Chasing Chaos

2009

“’E’s bloody heavy,” Oli groaned.

Panting, I added “’S would be a lot easier ef yeh didn’ live on the third fuckin’ floor.”

“Or ef there were an elevator.”

“Or ef I weren’t wearin’ four inch heels.” My feet ached as we pulled Tom up the stairs. He was only half conscious; his whole body was limp, making the whole process of getting him back to the flat nearly impossible.

Tom had been drunk since before noon when we got to the first club. It had been an unfeasible task to try and keep up with him because everyone was buying him drink after drink. But I was quite wiggly myself, as I had done my fair share of drink-consuming. I was not sure how either Oli or I were managing to lug the younger Sykes; neither of us could walk a straight line. But we had been given the arduous task of sobering Tom up before the second round of partying began. The club had been the preface to the party we were intending to have at the flat later in the night. Though seeing as Tom had already puked and passed out, I wasn’t convinced there would be any partying for him.

Oli fumbled with the keys to the door. “Why the fuck did we lock it today? Of all fuckin’ days to lock the fuckin’ door,” he grumbled, finally managing to shove the key into the lock and push the door open.

We pulled Tom to one of the arm chairs in the living room, where he promptly fell. I sighed, a tremendous heave of relief. My feet throbbed as I tugged my ankle boots off and threw them to the floor. My dress was twisted at the waist and I could feel the chaos of my hair. But I just took a seat on the sofa, not caring to fix my disheveled appearance.

“Think e’s up for more?” Oli took a seat beside where I was slumped.

“Hope so,” I said. “Matt bought all that beer… Fuck, wha’ time is it even? I’ve no sense of time right now. I’m like on another time level right now.” My eyes were focusing and unfocusing themselves, making it impossible to see straight.

“Half five.” Oli was rubbing his forehead. He too had been drinking since the champagne we’d had at breakfast.

“I dunno ef I can drink anymore,” I moaned. “I’ll end up passed out on the kitchen floor, a can o’ Red Stripe in one hand and a bottle o’ tequila in the other.”

“Tha’ don’t sound so bad,” he stated.

“Yeh would say that…” My stomach was unsettled. “Ugh, I can’t do it.”

“Yeh ‘aveta,” Oli insisted. “Take one for the team, Sav.”

I looked over at him and tilted my head. “I’ve not been called Sav in a long time.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes; he just shrugged. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh, like years man…” Incoherency was a side effect of too many shots of Jager. “Not since… yeh know.”

“Aye.” Maybe he understood what I meant. But maybe he was just agreeing for my sake.

“When are people comin’ over?” I looked around the flat, trying to imagine people crowded in. But all I could imagine was taking a nap.

“Fuck ef I know.”

Tom let out a muffled snore, which caused a set of giggles to escape from my lips.

“E’s ‘avin a good time, yeah?” Oli snorted.

“Looks like it.” I reached over towards the knocked out Tom and touched his cheek, where there was a smeer of pink. Lipstick, I assumed. Who had been kissing him, I wondered. I then ran my fingers under my eyes, wiping away smudged black eyeliner. “I don’t think I’ve been this drunk this early in the day in like a year.” My head pounded dully while my phone signaled a text message from the pocket of my dress.

How’s part one of the birthday? Peter asked

Hinmdderingg th possbilty off a part too. The sober translation of my drunk text message being ‘Hindering the possibility of a part two.’

“I can’t fuckin’ text,” I whimpered at my phone. “The letters are fuckin’ movin’.”

Oli was trying to stand up but was having a difficult time of it. “The floor’s movin’ too.”

“Fuck,” I mumbled.

After several failed attempts, Oliver had managed to successfully stand. “D’yeh want a beer while ‘m up?”

“Are yeh kiddin’?” I looked to him with bleary eyes.

“No?”

“O’reight, sure. Why not? Prob’ly won’t be able to taste it anyway. The inside o’ my mouth tastes like bloody cardboard.”

He staggered towards the kitchen, grabbing a hold of the wall for support.

“We should be drinkin’ water an’ tryin’ to sober yer bruv up ‘fore people come over…”

“Savanna,” he called from the other room. “’E won’t be sober for the next week.”

