Take It to Heart

(I rewrote the end of the last chapter here because I didn’t like how it turned out. Carry on.)

There is something about being in the comfort and silence of your own home that really messes with your psyche. With no one around to bother or distract you, your mind is free to wonder off down less traveled paths to subjects that make you grateful no one can read your mind. Currently in that state of deep thought, I soaked in a warm bath of bubbles with my hair knotted in a bun at the top of my head. I needed to thank whoever left the bath crystals in the cabinet under the sink. The scented foam hid my sore thighs, which were speckled with bruises, from my own sight. With my head tilted back against a towel folded along the edge of the tub, I was able to let myself indulge in last night’s series of events.

The hickies scattered around my neck and the aches in my legs were just the icing on the cake because last night had been great followed by a good morning and a sleepy drive back to Sheffield. We didn’t actually talk much the whole way home. I opted sleep instead of hold a conversation and Oliver didn’t try to stop me. But it definitely wasn’t awkward. And when he dropped me off at my house he left me with a few small kisses and a promise to ring me later. He also left me feeling all light headed and dumb.

That’s how I ended up in the bath trying to sort out my thoughts and calm down the wild nerves that always stemmed from a new crush/fling/whatever. I teetered on the edge of falling asleep or pulling my water-wrinkled body out of the water. Naomi made my decision for me when she tapped on the bathroom door. She hadn’t been home when Oliver dropped me off.

“You don’t have to get out, but can I get the laundry bin?” She sounded tired, and surprisingly unpushy.

I sat up, letting most of the soapy water run off me and reached for a towel. “I should get out anyway, hold on.”

After drying off quickly, I wrapped the towel around my body like a dress and scooped up my discarded clothes from the titled floor.

“Woah, nice marks,” Naomi said with a smirk and a whistle. “I’m guessing your brother’s wedding was a fun getaway for you?”

My face flushed and my ears burned. She made me feel so embarrassed. I said nothing and darted for my room instead. Ten minutes later I heard the washing machine start and Naomi’s feet travel back down the stairs. Before now, I was hesitant to share my gossip with Anna but I really wanted someone to gush to so I fired off a quick text and asked if she would be free later.

Downstairs, Charlie busied himself in the kitchen making some sort of roast. He glanced up at me from one of Mum’s cookbooks when I padded into the kitchen and sat down on a whicker chair.

“How was the wedding?” he asked quietly. His eyes darted around the room, making sure my mum wasn’t there. I tried to hold back an amused smile.

“It was nice. Loads of people I didn’t know though. There was a whole table of sweets to make up for it.”

“I wish your mum let us keep sweets in the house, even just crisps,” he replied. Obviously, he didn’t really want to discuss the wedding, which was fine by me. “Will you taste this? I haven’t been able to smell or taste a thing since we had the carpets shampooed last week. Sent my allergies into a frenzy.”

He held out a fork with a chunk of potato and sauce poked on the end. I gladly took the fork from him and ate it in one bite, despite the temperature. I chewed slowly, trying not to make a look of disgust. “More salt, maybe some broth. It’s sort of chewy.”

The rest of the cooking process continued with me testing the food and no sign of my mother. That too was fine by me. I really enjoyed Charlie’s company when Mum wasn’t around, especially with how bitter she had been lately. Her mood tended to rub off on everyone, which resulted in a lot of family/step-family arguments.

“Will you be coming with us to my mums Christmas eve supper tomorrow night?” Charlie asked. He began to set the table with Mum’s polka dotted plate set and silverware.

When my mum and Charlie first got engaged and I met his family, his mum Julia was the fist person to make me feel comfortable around his family. Like a baby bird that had fallen from a nest, Julia scooped me out of harms way. That first Christmas, when I still thought Naomi was spawn of the devil and I hadn’t quite accepted the fact my mum was serious about someone else, Julia took the initiative to knit me a beanie and matching scarf. Since then, I get a little gift every holiday from her. I think Julia empathizes with me the most since she also grew up distant from her brother.

