The Missing O

I was working late again, alone, in the office. Just like most nights I sat, iPod in, tidying up some work that had been sent through for finishing up. This time it was for an advertisement that would appear in a local magazine. Vintage Clothing Show! It read in dark letters. I looked the design over, reading the information, and thought I might go along myself, see if I could get a bargain. God knows I needed new clothes.

The whole office was dark apart from the light from my Mac screen and the headlights of the passing cars made shapes against the wall. I nearly fell from my chair when I felt a hand grasp at my shoulder.

“What the - !” I turned, seeing Mr Wydell looking at me curiously. I guess I must’ve shouted pretty darn loud. I didn’t even know he was still here…I took my headphones out and smiled apologetically at him. “Sorry,” I muttered, “You scared me.”

“Then I should apologise,” he smiled. Urgh, this man gave me the creeps. “You know, Morgan,” he said after a moment, “We’ve never really gotten to know one another, you and I.”

I could see he was smiling at me, but it felt almost like a sneer. I wished the lights would lift and it wasn’t so dark and I wasn’t so alone. The room felt all of a sudden cramped, the brick walls pushing in and the high beams dropping down, down, down until I almost couldn’t breath. Mr Wydell inched closer.

“Maybe this time we have alone together could be useful. For the both of us.” I felt hot. Much too hot. My hands were flat down against the desk, unable to move and my heart pounded hard. The smell of his cologne was pungent, expensive but too much. I felt suffocated.

“I-I’m pretty busy, Sir.”

Mr Wydell cackled, rubbing his hands along his knees. He was wearing a steel coloured suit.

“I’m sure we both are,” he whispered, “but what’s the fun in work if there’s no play?”

I had three unread text messages when I’d finally managed to escape out of Mr Wydell’s slimy claws. I felt utterly disgusted, insulted, but worst of all, I was scared. My hands shook as I reached for my phone.

All three messages were from Oliver, the first was the reply to the last text I had sent him, the second was him jokingly asking if I wasn’t talking to him anymore - he must have sent it when Mr Wydell had cornered me. The last message I had to read over twice.

Ring me when you’re finished, I’ll pick you up from work. X

I considered my options; I’d just ran out of my work to escape my boss after he’d try to make a move on me. I could either walk to the bus stop in the dark, cold and alone, or I could suck it up, ring Oliver and get a lift home in his cranky car. I hated how things worked out sometimes.

It only rang twice, “Oliver?”

“Morgan!” I’d never heard his voice on the phone before. It was odd. “Are you alright?”

He was obviously worried. I always texted back. I tried to put this fact down to that there was nothing better to do whilst at work, and Oliver’s texts were the only thing keeping me from slamming my head against the desk in boredom. But I had Britt for that.

“Y-yeah, I’m…fine.” I coughed, trying to clear my throat. My voice was wobbling.

“Are you crying? What’s happened?”

I most definitely was not crying. There were people walking past, a few groups of girls trotting in there clompy high heels, and I thought it was early to be out, but I looked at my watch and saw that it had passed eight o’ clock. Damn.

“Uhm, nothing, it’s fine. You said you’d pick me up?” I hoped he wasn’t kidding, not only would I be embarrassed, but I’d just seen my bus drive away from my stop and I knew for a fact that it was the last one for the night. Please don’t be kidding.

“Where are you?” he asked, and I heard him moving around on the other end, no doubt pulling on shoes and his coat.

“In town,” I told him, “I’ll wait for you near the bank?”

He told me he’d be ten minutes and as I made my way to our meeting point I couldn’t help but think ten minutes was such a long time. I shook under my thick coat, even with a scarf and gloves attached for extra layering. December was rolling around next week, and if it got much colder I think I’d have to start wearing two jumpers out of the house.

Outside the bank I stood facing the town square in front of me, hiding in the shadows, hoping that nobody could see me. I just kept thinking about the way my boss had breathed so closely to me, how his hands had reached out at me and tried to sweep the hair off of my shoulders. My eyes stung.

What if this were to cost me my job? What if he was so embarrassed that he saw no other way than to sack me? My throat tightened.

The Christmas lights would be put up around the town soon. I thought about what Christmas would be like with both Charlie and I on the dole. I shrank back into the darkness, holding a hand to my mouth to muffle my gasps and catch the tears before they fell past my chin.

