Pretty Bird

I was so young when Oliver first left.

Left, as in, pursued his dreams. Toured the world, drunk himself silly with his friends, living out of a duffel bag in a bus. It used to be such an exhilarating feeling, having Oliver's sweaty lips pressing against mine violently when he got off stage, the adrenaline still racing through his veins. It used to be really inspiring, watching him scream his lungs out to those kids, the kids who admittedly wanted to 'fuck his brains out'. It was even cooler though, being able to 'fuck his brains out', while all of them just went back home to their bedroom in their patent's house. I never got to see Oliver perform often; I was never one for transplant living. I like having familiar ground under my feet, and I like having my bed stationary.

Puzzle pieces are supposed to not bend, they are supposed to stay rigid in their shape and fit perfectly with their counterparts, creating a beautiful picture. Lives, like I always say, are puzzles, and going through life, you collect all the different pieces that will in the end make up that beautiful picture. I always thought I would be born, grow up, have many birthdays, and die, with a life making some picture that I could look back on and at least feel decent about. I was never cut out to do great things. That was, until I met someone who was destined for greatness. Someone who was in fact gripping life by the balls while I was just desperately trying to keep my fingertips in the foundations. He met me, spoke to me, his words dripping with honey and smooth like silk. He also kissed me, fucked me, held my hand, and forced me out of my shell, all in around 2 months. Oliver Sykes was a force of nature, a hurricane brewing in Sheffield, England, just waiting for the day he could finally unleash his power and throw the entire world for a loop. Somehow, I got surged into that hurricane, and placed right in the center, the eye of the storm.

When I met the hurricane's parents, they smiled at me graciously, and taught me the finer points of English tea, thanking the heavens that their oldest son might have found security. It was true, I kept him grounded. I was the only person who could cut off his alcohol consumption during those particularly rowdy nights, I was the only one he let in when he was upset, and I was the only one who could manage to talk him out of his sometimes stupid ideas. His parents loved me, and took me in as their own, 'the daughter they never had.' When I found myself in Sheffield, I was given Oliver's old room, a dim basement covered in band posters and polaroids of him back in high school, along with the rest of his friends. I spent hours studying those pictures, amused that his body language hadn't changed much since high school, slightly angered when I found one of him and an ex girlfriend. Also, I was happily shocked when I learned that Thomas, aka 'Baby Sykes', as I had affectionately nicknamed him, never tried to punch me, or take me on some sunset walk on a beach. In fact, there were times when he reminded me of Evan. He was young, had the sweetest heart, and was painfully shy. It took him a few days to even have a conversation with me, and a few trips of me down there for me to actually consider him a friend. I liked him though, he was good company when Oliver was out, which due to his lifestyle, was more often than when he was around. I learned to get used to it though, and treasure the times he was there, as opposed to dwell on the times he wasn't.

And so, the puzzle pieces of my life began to turn fluid, molding before my eyes, adjusting to a life filled with show dates, non-stop flights to England out of Los Angeles, and fleeting, passion filled bursts of energy with my boyfriend. It was new, and exciting, and I was so happy.

It had been over a year since Oliver tripped me at Soma, a year since we fell in love and he promised to never forget me.
The boy is good with his words. He has never broken a promise.

I graduated from San Diego State in May, with a degree in graphic arts. Oliver was actually in the crowd, and cheered when I walked across the stage in my cap and gown. He held me tight, and kissed me on the lips, calling me his 'over achiever', and telling me how awkward it felt being in such a 'collegiate atmosphere.' I laughed, pulled his shirt collar to me, and pressed my lips back against his, eager for his affections.

I had also finally inherited the trust fund my parents had set up with me. The cool $500,000 fell daintily into my bank account the day I turned 21. I used the money to virtually erase my name from my debts; paying off the title to the little craftsman style house I still shared with Blake, and paying off my car. The rest of the money stayed in the bank, just in case a future with Oliver actually took off.

Once the tour supporting Suicide Season was over, Bring Me The Horizon were able to come back to England for a few weeks before going out on the European festival circuit, something I always enjoyed. Besides, having a few weeks of Oliver all to myself was about the best thing I could think of! Lord knows I needed him, that crazy fuck kept me sane somehow.

When Oliver showed me Drop Dead Clothing, he actually offered me a position in his company, my graphic arts degree finally coming in handy. We spent those few weeks together brainstorming, him drawing me sketches of all of these bloody, morbid t-shirt designs, while I composited them on the computer into actual templates. He paid me of course, even though I protested like mad. I considered his presence paying me enough; it was comforting just having his body in the same room as mine. I think I gave him the shock of a lifetime, actually agreeing to go on the festival circuit with him, manning the Drop Dead tent with him when he wasn't playing. I never saw myself as the BMTH 'merch girl', but I thought it would be fun and new traveling Europe with the boys, and with Oliver. Plus, I actually got to meet the kids buying Oliver's clothing, their appreciation giving me loads of gratification for my job.

So finally, that leaves us to where this begins, the Summer months turning cold, Bring Me The Horizon finally taking a well deserved break until the next January, when the touring season was to pick up again. Oliver and I were transplants, as usual. We spent half our time in a flat in London, pretending we were 'posh', the rest of the time in sleepy little Sheffield, pretending we were in high school all over again. I demanded Blake come with me when I made the big move across the Atlantic, and to my surprise, he had settled in quite nicely, making friends with the boys, and even finding a 'bird' of his own, a girl named Alena. They lived in a flat in Sheffield together, not too far from where Oliver and I stayed. It was nice, and I liked it, and I finally began to establish a sense of home, even if this sense of home really lived in Oliver, not in some flat or some location on the globe. He had become the focal point of my puzzle of life, and to be honest, I didn't mind it one bit.