I Can Taste the Failure

“You’ve secured an interview with ’Horizon? ’Horizon? Are we talking about the same band?”

“Would I lie to you, Lou?”

My best friend and I stood grinning at each other before she let out a little cry of excitement and threw her arms around me. “Ugh, I love you!” Louise cried. Not a second passed before she was shoving me away from her, “But ugh, Hol. How the hell did you secure ’Horizon? You should have my job!” She collapsed on the couch in a huff.

“You’re great at your job, Lou Lou. It’s not my fault that I have a wonderful, superior, sparkling-” she smacked me across the stomach, the highest she could reach while I was standing. “Personality,” I finished, grinning.

“I can’t believe it,” Louise breathed. “Partying with Oliver fuckin’ Sykes!”

“I thought you said he was an arsehole.”

“Well, yes,” she frowned. “But when you’re that famous, why wouldn’t you be a bit of an arse-fuck?”

“I thought he was rather nice, actually.”

Louise looked up at me, looking adorable per usual. Her short shoulder-length dyed-red hair was its usual catacomb of sleek perfection, her blue eyes wide and doe-like. She was around my height, but while I was tiny and curvy, she was thinner and more child-esque.

“Is that a… tone I hear?” my best friend asked, eyes widening in genuine surprise and glee. She was one second away from clapping her hands together. “Do you like him?”

“No more than anyone else,” I told her stiffly. “I mean, he’s literally… Godly, and of course he was nice to me, but… he’s bloody famous, Lou.”

“Oh, please, Hol, like I’ve let that stop me.”

It was true. Louise had had her share of celebrity hook-ups, being in the business like she was. Verbalizing my thoughts, I said, “But those never, ever turn out stable. You always show up at 9 a.m., looking fucked over and trashed.”

“I’m going to ignore that subtle insult to change the conversation to more pressing matters, such as when is this party? And oh fuck, what’re we going to wear?”

I sighed, “You really have issues.”

“Oh, I know. You go whip up those fr-eaking amazing tequila drinks that you do, and I’ll pick out our outfits.”

“Fine, but I will physically change you if you come out here in that horribly short red dress!” I chirped, turned into the kitchen, and left Louise standing there growling like a miniature animal.

After I had whipped up the alcohol- courtesy of my bartender’s license- and Louise and I had drunken to excess, she yanked my arm and dragged me into her bedroom, where two sets of clothing were neatly arranged on her bed.

One set- I was assuming hers because she would have to tie me down to get me into it- was a jean mini-skirt, black flip flops, and a happy yellow tank top. Next to that was a bright red midriff-bearing ruffled blouse and my favorite skinny jeans. Lying on the floor were checkered white-black Vans.

“You remained in the boundaries!” I praised her, picking up the top in my hands and holding up the thin material to the light. “This is new. Awh, Lou, thanks!”

“No problem, sweetie. Now hurry up and get dressed.”

Around forty minutes later- Louise had insisted upon redoing her eyeliner twice- we pulled down the street where Oliver had told me his house was. Immediately I knew we had the right address. Music was blaring loudly from the house at the end- a substantially large white Victorian home. I parallel parked halfway down the street, the only spot I saw open.

The door was already wide open with drunken people spilling out into the night. The party was huge- the place was packed wall to wall. People were grinding on the dance floor and all piling on a couch to make out. Some were even leading their chosen victims for the night out the door, even though it was barely 9 p.m.

“Oh my God, this is going to be the interview of a lifetime!” Louise shrieked gleefully, already fishing a notebook and a pen out of her large silver-sequined purse.

“Interview of a lifetime, eh?” a voice said inches from my ear, and I whirled wide-eyed toward the sound.

“Oli!” I said gleefully. He immediately wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back, surprised, as he pressed his lips quickly to my cheek, whispering, “Hey,” before glancing around me at Louise, who was looking beyond stoked at the two of us and saying in a teasing voice, “So is this the famous reporter?”

She practically skipped to my side, sticking her hand out for Oliver to shake. “Name’s Louise, but Holley here calls me Lou.”

“Lou,” Oliver glanced at me, shaking her hand. “Cute.”

“Well, Louise is…” I glanced at Lou, who was staring at me with malice sparking in her eyes. “Old.”

Just as I was expecting, Louise smacked me across the arm. I grinned, rubbing the spot that was slowly blooming a pink handprint.