That was probably true. I really shouldn’t have been encouraging this negligent abuse of Tom’s liver or letting him fall into the rockstar-out-of-control-partying mentality. I didn’t like the idea of him acting in the same manner his brother did. There should be a very clear distinction between them; Tom: rational and collected, Oli: wild and careless. I didn’t want there to be any blurring of the line between them.

Oli handed me my beer just as my mobile rang. He raised his eyebrows as I nearly dropped my phone trying to answer it.

“’Lo?” I answered.

“Ow’s it goin’, love?” Peter asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

“’S goin’…”

“’Ow drunk are yeh?”

“Too drunk for it to only be five thirty.”

He laughed. “Yeh still at the club?”

“No…” I yawned. “Oli and I ‘ad to bring Tommy back to the flat an’ clean ‘im up. ‘E’s unconscious in the chair right now. Looks right peaceful.”

“So ‘e’s ‘avin a good birthday then?”

“I hope so.”

“Is ‘e gonna be okay for the party?”

“Okay? Prob’ly not. Conscious? At least semi,” I responded. I took a long drink of the beer in my hand. I had been right to assume it would have no affect on me; I barely felt it against my tongue. “Somehow, I’m drinkin’ another beer.”

“Yeh are?” No more amusement flashed through his words.

“Uh huh, Oli suggested it. But ‘e can barely walk.”

From the other side of the couch, Oli jolted to attention saying “Piss off” in a joking manner.

Peter also responded “It really took two o’ yeh to take ‘im home and sober ‘im up?”

“Oh, yeah… ‘E kept sending drunk texts to people ‘oo were in the room. I took ‘is phone from ‘im after a while. ‘E threw up in the shrubs outside the building. Couldn’t walk on his own. Woulda been right hilarious ef it wasn’t me draggin’ ‘im round. Nearly broke my ankle walkin’ around in them heels.” Rambling was also a side effect of the Jager.

“’S really tha’ bad?”

“Oh, ‘s not bad… Every’un is ‘avin’ a good time. We’re jus’ all pissed. An’ we’ve still got hours til the partyin’ is over.” I rested my head against the back of the couch, closing my eyes. “Are yeh still comin’? I imagine it’ll be a lot like babysittin’. I’ll be droolin’ all over myself and cryin’.”

“I hope yeh ain’t cryin’,” he said. “I don’t think I could see yeh like that; it’d make me right sad.”

“Oohh. I won’t cry then. No cryin’. ‘Cause I’m a big girl.”

“Right, yer a big girl,” he laughed.

“No, really, are yeh still comin’? Yeh’ve got to come; I’m too drunk to be the hostess tonight. Yeh’ve to help me.”

“Of course, I’m comin’. An’ ef yeh want me to help yeh, yer gonna need to not drink anymore right now. Yeh probably need some food. Tom too. Somethin’ to sober yeh up.”

“Tommy’ll prob’ly jus’ puke it up.”

“Nah, it’ll be mint.”

“Yeh promise?”

“Aye.”

“Oh good.” I smiled to myself.

“So, ‘ow bout this,” he proposed. “I’m off in half an hour. I’ll stop and pick up pizza or somethin’.”

“Oh god, pizza sounds perfect.” My uneasy stomach made no protest.

“Right, pizza it is then. Toppings?”

“No meat and it’ll be fab.”

“O’reight. No meat.”

“Yer the best, Peter.”

“I know… I’ll text yeh when I’m outta ‘ere?” He offered.

“Sounds good.”

“In a bit, Annie,” he said before hanging up.

My phone slipped out of my hand onto my lap and turned onto my side. Oli had retaken his seat next to me. He was already looking at me. He took a large gulp of his beer and asked “’Oo was that?”

“Peter…”

“Oh, right.” Another gulp.

“The shop closes early on Sunday… ‘E said e’d bring food over for us before people get ‘ere.” My hand with the can in it slowly pulled back up to my mouth and I took another drink.

“We’ve food in the kitchen,” he said sharply.

I rolled my eyes. “Do yeh want to actually even stand up, let alone go in the kitchen to cook?”

“Point taken,” he answered briskly.

“Besides, we’d prob’ly burn the place down. An’ I don’t think I want police and ambulances to be the end of Tom’s birthday. Especially ef ‘e were unconscious for it all.”

“Right…” He had a sour expression on his face. When I thought about it, I realized this expression had been omnipresent nearly the whole summer so far.

