Take It to Heart

“Rose, these came through the letterbox for you,” Charlie said as a greeting the following afternoon. He sat at the kitchen table with his laptop in front of him and glasses perched on his face. I assumed he was doing something work related, so I took the letters that sat on the corner of the table and walked back up stairs to my room.

The first letter was my credit card bill, which I tossed aside with my homework. The next was something from my brother. I dropped the rest down into my lap and inspected the envelope. It only had my name and address scribbled in illegible font and his return address from Reading. I slid my finger under the flap and ripped it open. What spilled out took me by surprise.

I found myself staring down at a slick photograph with font neatly printed over the top. I only managed to read “you’re cordially invited to,” before I realized what I was looking at: a wedding invitation. When did Josh go from having a girlfriend to having a fiancé? Last I heard, he was back from Spain and trying to get a promotion at work. Wouldn’t he have mentioned this?

There was also a date, time, location, her name, his name, and RSVP number listed. There was nothing personal from my brother—no small letter or explanation. I frowned and looked at the other photos inside the envelope. They were professionally bundled together with thin twine. I untied them and looked at my brother, who I hardly recognized, with his arms looped around a curvy blonde. They both had smiles on their faces. According to the invitation, her name is Lark Anne Marshall. They were getting married in her back garden on December 22nd. I frowned again. That was only a little over a month away.

I grabbed my mobile and dialed his number. I felt awkward as it rang, since we hadn’t spoken in a couple of months. I got his voicemail instead. “You’ve reached Joshua Sheldrake, please leave your name and number. Cheers.”

“Hi, Josh, it’s Rose,” I started oddly; I hated leaving messages, “Since when are you engaged?”

I hung up, but the feeling of being left out didn’t leave me. I figured I would get a text or an e-mail, maybe even something from my dad. I don’t think any of us meant to get this disconnected. Everyone was busy, me with uni, Josh and Dad with work. What was worse than not keeping in touch was my mum being rather happy about it. She didn’t seem to care that I had no relationship with my own family. She seemed rather pleased with herself, and there was a small piece of me that resented that.

I picked up the letter and walked down the hall to my mum’s bedroom. She was in front of a mirror applying a swipe of lipstick. “Have you seen this?” I asked, holding up the invitation. She looked over to me with a puzzled expression on her face. “Did you get the same letter from Josh?”

Mum stepped closer and took the photo from my hand. She inspected it. The puzzled look transformed into hurt. “No, I didn’t. This is the first I’ve heard of an engagement,” she muttered. The card was placed gingerly in her hands as if it might disappear if she really held it. “I didn’t know Joshua was even dating someone.”

If I felt out, I couldn’t imagine how my mum felt. I guess Josh felt just as disconnected from our mum as I did with our dad. “Will you go?”

She shook her head and hot-potatoed the invitation back to me. “I’m not going to show if I wasn’t invited, now am I?”

“But it’s Josh,” I argued.

“I know, Rose, I know,” she muttered, “and I love him unconditionally, but we’ve never really gotten along. He may be my son too, but when Daniel and I divorced, Josh felt betrayed along with him. He was five years older than you and recognized everything between us.”

Recognized that you cheated, I wanted to say. It was the unspoken of white elephant in the room whenever my dad or Josh was brought up. My mum cheated. My mum betrayed my dad. I always told people they just didn’t get along. I never wanted to admit that it had been my mum’s fault. I couldn’t ever say those things. I, like she said, was too young to remember the details. I couldn’t fight about something I wasn’t completely aware of. So I turned and left the room, placing the invitation back on my bedside cabinet.

By now, I had gotten used to Oliver. After I left my house unannounced, I slipped into his car and relaxed into the seat. I looked a little nicer than usual. I actually applied more make up than a few swipes of mascara and wore my nice pair of jeans, even though I didn’t know what type of party this was going to be. I didn’t feel the need to impress anyone, I just never wanted to end up the only underdone one there. Oliver smiled at me, driving away from my house. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, you?” I replied. I held my hands up to the heat pouring out of the vents. He shrugged and headed to north Sheffield.