Julia shared with me once, over tea an early Sunday morning before anyone was awake, that her brother worked as a jeweler’s apprentice in London. A few years later he met an American girl and moved to the states with her when Julia was sixteen.

“Back then everyone got married young and wanted to move to America. They were experiencing Beatle Mania and we were experiencing the freedom craze. I was always envious of Robert because he made it there,” she had told me, with a shake of her head. “After that I only got letters and photographs.”

That’s when Julia became the only other person, besides Anna, that I talked to about Josh, which basically made her my favorite person in Charlie’s family. “Of course I’ll be going. I can’t pass up macaroons.”



“I knew you were going to sleep with him” Anna gushed, pulling a yellow decorative pillow to her chest. “All of that ‘I don’t really fancy him’ nonsense never fooled me. Not once.”

As of two days ago, Anna’s hair was now fiery red with long layers and straight fringe. She looked out of place compared to her earthy themed apartment décor, but Anna could pull off any look and any boy. And maybe sometimes I took her relationship advice a little less seriously because of all the Cosmo magazines littering her coffee table, but my best friend always had a way with boys that I could never quiet master.

I sprawled out on her floor with a copy of said magazine flat against the wood floor. “Right, well, I changed my mind. But we haven’t talked since he dropped me off this morning.”

“Alright, you stage-five clinger, calm down. It’s not even been a full day!”

I groaned and buried my head into a pillow, like an ostrich burying its neck. I didn’t want to talk about the fact that my attraction to Oliver had skyrocketed since his naked, tattooed body had been all over me. The more I thought about shagging him the less I remembered about our romp in the covers. Maybe nothing would hold me back next time I saw him and I would transform in to some sort of sex fiend. God help me, Oliver wasn’t even near me and my face was heating up like ripe teakettle.

“I still have to give him that mug I bought him a while back,” I said. Excuses, excuses. I just wanted to see him. “I’m having holiday with Charlie’s parents and should go before then.”

Anna propped her arm onto the ledge of her sofa, a cheesy grin on her face. She was all too amused with mushy ol’ me. “Go in the afternoon tomorrow. The daylight will be good for your blush.”

The following day I found myself wasting time in the car lot next to Oliver’s apartment building. It wasn’t yet noon and I didn’t want to appear too eager to see him. So instead of going straight up to his flat the moment I parked, I fiddled around with my radio and organized the glove compartment. My stomach was riddled with knots, tight and nervous to be here. I couldn’t put my finger on a reason, but I knew I had to hurry up and get inside. My feet crunched against the asphalt, which was covered in ice that threatened me with a fall.

On the way through Oliver’s familiar door, a tall, thin brunette let me in. Her hair was pinned intricately behind her ears and loose wisps fluttered about when the outside air caught hold of them. She held the door for a moment but her eyes never met mind. I didn’t think twice about the girl until I did a double take and watched her walk across the lot and get into a white, two-door car. When the lights illuminated the interior, and her face, familiarity struck me.

It was her. The model. The beautiful girl from the photographs in Oliver’s apartment that I found the first time I watched Oliver’s house. It was the girl that Oliver said he wasn’t dating anymore when he first tried to kiss me when I drove him home. She was obviously leaving his flat, but not looking upset or bothered as many girls do when they get done visiting an ex -- unless she wasn’t actually an ex.

“Don’t start making assumptions,” I scolded myself.

I finally forced my body into the lift, which had been standing open the last few minutes. My mind was still racing with possibilities.

I shook off the feeling of bees in my stomach just in time to knock on Oliver’s door. When he opened it, I didn’t get the greeting I expected.

“Did you forget something? – Oh,” he took a step back, forcing a smile. I could tell I caught him off guard. “Sorry, I thought you were Tom, he just left.”

Lie.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Sorry, I should have texted you first, but I’m on my way to a friend’s place (lie) and wanted to give you this.”