I’d thought I had been well hidden, sobbing here in the dark, but something, a hand, fell against my shoulder and before I could wipe my cheeks the sound erupted from my throat, loud and shrill. Oliver didn’t take my screaming well.

“Woah!” he pulled me straight towards him as I tried batting him away. The way his hands felt on me made me cry harder. “Morgan. Morgan! Calm down, it’s me!”

He closed his arms tight around me, and I couldn’t move. I stopped struggling, stopped crying. Stopped everything. Oliver stood stock still, just clamped me to his chest and leant against the wall beside us.

I wondered what I should do. Should I wrap my arms around him, close my eyes and let this embrace turn into something meaningful? Or pull away from this awkward hold and pretend like everything was okay. I really did hate how things turned out.

Wiping my face on my sleeve I stepped away from Oliver, sniffing slightly. He looked at me, bewildered and confused, sliding his hands into the pockets of the thick black jacket he was wearing. He looked at his feet whilst I sorted myself out.

“Morgan, what happened? You’re in a right state.”

I attempted a laugh, “Thanks.”

“Come on,” he said, curling his arm over my shoulders as we walked, “You can tell me in the car.”

Inside the VW Oliver put the heating on almost full blast and turned his music way down, but still left it murmuring lowly. There was a stack of CD’s on the dash board, the back seat was occupied with three large cardboard boxes. They shifted uneasily as he backed out of the tiny parking space, the headlights on full beam.

“So?” he prompted as if we’d never stopped talking.

“So what?” I was being difficult and I knew I was coming across as ungrateful for this ride; my arms were folded and I looked straight ahead.

He sighed, “You just flipped out back there, don’t even pretend like nothing went on. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

We pulled out past the bank. He didn’t even ask for my address. I didn’t offer it.

“No. I’m fine, Oliver. Seriously.”

We drove for a while, Oliver turned the music up and we ignored one another. Sheffield was an odd place at night, so ruggedly beautiful. At night, Steel City was at it’s best. Everywhere was lit up, the hotels, the clubs, the bars. Cars frequently passed up and down the motor way, and street lights occupied every corner. And yet it was still so dark.

When the car stopped I didn’t recognise where we were until we got out. The car park, full to burst in the day, was nearly empty and I walked towards the shopping center grudgily, two steps behind Oliver’s long legs.

“Why are we here?” I asked.

“Because you haven’t eaten and I’m starving,” he answered sharply.

“I’m supposed to be having dinner with Charlie and Kaitlyn-”

“Change of plans. They’re at mine with Matt anyway.” He said. We walked through Meadowhall Shopping Center lazily. He stopped once or twice to observe something that caught his eye in a shop window, but we never went in and I never looked.

Soon we were in the food court, which was called the Oasis, and then Oliver asked, “What do you want to eat?”

“S’up to you,” I shrugged. He pulled me along, his hand over my shoulders again, leading me to a pizza and pasta place called Mamma Amalfi.

It was warm in the restaurant, so when we sat we both slipped out coats and scarves onto the back of our seats. There was music playing, but I didn’t recognise it and the lighting was warm and orange, making me want to rest my head back and close my eyes. It had been such a long day.

Until a bowl of something delicious smelling was blown past us by a waitress, I hadn’t even realised that I was hungry.

“Here,” Oliver thrust a menu towards me. He was still sour from my bad mood. “Choose what you want, I’m paying. Don’t argue.”

Sighing, I scanned the options. It wasn’t long before a waiter - a tall stocky guy with short, buzz-cut brown hair and dark blue eyes - arrived at our table, ready to scribble our orders down on a notepad.

“I’ll have a vegetarian choice pizza, please,” Oliver asked, and I was surprised at his politeness. Catching me staring, Oliver smirked and kicked me under the table.

“And you, Miss?” The chunky waiter asked whilst I rubbed my leg.

“Uhm,” I glanced at my menu again, “Can I have the Penne Bolognese, please?”

I looked at Oliver apologetically - it was the cheapest thing on the menu, but I still felt guilty for him paying for me. I would decline his offer until I was blue in the face, but I knew there was no choice. I couldn’t afford this place anyway.