“So, love, when would you like this interview?”

“Whenever is fine. Honestly, I’d rather do it now. I’m worried I might get a bit trashed,” she said, rubbing her arm sheepishly at the drunken part. I, on the other hand, giggled at the “a bit” part.

Oliver slung his arm around me, but I gently pulled away, giving him an apologetic look. “Honestly, I’m feeling much too sober right now. Come find me the second the interview is over? I mean it, Sykes,” I said, jokingly pointing a black-painted fingernail at him. “You’ve still got to see me drink.”

The screamer smirked, “I’ll be back for sure then.”

We split up. Oliver led Louise towards a couch piled with the other band mates and I headed towards a long table filled with alcohol and cups. I filled up a cup- red, plastic, with the classic white rim- with a SKYY vodka bottle and drank it down, relishing the flavor as it burned its way down my throat.

I was just standing there, gazing into space, when a cute twenty-something reached the homemade bar.

“SKYY… nice.”

He was tall with an athletic built- slim, so he was most likely a runner- and emptied the bottle of Vodka into his used plastic cup. He leaned against the table, too close for comfort, but my thoughts were sort of swimming and I didn’t have the sense to push him away. I smiled at his blonde mop of hair dopily, thinking I shouldn’t have made those tequila drinks Louise and I had back at the house extra strong, not to mention paired them with shots.

“I’m Greg.”

“Holley,” I said, producing my hand. We shook and then went back to surveying the party. I downed the last of my cup and before I could protest, Greg was gently plucking it out of my hands and fixing me a drink. I blinked; wasn’t this in the top five no-no’s whilst drinking? “Er, really, uh, Greg, I’m just fine, thank you.”

“I don’t think so, Hol-” I thought how wrong the nickname felt coming from his lips, this boy who I didn’t know. “You look like you’d rather be blitzed.”

I gently started edging my way along the table and away from Greg, sighing in relief because I spotted both Oliver and Louise pushing through the crowd to get to me, toting along the rest of the band. Something was flickering on Oliver’s face- worry, most definitely- but I could only stare for a second before Greg was recapturing my attention.

“Where’re you going, sweetheart? I made you a drink special.”

“No, I’m really fine,” I said, more persistent this time. I was still edging away from him when he hand caught onto my wrist, wrenching me against his body. “Hey!” I cried out, my green eyes widening in panic and annoyance.

“Fucker!” a voice spat suddenly and a tattooed hand- Oliver’s, thank God- punched Greg square in the jaw, who fell to the ground, bringing down the homemade bar down with him. I shook as his head made a smacking sound against the ground. He turned to me, golden eyes blazing, “Did this arse-fuck hurt you?”

“Just throw him out, Oli, just get the bastard out.”

Oliver wrenched the guy off of the ground, bottomless eyes filled with anger.

“Oi, Oli, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“'olley, this is my band,” Oliver said, distracted from the scene long enough to grin. Easily hoisting the slumped man in one arm, he pointed to his band mates with the other, “Curtis, Lee, and the two Mattie’s- Nicholls and Keats. Band, this is Holley, driving instructor- mine, specifically- and awesome fuckin’ Vodka drinker.”

I waved at the band, and Lee especially zoned in on my still shaking hand.

“Ol, I’ll take the bastard, give’im here.”

“You sure, man?” Oli’s angry eyes settled on Greg. “I sure wouldn’t mind teachin’ the fucker a lesson.”

The band all dragged Greg outside, only Curtis staying behind to sooth Louise, who had wrapped me in a death hug the second the others had left.

“Oh, Holley, you bloody idiot,” my best friend cooed affectionate insults, planting a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Seriously, Lou,” I said, shaking her off. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ll just… Go upstairs and rest a bit. I’ve got to shake off this mood.”

Oliver gently took me by the elbow and started to slowly lead me away from Louise, “My room’ll be the only one un… occupied. Got a special lock on it, you know. I party a lot.”

“Mmph, smart.”

“Tired?” he asked, his face shining with a smile. I nodded, already shockingly sleepy. He grabbed my hand and led me up the stairs- at the action, a strange feeling started to bubble in my stomach and I realized that I had been in a less innocent similar situation with an ex-boyfriend, though I would have gladly traded my ex for Oli tonight, and that want to do just that was strong- and digging a key out of his back pocket, he unlocked the door and we walked foreword into a pitch black room. Still holding my hand, he led me further into the blackness, the only light source a slim ray of moonlight bathing a section of his room in a soft glow when he kicked the door shut behind him. He reached out with his hand, feeling air, and I heard something get knocked over, “Bloody.. fuckin’.. lamp,” he muttered, clearly annoyed.