I held up the mug, which was sloppily wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper. How ironic now that the comic section was displayed colorfully in this not-so-amusing situation. Suddenly, I didn’t want to give him the mug. It was a stupid idea in the first place and I should have kept it for myself. Or I at least shouldn’t have wrapped it. Now I felt the need to make up an excuse and I couldn’t stop the words as the spilled out of my mouth like drool.

“I broke one of your mugs last time I watched Oskar (lie), so I figured this was a fair trade.”

When I extended the bundle to him, I felt a tiny bit better for ruining the surprise that Garfield had hidden under his ginger fur. I was ready to hand the stupid fucking mug over and bolt back to the lift, but then he invited me inside.

I was trying to talk myself down, calm my angry mind, but it was hard, especially with how affectionate he suddenly became.

“Is it a mug then?” he asked, stepping close to quickly kiss me hello.

I didn’t even turn away. I let his pierced lip brush over mine, still cold from the winter breeze, and savored it for a moment. When he pulled back to shut the door and let me in, I licked over my bottom lip before quickly wiping it with my sleeve. In a way, I accepted the kiss because I desperately hoped I was reading the whole situation wrong. Or something.

I studied his hands, rather than his face, as he tore the paper from the mug to reveal the yellow paint and decorative black birds.

“Your mug cupboard could use some color, yeah?”

“This is lovely, Rose. Thank you.”

And then he kissed me again and offered to make some tea. I accepted and excused myself to the bathroom. Of course, I couldn’t help but noticed the disheveled sheets through his cracked bedroom door before I locked myself in the loo.

I took in a ragged breath and sat on the edge of the tub. It was only been two days since we slept together. Two. There were still hickies that loomed across my breasts for fucks sake. And yet his beautiful (maybe) girlfriend just left this very flat.

“Get a grip, Rose,” I thought to myself. “You know nothing.”

I needed to get out of here and go for a walk and pretend last weekend didn’t happen. It wasn’t like Oliver and I were dating, or even close to dating. I had no right to feel jealous or sad. We had a lovely little shag and maybe that would be the end of it. Period.

I gathered up my wits and exited the bathroom. The kettle wasn’t even boiling yet and I was already spewing excuses about why I needed to leave. Something about my mum needed a ride from downtown, I think. I didn’t even make it halfway to the door before he sprang from the couch and stepped in front of me.

“Wait, you alright?” He put his hands gingerly on my shoulders. “You look really flushed.”

I chewed on my lip, finally making eye contact with him. I didn’t want to tell him what I was really thinking, what was really wrong. I couldn’t. I refused to be “that girl” who was clingy after the smallest interactions. It was just sex, even if it was really good, and I could get past that. What I refused to let happen was let him make me look like a naive fool.

I didn’t even mean what I said next, but I said it anyway and it sucked.

“I didn’t want to do this on Christmas Eve.” Shit, I wasn’t starting this off the way I wanted to. “But I don’t think we should see each other, really… anymore, I mean.”

I let out an exasperated breath, knowing now I was in control of the situation. Oliver looked dumbfounded, like I had just kicked him in the gut.

“Why?” He asked. His big eyes creased with confusion. Before he could even take a step closer, I already had my hand gripped around the doorknob.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

My chest tightened with pain. I was emotionally hurt, mainly by my own doing, and it didn’t feel good at all. Blinking rapidly and reacting irrationally, I turned and let myself out into the hall, ignoring the look on Oliver’s face as I closed the door. I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator. My feet carried me down the stairs and out into the snowy day. My car usually took ages to heat up, but today I ignored the cold and defroster, just wanting to get home.



I pulled up outside my house, turned off the car, and stayed seated, unmoving. I had definitely overreacted. We had gone from zero to sixty to crashed in three days all because I was making assumptions again. But my emotions were flustered and I hadn’t liked anyone in a long time. It wasn’t working out that great on my end. I could have handled the whole thing better, but my fight or flight instinct kicked in and I took the run-away-and-hide road.