Ignoring this fact, I asked him “Yeh o’reight? Yer not gonna be sick as well?”

“No.”

“Ef yeh are, let me know. So I can get yeh a bucket or summat. There’s no way I’m capable o’ cleanin’ up vomit. I’d jus’ make a bigger mess.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeh sure? Yeh look quite ill.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped at me.

My eyes widened and I pressed my lips together tightly.

He immediately began stammering apologies. “Oh, fuck, sorry… Didn’t mean to be short with yeh. ‘M jus’ tired as fuck.”

I nodded quietly.

“Aw, please don’t be sore… ‘M jus’…”

“Tired, I know,” I finished his sentence with a gentle smile. “Me too. But buck up, mate. We’ve got to keep the day goin’. Ef we lose steam, the terrorists win.” I tried to remain serious but cracked into laughter instantly.

“Yer mental, girl,” he shook his head.

“Mental? Eh, maybe.” I shrugged and tried to put my beer can on the table in front of me; I very nearly missed the table all together as my depth perception seemed to be deceiving me.

There was the sound of Oli slurping down the last of his beer and letting out an obnoxiously loud burp. I withheld the urge to laugh at the juvenile behavior but decided to comment on it. I looked over at him to speak but he didn’t look up to hearing one of my snarky remarks. He was staring at me with hazy eyes. “So Peter’s yer… boyfriend?”

“Uh,” I stammered, unprepared for more serious thought. “I guess so, maybe?”

“Yeh guess so?” He was so gravely serious. “Yeh mean yeh don’t know?”

“We’ve not discussed it exactly. But we certainly act like it… I mean, uh, we act like it right now, er, lately. I don’t know ‘ow that’ll be when I’m back off to Brum but for now, ‘s good. ‘S really good. I mean… I’m still gettin’ to know ‘im. Er, well, I’ve known ‘im forever practically. At least as long as ‘ve known yeh. But I don’t know ‘im know ‘im. Not per say—well I know ‘im better now that we’ve been… dating or wha’ever it is.” I took a breath; I was out of it from my rambling fit. “I’m drunk,” I concluded.

“That yeh are,” he agreed with a short amused interlude before he turned somber again. “Jus’ be careful with Peter, yeh know?” He added.

“Be careful? Yeh say it like e’s a handgun.”

“Might as well be; blokes are dodgy. Ef ‘e gives yeh trouble…”

“Ef ‘e gives me trouble, I think I’ve got it sorted,” I said, curious about Oli’s protectiveness. Though I appreciated it, there was something slightly disturbing in it his distrust of Peter. But my muddled mind could not decipher exactly what that something was. “Besides, Tom’s got my back ef Peter turns out to be a wanker. Tom’s said that e’ll take a cricket bat to Peter’s knees. ‘S right sweet o’ ‘im.”

Oli looked sour again for a brief moment but then with a realizing sigh “Aye, Tom is a sweet kid. Can’t take ‘is liquor like a proper man but e’s sweet. Takes good care o’ yeh…”

I just nodded and let my eyes close once more.

--

2005

On the evening of Tom’s 16th birthday, my parents had gone to Mansfield to visit my Aunt and as usual, my brother was off somewhere, presumably drunk or high or some combination of the two. I found myself lying on our kitchen floor. I had been painting; the tiles made it easier to clean up if I made a mess, which I usually did. Though drawing was my one true love, painting was always an interesting experiment. But I’d given up the painting endeavor half way through. I had no inspiration in me. In fact, I was feeling rather hollow. I’d been having such a good time with Oliver lately but I’d woken up on July 12th feeling desolate and lonely.

The void that my lack of best friend had created was not filled so easily by making out with a cute boy. I needed something else, something more, something numbing. A mental anesthesia. Painting hadn’t helped and wallowing in the kitchen didn’t either. So what would?

I didn’t feel like answering the phone when it began to ring from beside my head. But I pulled the phone to my ear anyway, if only to stop the shrill ringing. “’Ello?”

“’Lo,” Oli greeted, eager as ever. “‘Ow’s it goin’, Sav?”

I sighed. “’S goin…”

“Wha’ are yeh doin’?”

“Lying on the kitchen floor.”

He paused. “Why?”

“’Cause no one’s ‘ere.”

“Oh… D’yeh want company? We ended practice early. An’ I don’t want to go home jus’ yet.”