Oliver began to fiddle with the radio, pausing every now and then on a couple scratchy stations. He finally opted for a CD and relaxed into his seat. We were in a comfortable silence. It’s like conversation wasn’t really needed. I soaked up the heat and he hummed along to the mix CD playing. His tattooed fingers drummed along the steering wheel and his head bobbed up and down, his lips moving along to the lyrics. It amused me to watch him absorbed in the music playing. Now, if only he’d tell me about his band so I’d have an excuse to see them in action.

He looked over at me. I’d been caught staring. “What’s that look for?” he questioned.

I shook my head with a laugh. “It’s nothing.”

Before anything could get awkward, Oliver pulled into a car park and got out. I followed slowly and slammed the door behind me. We were at a flax complex similar to his. He led the way as if he lived there also. We climbed two flights of stairs and walked down the hall before approaching a door where the party was obviously held. The music wasn’t too loud, but the voices could be heard well through the door. I wondered if Oliver’s girlfriend would be inside. He opened the door and waved me in first.

People were littered everywhere, mainly slung over the couches and floor or leaning onto walls. Red cups were in nearly every hand along with the occasional cigarette or blunt. The air smelled of weed and vanilla candles. Oliver walked in behind me, herding me inside.

“Way to show up Oli!” A very thick and typical Sheffield accent hollered across the room. The body connected to the voice was in the middle of the couch, bent over the coffee table. He smiled in our direction, licked the paper of the blunt he just rolled, and spoke up again. “So who’s this?”

Oliver’s hand found the small of my back and we walked farther into the room together. “This is Rose,” he introduced, “Rose, that’s Matt, and everyone else.”

I nodded my head for a greeting. For a moment, it felt like all eyes were on me, but they weren’t. Not even close. Half the people here were in their own world, laughing at their own conversations. I didn’t feel self-conscious anymore, instead, I felt more blended in. I followed Oliver into the kitchen and watched as he rummaged through the cupboards. He pulled out his own stash of alcohol and poured us both a glass.

“Well if it’s not the Saint of Dogwatching.” I turned my head to the right, watching Tom walk into the kitchen. He shot me a lopsided grin and took a drag of the joint between his fingers. I watched him exhale slowly. He stretched out his hand, “Want some?”

Without thinking twice, I took the blunt from his hand and put it up to my lips. I inhaled slowly, feeling the warm smoke enter my lungs. I hadn’t smoked in so long, I nearly forgot the feeling. I could feel the warmth in my chest and each beat of my heart. It made me more aware of my breathing, my lungs. I exhaled slowly and watched the smoke circle before disappearing into the room. I started to feel that familiar lightheaded feeling take over me as I took my second inhale. I passed it on to Oliver, who had his hand outstretched, and exhaled the smoke again.

“Good, now everyone is relaxed,” Tom commented. He took his joint back, grabbed a beer, and walked out of the room again.

I looked back at Oliver as he handed me my drink. “Cheers.”

Back in the sitting room, we both took a seat on the sofa. Matt was still there, smoking with his arm around a thin brunette. I sat between the arm of the couch and Oliver, who was next to Matt. His arm hung on the back of the couch, lightly touching my neck. I hoped it didn’t give off the wrong impression about us. I didn’t care all that much, seeing as I was still reveling in my high.

“So Rose, how do you know my mate here?” Matt asked. His accent was much thicker than mine or Oliver’s. He leaned forward and propped his elbows onto his knees so he could see me. “Hopefully not from a show.”

Oliver elbowed Matt and shook his head, thinking I couldn’t see. Even though I knew what he meant by show, I still couldn’t show it. I didn’t know why he was so secretive, but I had to roll with it. “A show? No, I hardly even know what music he likes,” I said dumbly and looked over to Oliver. He looked relieved. “I just found his ID and returned it. Boring.”

“He likes metal,” Matt replied matter-of-fact.

I grinned at Oliver and his tattoos. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“And your age?” he asked.

“This isn’t a MySpace survey,” Oliver joked. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever told him that.

“No one used that shite anymore, and just lookin’ out for you, mate,” Matt said and raised his brows in my direction.