Doing what no smart girl does when she wants information, I pulled out my phone and accessed the Internet. I Googled Oliver’s name. Why had I never thought to look him up on Facebook? It never crossed my mind that his page could be a vital source of information, especially regarding a potential girlfriend. But the whole thing was private, so I moved onto the next link, his Tumblr. The last photo he posted, not “reblogged,” was two sets of feet propped up onto his coffee table. One of the sets was tattooed, obviously his, and the other pair had thin ankles, tan skin, and high heels. Definitely not Tom. It read: “Can never get her out of her heels (; Posted 4 hours ago.”

I grimaced and continued to scroll. I should have stopped, but I was on a frenzy. The rest of the page had no mention of her, but a few more pages revealed her modeling for his brand. Hash tagged was her name. Amanda Hendrick.

Despite my better judgment I decided to click and scroll and memorize her face and soak up all the information. Every photo of her was the same. Thin, with lush lips and defined cheekbones. Pictures of them kissing, posts of them together, then broken up, then together again. I hardly noticed my teeth chattering now that my car started to freeze over in the driveway.

I wanted to stop looking, but it was had to turn away. Like a car crash in slow motion or a scary scene in a movie, I was captivated. Oliver obviously loved this girl, which is why they ended up back together time after time. They had the same fame status. She wasn’t a nobody.

Oliver’s words from Sunday night rushed back to me. “It was a huge relief not having to put on the same act other people expect. I drink, I smoke, I fuck up, but I didn’t have to overplay it around you.”

Again, I was confused, only to be snapped out of my thoughts by tapping on my passenger side window. I half expected to see Oliver there, but instead I saw Naomi’s bright green eyes peering in through the ice on the glass. Suddenly, I was very aware of my teeth chattering and my whole body shivering. Naomi waved me out of the car. I hesitated, but complied by unbuckling my belt and opening the door.

“What the blood hell were you doing just sitting in your car? You’re frozen!” If she was meaning to scold me, those intentions faded away when she saw the look on my face. “What’s the matter, Rose?”

An hour later, Naomi knew more about the whole situation that Anna. She didn’t really ask questions, either. She just made us both a cup of tea and herded me into the bedroom where we made camp amongst the pillows on her bed. Wrapped in one of my mum’s ugly quilts I was finally warm.

“This is the same tattooed bloke I saw you with in the car and the library, yeah?” she asked.

I nodded. She asked if I was positive they were dating again and I shook my head, but admitted to stalking his Tumblr. She twisted her mouth, trying to word something in just the right way.

“Look, I don’t know the entire situation and I won’t pretend to, but here is my take on it: I bet he does actually fancy you, but that doesn’t solve everything going on with him. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re like an escape for him, he even said so. You don’t buy into the label he is subscribed to, you don’t expect anything from him, and he doesn’t have to convince you of his image because you aren’t embedded in his life in the same way his band is or this girl or even his family. One look at his ridiculous Tumblr and it’s obvious he’s a big faker for the public.

“So suddenly here you are, this new girl with no stake in his life, no obligations; a clean slate. While he might not be available to you in the relationship sense or public, he’s obviously offering you an emotional olive branch, or was before you called it off.”

Naomi looked like she had more to say; but that response was so intuitive and winded that anymore would have been overkill. Still, there I was confused about everything. I blamed my slow thought process on literal brain freeze, but the more I replayed Naomi’s explanation, Oliver’s actions, and my own observances, the more right my step-sister seemed. And that was a tough thing for me to admit.

There was now a lot for me to think about. I hated the sinking feeling of being wrong, not that I was totally wrong. Not knowing what step to take next was a much worse and unsettling feeling.

I pulled my legs into my chest and pressed my cheek to one of my knees. “Now I’m embarrassed. What do I do?”

“You either ride it out a little while and let him come to you, or you go to him and have a conversation,” she said. “You’re not wrong in your thoughts, but you should be embarrassed. He shouldn’t fuck around with two people or use you for some relief from his day-to-day bullshit life. So stick up for yourself. Stop being a bloody push-over, speak your mind, and get what you want.”