You Mustn't Give Your Heart To A Wild Thing

Los Angeles was just as I’d expected and even more than I had feared. We’d visited briefly whilst on Warped Tour the previous year, but I’d seen no more than the huge sprawling lot that served as the venue and the small dive bar we’d stumbled upon following our set. The endless maze of wide streets and side streets were entirely new to me and the ‘Hollywood’ sign looming proudly atop the rolling hills had widened my eyes the instant I’d climbed from the bus. We certainly weren’t in Kansas anymore, and as a man dressed as Spiderman had sprinted past, cursing himself over being late for a very important date; peering at a Blackberry instead of the pocket watch I was half expecting, I found myself reconsidering following this modern day White Rabbit down the Rabbit hole and into a world I was utterly blind to. Was I ready for Hollywood? More importantly, was I ready for what drama Hollywood was sure to hold?

“We’re not gonna find ‘er jus’ sittin’ ‘ere Ol”

“ ‘m beginning to wonder whether ‘m gonna be able t’ find ‘er at all” I mumbled, eyeing the hoards of people pounding the pavements outside. They stretched as far as I could see, their skin the colour of caramel and freckled from a little too much sunshine, their smiles uncomfortably taught at the corners and displaying just the right amount of bright, pearly white teeth.

I shuffled awkwardly in my seat and fixed my eyes back on the menu I held lightly between my fingers, scanning the various dishes I’d read maybe a hundred times over already and still failing to make anything of them. Every thought in my head was of Verity, at this rate I would starve.

“Didn’ Sam give ye the address?” Tom asked, retrieving a small tin of tobacco from his back pocket; blinding the both of us momentarily as harsh sunlight poured through the window and rebounded from its shiny surface.

“She gave me a address, yeah” I plunged my hand deep into the front right pocket of my jeans and crumpled the piece of paper in my hand for the dozenth time that hour. “Don’t mean ‘s the right one Tommy, Sam said Vee migh’ not even be there”

“ ‘s all we’ve got though Ol” He reasoned, running his tongue slowly along the edge of the rizla before rolling the paper and tobacco between his fingers. “an’ at least ‘s somethin’, ‘cause we sure as heck need somewhere t’ start”

I nodded in agreement and let the menu slip to the table. There were names etched messily into its top, little messages and memories of great nights and a dozen or so love hearts scattered about.
Tom and I had simply fallen into the first place we’d believed to be okay with my colourful skin and Thomas’ swollen black eye. A place small enough that we could slip inside unrecognised, but large enough to offer a comfortable booth to rest in and a vegetarian alternative of their ‘worlds #1 Best Burrito’.

I hadn’t expected the place to bare a story, hidden sentimentalities or long forgotten secrets.

“’m beginning t’ think this were a mistake” It was barely audible over the mariachi music playing softly in the background, but it was there, and Thomas pounced on it.

“I were beginning t’ think ye actually ‘ad some bollocks in them tight jeans o’ yours” My brother teased.

“’s ‘ardly the time t’ challenge my manliness Tom” I grumbled, slumping in the faux leather booth. I wriggled uncomfortably, before straightening up once again as my t-shirt began to stick to my back.

“If ye’d man the fuck up I wouldn’ ‘av to”

Our glares at each other lasted for all of thirty seconds before Toms lips creased into a smirk and mine quickly followed suit. We both knew where we stood with one another, we understood our Batman and Robin tendencies and similarities, and, after much debate, I had finally admitted that Thomas was more suited to the role of Batman than I. My head was too much of a mess and my heart too much of an influence on my being to take on such a role.

Bruce Wayne had been strong enough to see through the haze caused by his love for Rachel Dawes, whereas I, Oliver Sykes was choking on that of my adoration for Verity Ann Palmer.

“’ave ye any idea where we are now, in relation to where we need t’ be?” Tom asked. He read my rapid blinks as intended and rolled his eyes at the gormless expression plastered across my face. “Ye never ‘ave been one for planning aye?”

“The ‘ole thing’s been a bit spur of the moment wouldn’ ye say Tommy?”

“Fair shout” He admitted, glancing quickly around. For a second I half expected his head to do a complete 360 degree turn like an owl or the crazy bitch from the exorcist, but it didn’t. A little disappointing I thought.

“Did that Sam bird not give ye directions?”

“’That Sam bird’?” I questioned, raising a sceptical eyebrow in his direction. “Ye know who she is Tom, ye speak t’ er just as much as me, even if ye don’t wanna....”

“We get on well” He retorted heatedly, a bright scarlet blush spreading rapidly up either side of his neck and across his cheeks. “We talk, ‘s all”

“I weren’t insinuating ‘owt”

“We both know tha’s bullshit” He sighed, “ Ye always insinuatin’ something Oliver. Every time ye open ye mouth ‘s somethin’ ye can’t bring y’self to say lurking about underneath”

It was a simple enough comment; and one that held as much truth as ‘the earth is round’ or ‘the sky is blue’, but it was something I’d not expected, and even more worryingly, something I had no pre-planned argument for. The only thing I couldn’t even begin to argue.

“’ve not got any directions” I mumbled slowly, pulling the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and squinting at it in the bright sunshine. I was surprised the ink was still visible, the piece of paper had been on my person or clutched in my hand for two days straight.”Jus’ an address that I swear don’t make any sense, look at that, see what ye...”

“Sunset an’ ‘olland, apartment twenty four, green door” He sighed, his eyes flicking across the page for a second or so. “Ye wrote the bloody thing, did ye not think when she were recitin’ it that ye...”