I didn’t ask why he didn’t want to go home. “Sure, come over. My parents are gone for the night.”

“’S that right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Interestin’… I’m leavin’ Lee’s now.”

“Uhkay, will yeh be comin’ through the window again?”

“I guess I can come to the front door. Like a normal person.”

“See yeh soon.”

I was glad Oli was coming over. It would be a decent distraction from my hollow chest; Oli was rather distracting when he chose to be. He diverted my attentions by being so utterly unreadable. I was never fully convinced that he even liked me enough to be making out with me on such a consistent basis. He was ever-present in my day, whether next to me in the car or floating in my thoughts. And he made my insides feel twisted and raw. But I wanted to be around him regardless.

Oli was sweet on occasion, giving me compliments or offering sage advice on the Tom situation. And other times, we would start talking about something simple, like his band and the next thing I knew, he was telling me about what he really wants to do with his life, very seriously and with sincerity. I was beginning to think he was showing me the soft inside to his rough exterior. Though this sort of thought was contrary to what I knew, that he was not interested in seriousness or relationships. He would not be involuntarily breaking down any walls for me; he knew exactly what he was doing. But it was nice thinking otherwise; Oli actually being as vulnerable as me was a nice idea, though far from actualized.

When I opened the door for him several minutes later, he didn’t wait to swoop down and kiss me. “Been waitin’ all day to do that,” he alleged with his typical smirk.

“Oh really?” I shut the door behind him as he took my hand.

“D’yeh know ‘ow hard it is to remember lyrics when yeh’ve a pretty girl stuck in yer head?”

“No, I can’t say I do,” I responded, feeling somewhat more upbeat with him there. “I’ve somethin’ to show yeh,” I stated, pulling him towards my bedroom. “’S in my room.”

He arched his brows. “Something to show me… in yer bedroom. I like where this is goin’.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sleaze.”

“Yer the one who’s ‘somethin’ to show’ me.”

“Yer mind is in the bloody gutter.”

“O’ways is.”

I tugged him into my graffitied bedroom. It was in slight disarray but there was nothing too embarrassing happening, like the entire Boyzone CD collection in rotation on the stereo or bras lying on the floor. He’d only reached the clothed groping part of our making out, so I wasn’t exactly comfortable with him seeing my knickers lying about. Though I imagine he’d seen plenty of knickers in the past.

I took a seat at my cluttered desk and pulled my sketch pad from beneath a mug. I flipped through the pages until I found what I was searching for. He inquisitively looked over my shoulder. I smiled at him and tapped the drawing with my index finger. “There. There’s yer future tattoo.”

He studied the drawing with great interest, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy. “Why’s the turtle on a skateboard?”

“Why not?” I replied.

“Point taken... Why’s ‘e got sunglasses?”

“’Cause it’s sunny while e’s skatin’?” I offered.

“Good reason to ‘ave sunglasses, I suppose.” He was grinning at me, perhaps with even more fervor than usual.

“So yeh’ll get it inked?” I asked.

“Absolutely, whenever I’ve the money.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I will.”

“Sure.” I nodded incredulously. “Yeh don’t ‘ave to. Not really,” I said.

“I want to though. Gotta rep yer crew, yeh know?”

“Rep… yer… crew…” I repeated skeptically.

“Aye. Support yer friends and wha’ ‘ave yeh.” He put his arms around my shoulders, hugging me from behind and placing a kiss on the side of my neck. It was then that he caught sight of the other things on my desk. Most notably a rarely used hair straightener, stray chewing gum papers and a vintage Polaroid camera with the film sitting next to it. “Yeh’ve a Polaroid camera?”

I frowned. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Yeh guess so?”

“It was meant to be a present.” I stood and moved to my bed, my mood dipping once more.

“A present? For who?” He asked and after a moment without response from me, he understand who the recipient was suppose to be. “Oh, right…”

“I know ‘e likes takin’ pictures an’ I found tha’ one at a second hand shop.”

“Yer not givin’ it to ‘im then?”

“Why should I give ‘im anything? ‘E doesn’t deserve gifts,” I said coarsely, watching Oli fiddle with the camera and its film. “Maybe ef ‘e would apologize for bein’ a fuckin’ prat, I’d give it to ‘im but not as long as e’s treatin’ me like a lower fuckin’ lifeform.” This was one of my anxious raw nerves rambling moments in which my hands shook and head spun. In these moments, Tom would tell me very kindly to relax. Oli mostly just ignored my anxiousness, probably because whenever he spoke, he just made me more nervous.

