By now, I'm tipsy. I've had three glasses of my drink, thanks to Tom, and I'm actually having a bit of fun, dancing with any guy who's willing. Of course, I'm not the life of the party. The life of the party is in the center of the dance floor with a girl grinding on each side of him.

But nevertheless, I'm smiling as I dance with Matt N. The techno songs lasts for a few minutes more before the DJ quickly changes it. Matt excuses himself for a drink and I stand in the midst of everyone, waving myself off from heat as everyone else moves to the beat.

As I run my hand through my hair, I feel a body behind me. Their hands find themselves at home on my hips as their lips whisper through my hair, into my ear seductively, "'Ello, love."

Even a bit out of it, I know the accent is trouble. I bite my lip and turn around to face none other than the life of the party, the king in his castle, Oliver Sykes. His hands are still firmly put on my hips as he smirks down at me. I can tell by his blood-shot eyes and pale face that he's been drinking. I say uncomfortably, "Hi, Oliver."

"Care teh dance?" He asks quickly. His hazel eyes match his sly, little smirk, staring at me mischievously. I swallow the lump in my throat and bite my lip a bit. What harm could one silly dance do?

Well, I'm about to find out.