“My ‘eads a mess Tom” I argued lamely, “It were an even bigger mess when she were...”

“Well we need to get to Sunset an’ ‘olland” He interrupted swiftly, cutting me short, thankfully and stealing yet another glance at the people and the place pulsing around us. “I sugges’ we get a cab, we can jus’ give ‘im the address then. No fuss, no muss”

“I don’ even know what that means Tommy”

“Nare do I mate, but it sounded good, aye” His smile was small, but it was enough for the both of us. “Imma head out front, dying f’smoke, I can roll ye one, or d’ye wanna...”

“’ll go order” I interrupted, a light blush creeping across my cheeks; the light blush that flourished whenever Thomas offered to do something I really should be able to do myself. I blamed my big thumbs and slight lack of depth perception, Tom stripped it of all lame excuses and put my inability to roll cigarettes down to the fact that I was a ‘rate muppet’. “Ye wan’ed the...”

“Triple stacked bean burger” He sighed, eyeing his backpack warily before grabbing his phone from the front pocket. “Upgrade my chips to curly fries; ‘s only an extra fifty cents, an’ don’ do anythin’ daft whilst I’m outside, yeah”

“What d’ye think ‘m gonna...” I let my words trail as his eyes narrowed and slumped back into my seat, closing my own for a second and letting my head loll back against the cushion. “Triple stacked bean burger” I sighed with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Curly fry upgrade, an’ no stupid shit. I promise”

&&

I wasn’t to know that my promise would be completely worthless the moment I drug my sorry ass up to the bar, much like I wasn’t to know that Tom and I weren’t the only Sheffield natives to stumble upon the secluded restaurant. I’d been expecting to throw away my promise with a smart alec remark or a none too discreet, time consuming stare at the beefed up guy in the corner and I’d expected the breaking of it to be on my part, of my choosing and under my control. I’d not expected it to be discarded carelessly by another. I’d not expected it to be rocketed into oblivion by her, him or them.

I hadn’t expected the place to bare their story, hidden sentimentalities or conveniently overlooked secrets.

“Would ye slow down f’ a second Ol?” My brother panted.

Tom was visibly out of breath, trailing behind me, dragging me down like a dead weight.

“Ye’ve no idea where the fuck ye goin’, an’ ye look like a fuckin’ loon...”He continued on relentlessly, as if listing each aspect of my flustered state would somehow calm me down, or better still, stop me completely. For every large stride I took, I knew he was taking five jogged steps to stay at my side. For each breath I held in order to count to ten, I knew Thomas was taking five short sharp breaths, both in and out, in order to keep up.

I was surprised at the speed I’d left the restaurant almost to the point of being shocked that Tom had even seen me do so. I’d imagined I’d be more of a blur, a trail of bright lights or a harsh breeze whipping past him, but no such luck. He saw, he followed.

I couldn’t shake her smile from my mind anymore than I could shake his. I couldn’t rid my thoughts of his arms looped comfortably around her waist any more than I could my thoughts of her head leant affectionately, lovingly, on his shoulder. But by far the worst part; what had me stunned, shocked and utterly dumbfounded, was the smile of the person next to them, the broad, toothy grin of the guy to the left of the ecstatic looking couple.

It was a broad, toothy grin I had spent the past seven years smiling along with. It was a broad, toothy grin hidden slightly by a right hand decorated with a purple rose, and fingers that read ‘Rock’ to match the ‘Roll’ of the four on his left.

Thomas latched onto my arm the moment he saw his opportunity to do so, his clumsy actions shoving me forward and leaving me stumbling from the curb and into the road. If it hadn’t been for his tight grip I’d have fallen over completely, if it hadn’t been for the grip so tight his fingernails were piercing the skin, I’d surely be under a bus right now.

My scream of ‘Prick’ was lost with the loud beep of the horn but my anger was obvious in the way I tugged myself from him, my eyes narrowed and my fists balled at my sides as my entire body quivered.

“Are ye tryin’ t’ fuckin’ kill me Tom?” I raged, throwing my arms into the air. I wasn’t impartial to causing a scene in public; almost to the point where it was somewhat expected, a letdown if I didn’t. So the sideways glances and pursed lips that my outburst received, the tuts muttered under breath and rolls of eyes that had only just finished perusing my ink ridden torso, were nothing I took to heart, and nothing that would stop me. “D’ye wanna push me under a fuckin’ truck, or are ye just fuckin’ stu...”

“I want ye to stop” His response was small, quiet, and from the widening of his eyes I could tell that it was even a little unexpected for him, but despite all of this, it did what he wanted, it stopped me dead. “I want ye to stop Ol”

“Stop what?” I asked heatedly, regaining my composure for a split second, but my temper still its own entity.

His shoulders slumped in time with the dramatic sigh passing his lips and his blue eyes fixed themselves on the pavement beneath his tatty slip-ons.

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’” He stated simply after a minute or so of consideration. “Stop fuckin’ runnin’ from somethin’ ye need to accept, an’ stop fuckin’ runnin’ towards somethin’ ye not ready to find”

“’m doin’ neither Tom”

“Ye doin’ both mate” He paused for a moment, his bottom lip caught beneath his teeth and his brows knitted together at the bridge of his nose. “an’ ye aren’t ready t’see ‘er until ye understand that”

“I saw ‘er t’day”

“It were a photograph Ol”

“It were enough”