“Twenty on the third,” I replied, referring to December. I felt much younger than the two of them, knowing that Oliver was twenty-four and Matt around that same age. I had to assume that half the room was in that category. And here I was still in uni, living at home, and under twenty.

“At least you’re legal then,” Matt continued. “I hear Oli’s got a big knob, so that’s good for you then.”

“Come off it, Matt,” Oliver said, though he couldn’t hold back a laugh. I laughed too, part of my high, though I felt awkward knowing Oliver had a girlfriend, and even more awkward that Matt didn’t care and assumed we would hook up anyways.

The girl next to Matt leaned forward, extending her hand out to me. “He’s bein’ rude, yeah? I’m Sophie.”

I shook her head and smiled. “Rose. Are you two together?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Can be a knob head sometimes.”

“Am not deaf,” Matt piped up.

A few other people walked up and sat around the coffee table. One rolled another joint and lit it. I took it from him the first opportunity I had. I felt tense, when I wanted to feel feathery. I took a log drag and leaned into the couch, noticing my surroundings. Along with the four of us on the couch, there was bloke just as tattooed as Oliver reclined in a loveseat to the left. Ten or so other people were scattered around the room. I only recognized Tom. A couple people would come in and out of the room from the kitchen or balcony, but for the most part everyone was just kicked back, high and chatting.

“Rose, what is it you do?” Sophie piped up. She was snuggled further into Matt’s side, sipping a beer.

“Er, I go to uni and work in a library,” I admitted. I sounded so lame. Oliver brushed his fingers over my shoulder like he knew what I was thinking, laughing from next to me. He found it amusing.

“Oh, she is a clever bird. Watch out Oli,” Matt commented.

I played it off like it was no big deal and the conversation continued on with and without me. It flowed with no effort, and I liked that. Usually, this sort of “party” would have me bored to tears, but I was content thanks to the marijuana frequently passed around to me. I was giggling, of course, at everything. Matt’s humor was, well, interesting, and the way Oliver and him got on had me amused.

Between their crazy stories and mates, I had lost track of time a long time ago. I had also lost track of Oliver’s arm lowering on the couch, forming into my shoulder more. I leaned into him though, because the warmth felt nice. It had started raining again, and it would most likely turn into snow before the sun rose in the morning.

“What’s the time, Oliver?” I asked once he stopped talking. He pulled out his phone and recited the hour: 1:30 am. “Would it bug you to take me home? I’ve class in the morning.”

He shook his head, his fringe landing messy across his forehead. “I don’t mind,” he replied. He had only had one drink tonight, so I didn’t worry about him driving me home.

“Did you at least have an okay time?” he asked on our way out the building. “I reckon my mates can be a tad overwhelmin’ at times. They seemed to like you though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Is that always how it is?”

“Not even close,” Oliver replied. “We usually throw mental parties. Most people pass out well into the morning.”

The rain came down hard outside of Matt’s flat, which I had learned he shared with Oliver’s brother. We jogged to Oliver’s car and got inside as quick as possible. My hair was already soaked and stuck to my forehead, my jumper littered with raindrops. His car took a good five minutes to warm up and stop my chattering teeth. By the time we made it back to my house, it was nearing 2 am.

“Thanks Oliver,” I said, unbuckling myself clumsily. “I had fun.”

When I turned back around to face him, he was closer than I expected. His right arm had been draped over my seat almost the whole ride, but now he was leaned in my direction. I felt myself suck in a breath of air, excited and intimidated by his closeness. The high side of my brain, which was still floating from my lingering high, told me to meet Oliver in the middle. He was still getting closer after all, inch my inch. My brain was in slow motion watching him. The sobering side of my brain reminded me of the photos and boxes with belonged to his girlfriend, his live-in girlfriend. I could feel his breath on my lips, my mind still slow, when I made the decision to move.

I turned my head to the side and let his lips hit the side of my cheek. I blushed and brushed him off, using my palm to push against him and create space between us. He had the look of rejection painted across his face. “Oliver,” I mumbled awkwardly, my teeth beginning to chatter again from the cold. “I know about your girlfriend.”

“What?”