Oli was still toying with the camera; when he successfully maneuvered the film into the camera, he triumphantly pronounced “O’reight!”

“Wha’re’yeh—“

A flash lit up the room, accompanied by the sound of the Polaroid feeding the picture. My mouth dropped as Oli began shaking the picture he had just taken. “Oy!” I yelled. He smirked pleasantly when I ruefully said “I hate yeh.”

“Yeh do not.” He held up the camera a second time and snapped another picture of me, this one with my ever-attractive pout.

“Quit,” I pleaded. “Yer wastin’ the bloody film with photos of me.”

“Wastin’? They’re cute fuckin’ photos.” He inched towards me, camera still in hand.

“Cute? Not right now.”

“Yer o’ways cute.” He flopped down next to me on the bed. “Come ‘ere, take a picture with me.” He tried to put his arm around me but I pulled away.

“No… I take terrible photos.”

“Come on.” He reined me into him; he was always so convincing in his gestures. He pulled me closer; I half buried my face in his neck so that when the camera flashed, only part of me was visible. Woefully, I placed a kiss on his neck. “See, not so bad,” Oli mumbled. He pushed my chin up so I was looking at him. His eyes had a certain hypnotic quality; I couldn’t look away. So, of course, he caught me off guard with yet another picture.

I scowled at him. “Stop.”

“Make me.”

That was all it took for me to kiss his neck again, more aggressively than before. His arms enclosed around my middle while my hands found their way to his hair, where they felt at home, pulling and grasping. He caught my mouth with passionate pressure, causing a sigh to rise in my throat. His hands gripped my hipbone so tightly I was sure bruises would form where his fingers had been. His tongue slid across my bottom lip and I pulled him tighter into me.

This was Oli’s way of making me feel better. From the first of our kisses, he had been trying to comfort me. And he was good at it. His hands sliding across the skin of my lower back was blissfully numbing. Hadn’t I just been wishing for mental anesthesia right before Oli had arrived? This was the closest to anesthetized that I could find. The friction between us was also total oblivion. Sweat slick skin and sounds escaping lips were the only things crossing my mind. I wanted more of this oblivion, needed more. I knew what more meant in this context and just like breaking rules, I found myself okay with more. And I knew Oli would be too.

My hands gripped at the collar of his shirt, bunching it up near his shoulders. My nails racked across his back before pulling away from his lips just enough to tug the shirt up and over his head. I tossed it away from us, barely noticing his stunned expression before I went for his mouth again. It was only reflexive for him to go for my shirt next; that was hardly an obstacle for him. He slid my black t-shirt off of me with the grace of a true pro.

I was feeling daring and confident. With a surge of bravado, I pushed him so that his back was pressed against my bed. Everything was a haze of flesh and staggered breath as I traced my fingers along his stomach. I was as fast paced as Oli usually seemed. In contrast to my bold calculated moves, Oliver was slowing down, confused by what was happening. His kisses were soft and gentle while his hands held me nearer by the instant.
My hand twitched towards his belt buckle. As I undid the buckle, my hand accidently grazed where his jeans were tightest; an involuntary groan came from the back of his throat. It was a surprisingly satisfying sound to hear, one I’d not heard before, and it made me smile triumphantly. I continued my endeavor, fumbling to undo his pants before starting to push my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Almost immediately, though with some struggle, Oli croaked “Sav, I don’t think tha’s a good idea.” Though he said this, I continued sliding my fingers under the band and kissing his neck. “No, really, Sav… SAVANNA” he persisted with more conviction. Piercing rejection cut into my sides. Oli Sykes, the same Oli Sykes with the womanizing reputation that followed him wherever he went, didn’t want me. He spoke further, “Yeh shouldn’ do tha; yeh don’t wanna…”

“Oh, yes, I really do,” I pressed.

“’Ave yeh… I mean are yeh, uh, a,” he stumbled to find the word.

My mind had already found and singled out the word. “Of course, I’m a bloody virgin,” I said obviously. “But that’s not a big deal. It’s, um… Gotta happen sooner or later.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Yeh don’ want it to be with me.”

