Naked

“Lee,” I tutted, bringing two bowls of crisps into the living room. “Feet off the coffee table please.”

The boys, if they didn’t have plans, always came over on Friday nights. Oliver insisted our apartment was an open door for the members of Bring Me The Horizon; anyone needed a place to crash, a free meal or simply hang out, feel free. Lizzie won’t mind.

These Fridays, I’d gotten used to by now. It was a habit to buy extra snacks - enough to feed five lanky boys and any guests they’d bring along with them. It wasn’t odd for our cupboards to be overflowing with Doritos and dip.

Our DVD collection had grown monstrously over the years too; every genre under the sun to cater to everyone’s needs. Comedy for the boisterous Matt Nicholls. He was always joking around, pulling pranks. Science fiction for Lee - we owned the entire Star Wars saga now, thanks to him. Thriller for Matt Keane, Action for Curtis, and every comic book adaptation ever made for Oli. There was a hefty horror collection dedicated to Tom and I.

Tom often joined in on these Fridays, actually more often than non. This week he had brought his short-term girlfriend Suki. She was half Japanese, with gorgeous smooth skin and the prettiest eyes. Her laugh tinkled like wind-chimes, and she had short, choppy black hair.

“I don’t know how you manage this,” Suki shook her head, sipping at her beer. “If I had all these guys messing up my place, I’d have a fit.”

I smiled, “This was more Oliver‘s idea than mine.”

“I suppose you sacrifice for those you love,” she shrugged. Tom walked into the living room, where the rabble of boys were arguing over a recent football match, and spotted Suki, flying to her side instantly. He wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders and kissed her temple.

“Tom!” she swatted at him, her face flushed when she realised I had seen their little display.

Oh, to be young and in love. Oliver and I were like that once. Fresh in a relationship, the world at our hands and nothing but the rising sun to worry about in the morning. Things had never been perfect between us, but things had certainly deteriorated recently. Five years was a long time to be with someone, and now, at twenty-two, Oliver and I had fallen into a routine that even the oldest married couple might frown upon. He knew it, I knew it. But neither of us addressed it.

“Lizzie,” Tom elbowed me. I stared at him. “You okay?”

Him and Suki had been watching me worriedly whilst I stared into the abyss that was Oliver and I’s relationship. I shook myself away from my thoughts and pulled out a grin.

“Yeah,” I tried laughing, “Sorry. Totally in my own world there.”

“S’alright,” my best friend’s bluer than blue eyes gleamed. “I think Oli wants you.”

I didn’t quite register what he meant for a while, but upon turning I saw Oliver watching me intently. I smiled at Tom, excusing myself and followed the oldest Sykes into the kitchen after he’d left his place on the couch. Non of the rowdy boys even noticed us leave.

Once the door was closed, muffling the noise in the lounge, Oliver turned to me, his eyes fierce.

“What’s going on?” he asked me dryly, and my stomach did a twist. I hated it when he got mad at me, especially in instances like this when I had no idea why.

“Uhm,” I tried to keep a steady eye on his face, “Nothing. Why? What’s wrong?”

“All the guys have started saying stuff to me.” He folded his skinny arms, the ink twisting with his skin, his hands dipping under and over his elbows. The lights above us made a warm glow reflect off of his hair and cast a dark shadow under his eyes.

“Saying what?” I asked.

He scoffed, and I caught the scent of one too many beers. “They’re worried about you. Apparently you’ve been looking ill lately. How come you never said anything to me, Liz? I’m the one that’s supposed to be looking after you, not them.”

Jealous Oliver was not the best face he owned. Especially when mixed with alcohol. Sighing, I pressed a hand to my forehead. The times we’d had conversations similar to this.

“I’m fine, Oli,” I told him, backing off to return to our guests. “If there was a problem I’d let you know. You know that.”

“Wait,” he hissed, pulling on my cardigan when my hand fell on the door. He dropped the material from the pinch of his fingers when a too-bony wrist was exposed. “I’m not done. If they’ve all noticed that something’s wrong, Liz, then there obviously is. So come on, out with it. What is it?”

“I told you, nothing.”

