I Can Taste the Failure

“So what’s the story between you and Chelsea?”

My hands flexed around the steering wheel- long, strained fingers, fingernails painted a glossy black, a small friendship ring on my right index finger that was identical to the ring on Louise’s finger- and I let my gaze stray from the road for just a second, to see Oliver sitting in the passenger seat, drumming his tattooed fingers on his thigh.

Driving, to me, was the one thing that cleared my head. I didn’t have so much time to focus on my problems and panic about them. Everything was crystal clear, mechanical, when I drove. It made it easy to focus.

“I met Chelsea maybe half a year ago, at a party Curtis was throwing,” Oliver said, staring out the window. “It was obvious she didn’t want to go. She was stiff, unhappy looking. She shot down my advances like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t know… I guess I just wanted a challenge, and she was the ultimate one. If I could get a cold bitch like that to sleep with me, what couldn’t I do?”

“And you got her to sleep with you,” I stated.

He smirked the tiniest bit in self-satisfaction, “Right awful though, she was.”

“Don’t you ever… want more than that?”

Oliver looked at me before letting his gaze trail back out the window.

“Of course I do.”

I coughed, trying to loosen up the death-grip I had formed on the steering wheel. “We’re here,” I said, pulling up to my small two-story house. I grabbed the keys out of the ignition and fumbled with the car door, refusing to look at Oliver while pink was spreading across my cheeks. I stumbled out into the dark street while Oliver stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. I followed after him, first locking the car and then unlocking the house door.

“Homey,” he said once I had flipped on the lights.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping up to the countertop and dropping my sweater onto it. “Louise and I have lived here ever since we finished up school. We both went to university for two years. We were lucky- we both did internships in school and didn’t have much trouble finding work.”

Oliver leaned on the counter across from me, “Ah, university girls.”

“Well, you’re special, Oliver,” I told him, reaching into the fridge for two Cokes, putting one down next to him just in case. I popped the top and took a small sip. “You’ve got talent, and ambition, and you were lucky to become so famous so young.”

“You’ve got talent, Holley, so why don’t you go after it? It’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to sing.”

“The world doesn’t always work out like that, Oli.”

“I’m going to drop this because you look sort of murderous right now,” Oliver teased. “But don’t be surprised if I ask you to sing on Bring Me The Horizon’s next album.”

“Oh my, God,” I said suddenly, letting my head drop onto the counter with an audible thunk, making pain shoot through my head angrily. “I’m fucking unemployed!”

“I could get you a job, you know,” Oli said, cracking open the soda.

“No,” I moaned.

His hand touched the top of my back lightly, “Just think about it, yeah? Go take a shower.”

“Not another word, Sykes,” I angrily grabbed up my sweater and stormed up the stairs.

I didn’t take help well from others and I knew that if I allowed Oliver to help me, I would ever let myself forget it. I would always feel undeserving; I would always owe him.

Once upstairs, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash over my tight muscles. I rolled my shoulders, groaning as they ached. I had spent two days lounging around in those frustratingly uncomfortable hospital chairs; it was such a relief to finally be able to wash up and give a few minutes to myself.

Though even as I bathed, I couldn’t fully forget Louise and the pressing issues surrounding her. My best mate, the one girl that had been by my side ever since I could remember, in danger. The worst part being that a seasoned police officer- Detective Webster had put in time everywhere; New York, Rio, and now England- thought that someone close to us had tried to hurt her.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around it because who could ever hurt Louise?

I shut off the water reluctantly and wrapped myself in a gray fluffy towel, steam pouring out of the room as I stepped into my bedroom.

I drew on dark wash drainpipes and pulled a white tank top over my head before padding barefoot down the stairs. Oliver had found our television and was sprawled out on our deep red couch, feet comfortably propped up on the square, black coffee table. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and threw myself down next to him, putting my feet up next to his. My toes shined a pretty blood red.

“It’s all yours, Oli.”

Oliver was done much faster than me. I was barely through half a programme of Are You Being Served?- an ancient comedy that my grandmother had gotten me hooked on when I was younger- before he was plopping down into a black chair diagonal from the red couch I was sitting on.

He was shirtless, his boxers peeking out from the top of his low riding jeans, seemingly oblivious about it, too. I took the chance to rake my eyes along his body, his tattoos. I grinned to myself.

I looked up; Oliver was staring at me, smirking, eyebrow raised in question.

I shrugged and let my eyes travel back to the television.

“Won’t you at least tell me why you don’t want me to help you?”

I looked back at Oliver, biting my lip, “That obvious, huh?” He dipped his head into a nod. “It’s not that I don’t want your help, Ol. It’s just, well, I don’t take help well.”

“Wouldn’t it make everything easier if you just stopped resisting me?” Oliver said; I paused and stared at him. “You need my help, Holley, you need me, but there’s nothing I can do if you won’t let me.”

I scoffed, “I don’t need you, Oliver.”

Oliver’s eyes were hard; he held my gaze for what seemed like forever. The television droned on, though I couldn’t hear anything but the thud of my heart. My mind was scrambled; the worst part was that I couldn’t tell if what I had said was the truth or a lie.

He climbed to his feet and perched himself on the edge of the couch next to me. His eyes were determined; I couldn’t look away. He leaned foreword, pausing a centimeter away from my lips. His hand reached up to touch my cheek. My heart thudded harder while I stared at him, a doe in the headlights waiting to be slaughtered. Our breathed mingled as my breathing sped up. He leaned foreword even more, decreasing the space between our lips, whispering, “Do you need me now, Holley?”

My lips parted, though only silence leaked out. My lips formed his name.

Oliver’s fingers lightly trailed my jaw line. I closed my eyes.

“Won’t you tell me?”

I opened up my eyes; he was so close. I wanted to touch him, every part of him, kiss him because he wanted me to.

“Oliver,” I breathed. “I can’t… think…”

Oliver leaned foreword, pushing me onto my back. His body monopolized mine; I laid under him, staring up into his eyes, warm, brown.

His lips met my jaw line. His hands trailed under the white tank top covering my torso. His lips touched my ear, and he said in a whisper, “Tell me you need me.”

In that second, I knew I did.

“I… I need you.”

“And…” Oliver ran his lips over the top of my chest; my breathing increased, “tell me you’ll move in with me.”

He could ask me to do anything in that moment and I would do it.

“I’ll move in with you.”

“Tell me you’ll take any and all help I give you.”

He was really pushing it now, but I didn’t care.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, placing my lips next to his ear, “I’ll take your help, Oliver.”

Oliver pressed his lips to mine and my entire body tightened in delight. His kisses were alone on this planet, on a pedestal by themselves. There was nothing like them.

His fingers brushed the hem of my top and he gently pulled it up over my stomach, brushing his lips against my skin, pulling the top up more and more as he went higher with every kiss.

“Oliver?” I said, lightheaded and robbed of breath.

“Yes, Holley?”

“Tell me… tell me you want me.”

Oliver pulled my top over my head and dropped it somewhere on the floor. His tattooed fingers brushed over my shoulders. He touched his lips to my cheek and pulled back, giving me a long, intent look.

“I want you, love.”