“Oliver, I can’t see…” I said, maintaining a death grip on his hand as I shuffled foreword.

“Wait, Holley-”

His warning, too late, reached my ears just as I got my foot tangled in a pair of what seemed to be boxers. “Oof,” I said, feeling his arms encircled my waist and pull me upright just before I fell. I secured my arms around his neck, standing awkwardly because of the boxers still entangling my legs. I stood against him, trying to shake them off to no avail. “Thanks,” I breathed, looking up. I paused- we were standing exactly in that tiny sliver of moonlight, and I could see more than half of Oliver’s face illuminated. He really was beautiful; his cupid bow lips turned up into a content smirk, eyes lit up with happiness. “You are,” I said without thinking, and then blushed once I realized what I had said. I tried to pull myself away but his hands, gentle on my hips, held me in place.

Oliver cocked his head to the side, staring into my eyes, “I am what?”

My pink cheeks darkened and I was glad I was the one turned away from the light. “Beautiful,” I said, biting my lip.

“You think I’m beautiful,” he said, this statement hanging off of his lips like a lost thought.

Suddenly, I was feeling his lips on mine- slow, gentle, sending eruptions of tingles throughout my body- and without pausing to think, I wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed my body to his, eliminating whatever small space had been in between us. I didn’t want space; I loved the way his body felt against mine.

Oliver groaned and his lips started to move faster, harder, impatiently against mine. I tangled my hands in his hair, loving the smooth, long locks. He was moving backwards, half carrying me, and I didn’t even notice just before we started to fall, the boxers previously tangled around my shoes lost somewhere on his floor. I was suddenly on top of him, half of our bodies dangling off of his bed. His pulled his shoes off with his feet and so I mimicked him, doing the same, hearing them thud against the floor somewhere next to Oliver’s.

He rolled over, moving us farther onto the bed while simultaneously pinning me beneath him, his hands- cold, making my stomach contract, somehow making his hands on me more pleasurable- were already working up my shirt. I did the same with his, running my hand along his chest once those first layers were off. He shivered, quickly reconnecting his lips with mine. Oliver’s mouth trailed down my neck, to my chest, encased in a black satin bra. I gasped when I felt his mouth at the top of my breast; he pulled away, grinning devilishly.

“Wait, Oliver!” I said when I felt his hands already undoing the top bottom of my jeans.

“What, love?” he asked, voice rough as he kissed down my stomach.

I twisted my hands into his sheets- concentrate, concentrate- at the feel of his lips.

I started squirming. “Oliver, seriously.”

Oliver brought his hand to my jaw, pulling my lips back to his. He undid my bra clasp quickly, but I brought up a firm hand and shoved his chest, pushing him off of me. I held my bra up to my chest and sat up.

“What?” snapped Oliver, more annoyed now. “What is it?”

“Look, I’m not, I can’t- seriously, Oliver, you met me today!” I finally said, my own snap and bite lacing in with my words.

Oliver rolled onto his back, groaning, his tattooed arm covering his eyes.

“You seemed like you wanted to.”

“Of course I wanted to, but that’s hardly the point,” I said, rolling my eyes, my fingers shaking slightly as I tried to redo my bra clasp. I sighed in annoyance, giving up and just holding the undergarment up to my body.

Oliver opened one eye, shifting his arm slightly so he could see. He sighed to himself. “Turn around,” he commanded. I turned as he pulled himself into a sitting position so he could redo the bra clasp.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

He stared at me for one long second before shaking his head, “Come here,” he said, opening up his arms. I hesitantly crawled into them and we laid down together. He chuckled lightly at my hesitance. “Really, Holley, I’m not going to bite.”

“Can I…” I paused. “Can I sleep here, just for right now?”

Oliver pulled back the covers for me to crawl into, and once we were both cocooned underneath the warm duvet, Oli brought me into him. I snuggled against his chest, resting my head near where I could hear his hear beating rhythmically. His breath, gently lapping the top of my head, was what finally lulled me asleep in his arms.