I flew back into the lounge before he could grab for me again. Though repeated, this discussion never got any easier. Although he never made an attempt to front the problem he knew I had, there were times where he’d shout me down to the point where I felt I had to fess up.

He’d tell me I was pathetic, that I was worthless, neglecting myself. He pretended to be clueless to the fact that I’d dropped four dress sizes in five years, and that even now my size eight trousers hung off of me. But even Oliver couldn’t deny that there was something wrong somewhere.

To people who would meet me, they’d simply think I was petite. But to those who had lived around me whilst I transformed, they knew something was wrong. My parents had approached me, more than once. Tom had taken me to one side a few times, trying to ‘help’ me. Everyone else was either too polite or didn’t care enough to ask, so left me to slowly shrink to a bag of bones.

No, Oliver would never utter the taboo words: Anorexic. Bulimic. He wanted me to confess, me to tell him that I’d slowly been killing myself ever since the first day I met him. He just didn’t want to hear that this was his fault.

“There she is!” Matt Keane cheered when I returned, slightly flustered, into the lounge. The Jack Daniel’s in his glass sloshed dangerously as he waved at me. “Lizzie, can we watch a movie please!”

I shivered as the kitchen door batted open and a frustrated Oliver threw himself down into his place on the couch. No body noticed his folded arms or stiff expression. Apart from me.

“Sure,” I answered Matt, trying to sound unfazed. “But you can argue among yourselves, I’m not dictating this time.”

Usually when we were to decide on a film we’d have to split into teams, have an entire debate, and then eventually I’d make the final decision, like I was some Prime Minister of DVD night.

“Deep Impact!” Matt Keane and Lee declared at the same time, then exchanged an amused glance. They’d been putting that film forward for three weeks. They always lost, of course.

“I say Anchorman,” Matt Nicholls muttered, playing with the zip of his hoodie. “But I always say Anchorman, and I never win.”

In the end we decided on The Exorcist, seeing as Tom and I hadn’t had a horror film in ages. Plus everybody enjoyed the film, it was a group favourite. That is, if you excluded Oliver.

“Go on,” Curtis shuffled up, making a space between him and Oliver, “Keep lover-boy company. He can hide behind you when he gets scared.”

Everyone laughed whilst Oli scowled and I felt a knot twist in my stomach. I knew Curtis didn’t mean to offend me, but his words stuck to my ear drums, replaying over like a broken record. He can hide behind you when he gets scared. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those few Doritos. Now I’d have to skip any amount of breakfast tomorrow.

I did sit beside Oliver, the entire group settled in darkness as the movie began to role. I couldn’t help but peak at Tom and Suki; curled up together on the floor. They both had pillows prepared for if they might need to hide, however I knew too well that Tom found this film more hilarious than frightening. He was obviously just doing this to make Suki feel better about being a scaredy-cat.

I compared them to Oliver and I. Me and him sat a large inch apart, my feet tucked under my legs, his crossed over as he slouched against the arm rest. He was biting his lip; something he did when he was pissed off. I reached over, placing my hand gently on his knee. He tried brushing it off, but I simply replaced it back there.

Without looking at me, “Leave it, Liz,” he whispered.

Sighing, he didn’t fight me off as I snuggled into his warm side, forcing myself between his arm and his ribs. Eventually that arm snuck around me and he pulled me in, his thumb circling my hip bone. I knew he could feel how far it stuck out.

I hated Oliver seeing my naked body, whenever we slept together, or when we used to take showers together when we were more romantic. Either way, skinny or fat, I thought he would hate my body. Hell, either way I hated my body. I hated my rib cage, practically bursting through my skin, hated my bony elbows and knees, hated the bumps that lined down my back. One night, when I had been trying to sleep, Oliver had ran his index finger along my spine and pointed out that the mounds reminded him of dinosaurs. I didn’t eat anything for two days after that.

“Have you forgiven me?” I whispered into his ear, placing a short kiss on the inside of his neck.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably; he wasn’t into public displays of affection.

“I guess,” he said. “But I am mad at you for making me watch this bloody film.”

I suppressed a snicker and rested my head in the crook of his neck, closing my eyes while he combed the knots in my hair with his fingers. Things were always bitter sweet with us.