Your Bones Are My Bones

I haven’t seen or heard from Amanda in five months. Actually I haven’t done much of anything in five months. I've been too depressed, too heart-broken to do anything. Amanda was my everything and now that she’s gone, I have nothing.

I was currently lying on my living room couch—the same couch me and Amanda had shared so many intimate moments on—attempting to watch some annoying sitcom—but not fully being able to because my mind couldn’t focus on such trivial things nowadays—cell phone in my left hand that just kept vibrating and vibrating, and a bottle of Samuel Adams in the right.

This is how I spent my days. Sometimes, if I was feeling adventurous, I'd maybe even run out to the grocery store, write some lyrics that turned out to be complete shit, or play some Xbox. I never had anyone over, but that didn’t mean no one came over. My brother Tom, members of my band, and some other friends would occasionally come over and try to get me out of the house, try to “cheer me up”. And every time someone was here, I'd just say I was fine and told them to go away. It worked and they’d leave but then they’d start calling and texting… and they just wouldn’t leave me alone. But the truth was, I was alone. Without Amanda I had no one.

“Oliver Sykes get off yer arse, we are goin’ out today whether ya want ta or not,” Tom came busting into my flat, like usual.

But there was one thing that wasn’t usual, there was a girl trailing behind him. A girl that had just happened to be Ketley.

Now let me tell you about Ketley. Ketley was one the very few girls I’d consider to be my best friend. We went to high school together. She actually dated Matt Nicholls back then. But they broke up before the end of senior year.
She always seemed to have a camera lens pressed up against her eye. I suppose that’s why she and Tom got on so well—they both had a passion for photography. But she wasn’t your typical quiet, introverted photographer. She was loud. She was wild. She did whatever she wanted and worried about the consequences later. Actually, I don’t think she ever worried about consequences. And maybe that’s why I loved her so much. She was free, never having a worry to weigh her down. And when I was with her, some of that feeling rubbed off on me. She made me feel alive, like maybe life was as easy as she made it seem. She just made everything hurt a little less. Her presence was something that was a bit addicting. And now that I think about it, it was just what I needed to help me get through this break up. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

“The fuck, Tom?” I questioned sharply, sitting up. “M’not goin’ anywhere with ya.”

“Well, if you won't go anywhere with him, will you at least put some pants on?” Ketley asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her light pink lips.

“Shut up, Cherry,” I grumbled and threw a blanket across my lap, calling her the nickname I'd given her back in secondary school on a count of her flaming red hair. Except these days she kept her hair a light shade of blonde but I’d not retire the nickname. “Happy now?”

“No, not really, but it’ll have to do,” she was now smiling her full, wide, beautiful smile. I don’t think I’d seen anyone genuinely smile in a good few months.

“Listen to ‘er, Oli. Go put some pants on an’ then we all can go out,” Tom suggested.

“M’not goin’ anywhere, Tom,” I said again.

“And why not, Ol?” Ketley asked, tracing over the small deer she had tattooed on her wrist—something that she always did.

“’Cause I don’t wanna,” I shrugged, not being able to come up with a real excuse.

“Oh wow Oli, that really is some excuse! I can totally see why you can't leave your dirty, smelly apartment,” she teased.

“My flat is not smelly,” I defended.

“It smells worse than Lee before he showers after a show,” she told me, fanning her hand in front of her nose.

“Aha! I showered this mornin’, so therefore it’s not me,” I pointed out.

“Maybe it’s not you, but it just might be all these dirty plates and take-out containers—oh and those pair of underwear under the coffee table,” she pointed them out. “Just maybe.”

“What ever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m not the tidiest person, so sue me.”

“Not the tidiest,” Tom snorted. “I’d say.”

“Aye, shut yer gob, Tom. Let’s see what yer room looks like?” Tom’s stupid smirk fell off his face. “Tha’s wha’ I thought.”

“Yeah ,well I ‘aven’t been able to stay in my room fer a good while now cause Mr. Mopey McGee ‘as invaded our flat an’ kicked me out,” Tom countered. You see, this flat isn't entirely all my own. I share it with Tom and Nicholls. But after the break up, my current state of depression drove the guys to take up residence elsewhere.

“No one forced ya ta leave Tom,” I glared at him.

“S’not like I were goin’ ta stay here with yer crazy—”

“Enough, enough,” Ketley interjected and sat down next to me. She took my hands in hers and looked me deep in my hazel eyes. “Oliver, my dear, dear best friend, please get out of the house. I’m worried about you.”

A warm, sticky feeling erupted in my stomach. I quickly pulled my hands out of Ketley's and said, “I'm fine, Cherry.”

“I'm sorry, but did I just hear you say your fine? Oh no, I think what you really meant to say was ‘I am not over Amanda, not in the least bit, and I want her back, but I'm too depressed and lazy to get off my skinny little butt and do something about it. I am so very not fine’. Right?” I told you she was a nut.

“Cherry, my dear, are ya sure ya’re fine?” I asked, half jokingly.

“Il cielo mi aiut,” she murmured as she shook her head. You see, Ketley is Italian. Born and raised in Italy—except her father from England so that's where she got her first name—so she speaks Italian fluently. However, I don’t, so a lot of the time I don’t have a clue to what she’s saying.

“English, please.”

“Heaven help me, Oli,” she translated.

“Help me,” I repeated as the cogs in my brain started to turn and a plan started to form. “You can help me.”

“Pardon me?” she asked, confusion written all over her pretty face.

The idea that had just formed in my head was completely mental. And I probably would have never thought of it if without the Jack Daniels I’d consumed today. But it just seemed so right. It seemed like it would fix all of my problems. So I had to at least give it a shot.

“Hey Ketley, will ya do me a favour?” I inquired.

“Depends on the favor,” she answered skeptically.

“Ketley, will you marry me?” my face had now broken out into a full fletched grin.

“Caro signore.”