“That’s fine,” The waiter said, and he took our drinks order before hastily walking away. We were brought Oiled bread shortly, and Oliver passed me two pieces, taking the other two for himself. He seemed content.

“I’m so bloody hungry,” he muttered, chewing on the warm bread. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

He flicked some hair from his eyes, and I watched. “Why not?” I asked.

“Been busy,” Oliver crunched. Our drinks were brought over - two full fat cokes - and he downed half of the glass. I assumed he hadn’t drank much either. “I’ve been working all day, with Tom as well.”

“How is he?” I asked, wondering how the cheeky blue-eyed sod had been since I had met him the other day. I liked Oliver’s little brother, he made me wish that I’d had sibling’s growing up; someone to annoy and be annoyed by.

“A pain,” Oliver huffed. “He asked about you today, actually.”

“Really?” I was surprised, “What about me?”

Oliver grinned, “How I knew you and stuff. I think he has a thing for you. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

I felt my cheeks burn. Oliver noticed and shook his head in amusement at me. There was something about the way his dark hair swung around his shoulders, and how he folded his thin hands over one another that made me feel odd. I didn’t know whether or not it was a good feeling, but it was sort of uncomfortable.

Our food came, my mouth watering as I smelt it, and we ate slowly, making small talk mostly. But, Oliver being the stubborn sod that he is, he soon proceeded to ask about why I was so shaken up earlier.

“Come on,” he nearly whispered, “It’s me, Morgan. Just tell me. Please.”

I sighed, hiding my hands as they trembled under the table. I was too full to eat the last of my pasta, and I’d discovered that Oliver was a vegetarian, so he didn’t finish the last of it for me.

“My boss,” I began, but my throat tightened again. It wasn’t as if Mr Wydell had actually done anything to me. But whenever I saw his face in my head, the way he had been looking at me and the way he moved towards me, it was almost like he would have done if I hadn’t ran out of there.

“It’s okay,” Oliver reached forward, and I knew that if my hands hadn’t been tucked under the table he would have taken one. He pulled back immediately, folding his arms instead.

I shook my head, “It’s so stupid. I’m overreacting.”

“I’m sure you’re not. Tell me.”

His voice was so persuasive. Here, in the warmth with a full stomach and him sat across from me, it felt as if I had never been in that cold office. I felt embarrassed at my earlier reaction.

“My boss made a move on me, is all,” I shrugged and I knew I’d gone red yet again. “He…asked me to sleep with him.”

Oliver was silent for a while, and I just simmered in my shame. What a freak, he must have been thinking. The way I had flew at him earlier. Urgh, I seemed so needy. I hadn’t realised it at the time, but now I felt pathetic.

“What a tosser,” he announced, scowling. I laughed at his expression. Oliver ranted for a long time about how disgusting and out of order the ordeal was. I agreed, and with every empty threat Oliver made toward Mr Wydell, the better I felt.

He did pay for the meal, like he has said and I lamely argued, sifting through the change in my purse, trying to offer something. He denied, obviously.

I had told him driving me home would be too much, that I would catch the bus. He reminded me that they had stopped running. Oliver took me home, walked me to the door and we stood outside of the apartment for a long time talking. Honestly, I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t know why either.

“I guess I’ll see you soon then,” he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He did that a lot.

“Yeah,” I nodded, one hand on the doorknob. I was about to pull my key out of my pocket, when he leant forward, one hand pressed to the back of neck and he pushed his lips to my forehead, just above my eyebrow. It was so fast and fleeting that I didn’t have time to react.

“I’ll text you,” Oliver grinned, and he backed off, watching me as I unlocked my door and forced myself inside.

Charlie came home not too long later with Kaitlyn in her arms. I heard her talking to Matt before she opened the door, and she was beaming as she carried her sleeping daughter through to her room to put her down to the bed.

“Good night?” I asked when she came back through.

She nodded. “I’ve been with Matt. Sorry about dinner.”

“No problem,” I shrugged, and I felt myself smiling.

“Have fun with Oli?” she asked, and all the colour drained from my face. She winked at me, patted my leg and pulled herself up from the couch, singing ‘Oli and Morgan, sitting in a tree…’ as she disappeared into her room.