“You can’t just kiss me while you’re in a relationship, I don’t even know why you’re trying to. Even the kiss on the cheek makes me feel awful,” I sputtered out. My mouth was dry from the weed and nervousness. Even though I denied the kiss, my heart still beat up against my rip cage. “I saw the pictures of her in your flat.”

Oliver shook his head. “I’m not with her anymore,” he said. His voice was dry also. I was beginning to think he only attempted to kiss me because he was high as well. I wanted to believe him badly, but it sounded so convenient. I shook my head, hoping it would clear out my thoughts.

“I should just probably go; I’ll talk to you later.” And then I pulled the handle and opened the door. The light in the car came on, illuminated him sitting there. I couldn’t read his expression, I never could. He looked like he regretted the whole situation, like he just sobered up and realized what just took place.

Before the rain could coat the inside of his car, I shut the door softly and ran up to my house. I unlocked the door and entered quietly. I didn’t want to wake anyone or get caught in wet clothes with dilated eyes. I slipped off my wet shoes and left them by the front door. The house was dark and my mum and step dad were asleep by now. I had to grope my way to the stairs.

“Who was that in the car?”

I whirled around and pressed my back flat against the wall. Naomi stood in front of me looking like she just got home also. My heart was beating rapidly from being startled.

“What?”

She pointed towards the door I just came through. “Who was that bloke, in the car? I saw him in the light when you got out. It's the same tattooed one from the library, innit?” she questioned, “He's your secret boyfriend? You're still red, you definitely fancy him.”

“No, I don't,” I said with a shake of my head. I slipped past her and began up the stairs.

“Bloody hell, you're baked as a cake,” she continued. “What were you doin' with him?”

“Sod off, Naomi!”

“He honestly doesn't look all that safe," she pointed out. She followed me up stairs, her toes practically on my heels. I ignored her best I could.

“Has your mum seen him yet?” she continued when I walked into our bathroom. She stood, hands on hips like she had some authority. “One look at him and you’re good as dead.”

“No,” I replied, peeling off my rain soaked clothes, “and she’s not about to, alright?”

If we didn’t kill each other first, he was bound to get me in loads of trouble. I definitely wasn't expecting a firing squad when I snuck inside, and I didn't know what the outcome would be if Naomi mentioned something to my mum. I could only imagine her reaction of me spending my time with a twenty-four year old, tattooed party boy who owned a dark clothing company and got high in his spare time. In her opinion, I was only supposed to focus on graduating and figuring what to do with my life, not waste my time with Oliver Sykes.

Naomi held up her hands in defense. “It’s not like I’m going to rat you out. We don’t always get on, but I’m not like that. Just like I’d assume you wouldn’t rat on me.”

I nodded. She was right. I grabbed a towel off the rack and started to tousle my hair with it, walking back to my room. Again, she followed, but I didn’t mind as much this time. I changed quickly into pajama pants and a large sweatshirt. Naomi sat on the edge of my bed, looking around my room. I don’t think she’d ever been in here before. I had photos of Anna and me, and an occasion group of people, plastered across the walls and paintings hanging around them. Everything was organized and neat. It was like my room wasn’t even lived in.

“Ya’know, we’re meant to be friends even if you don’t see me as a sister,” she said, lying back on my bed. “Are you going to tell me about him, or make me dig for answers?”

I pulled the duvet around me, chilly from the rain. Our sudden acceptance of each other really surprised me. We’d never civilly been in the same room together. I had a feeling this would be a one time deal, or a rarity, but for now I didn’t mind. “There’s not much to tell,” I replied. “We didn’t even get along at first.”

“What changed?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach. She reached over and grabbed a copy of Rocksound from my bedside cabinet.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “He asked me to watch his dog—” she looked at with pointed eyes “—and I guess that sort of made us mates. I use the word loosely, mind you.”

This was the truth: I did consider Oliver a friend, definitely not a best, but enough that I was comfortable around him. I knew it was true, even if I couldn’t admit it out loud, because I didn’t like the thought of the situation in the car. I didn’t like the thought of being uncomfortable around him, or vice versa. That meant something, didn’t it?