“Ef yeh mean tha yeh don’ want me, okay, tha’s fine… But honestly?” I looked at the grained wood of my bedroom floor so that I would keep it together. “Honestly, I jus’ want to feel somethin’ other than lonely and confused. So I want it—I want you.” I slipped off of him, sitting beside him. “Ef yeh don’t want—“

He stopped me. “It’s not tha’ I don’ want yeh.” He let his hand trail through my hair softly. “Don’ be silly, of course I want yeh… I jus’ don’t want yeh regrettin’ anythin’.”

“Why should yeh care whether I regret it? Tha’s on me.” It seemed silly that it should matter to him. I was just a passing fancy.

“Savanna, I think yeh’ve the wrong idea ‘bout my intentions—“

“Oliver,” I commanded his silence. “Yeh either want me or yeh don’t. There’s nothin’ else to it.” Mortified, I closed my eyes and leaned against my pillows. I felt him get up off the bed and I was far too upset by it to reopen my eyes; I never wanted to have to open my eyes again. I just felt sad and exposed, worse than I’d felt before he came over. I may have been the only girl he’d ever turned down. Had I been too forward? I didn’t think there was such a thing in his galaxy. Maybe he just didn’t like desperate little girls.

My eyes were rimmed with stinging moisture when I heard the camera’s clicking. Hoping it wasn’t a picture of me and my shirtlessness that Oli had taken, I lifted my lids. He was eyeing me apprehensively and shaking out the fresh picture. He then collected the other four photos he’d abandoned on the stand. “These are all pretty fuckin’ good,” he said, taking a spot on the edge of my bed. I’d curled my legs up to my chest defensively by the time he handed the pictures to me. “’Ere, look.”

I reached forward and took them from his hands, careful not to touch his skin; I couldn’t deal with the fire it would create. I separated the top three pictures of the stack, each of them only pictured me. Somehow, he had managed to make me look decent in them all; even the still developing one, the one of the shirtless rejected me. I’d never realized I was photogenic at all. They almost looked like a stiff desolate expression model of magazines, pouting for a camera. I wondered if I really looked as sad as the pictures had made me look. I absently handed him the model-esque photos.

The last two pictures, the ones of us both, made me feel even more twisted inside. The first one I looked at seemed so intense; it was the one where we were staring at one another very intently, when I had been hypnotized by his eyes. The second of the photos was my favorite. It was sweeter; his eyes were on me and he was grinning as I’d fought back a smile, half hidden in his neck. We very nearly looked like an actual couple.

“Yeh want that one?” He asked when he found that I was staring at this last picture.

I nodded silently, reaching for one of the many pens from my nightstand.

“Mind ef I take the other ‘uns?” He added. “Bit greedy, but I like ‘em…”

I scribbled ‘Oli&Sav05’ at the bottom of the two pictures and handed him his, completing his set of four. “Sure, keep ‘em.”

Within a moment of my cold response, Oli was remarkably close to me, reaching for my cheeks. He placed a very simple kiss on my mouth. “Yer gorgeous, Savanna.”

“Thanks?”

With his forehead pressed to mine, he grumbled “Should never try to be noble, ‘s bloody bullocks comin’ from me… I’ve offended yeh, ‘aven’t I?”

I didn’t speak.

“Wish yeh could understand wha I… how I…” He stopped himself and took a minute to find some composure. “Sav, I want yeh.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Good.” And I let my lips brush past his lightly.

He continued with his composed train of thought “But I want wha’s best for yeh too and we both know I’m rotten…”

“Yeh are not.”

“Don’t be polite, Savanna. I’m rotten and shouldn’—“

“Oh, get off it, Oli—“

“I’m jus’ tryin’ to take care of yeh.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” I sputtered furiously.

“Yeah? Then wha’s it yeh need?”

“You,” I spit shamelessly. “Yeh make things feel different. And I need to feel different. I can’t spend another fuckin’ night lying on the floor feelin’ sorry for myself. I need something different. D’yeh understand tha?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I can definitely understand,” he murmured, just barely above a strained whisper.

“Then please, Oliver, humor me,” I implored.

His noble gusto faded, replaced by obliging affection. Once more, he wanted to comfort me. He was kissing my jaw within a second and his bruise-inducing hands were back on my waist, igniting fire.

And god, was he convincing. He almost had me believing that he really meant it.