You're Gone

I had a lot of solid reasons to hate myself.

In fact, aside from running I was quite good at being self deprecating as well. But I had a lot of reasons for that as well. And most no one knew those reasons. Well, aside from Oliver that is and we weren't exactly on the best of terms as of late.

That was probably the hardest part though. Not ever telling anyone what had happened. Never letting anything out, instead just letting it all build up. In rehab my therapist told me I was going to make myself crazy doing so. And that the only way to heal was to let everything out. But I knew she was wrong. Because maybe if I did let everything out I would feel a little better, but then I would be constantly reminded of it. Because then people would never look at me the same. Because that would cause friction between friends. Friction between the band. And according to Oliver he didn't want me to think about coming back into his life and fucking it up. And I knew telling someone what had happened would do exactly that. And I could deal with that guilt and pain in regards to myself, but I would never in a million years wish it on anyone else.

I didn't sleep that night. I locked myself inside of my room, ignoring Dylan's cries for me to let her in, and laid on my bed staring up at the ceiling. It was something I had frequently done at rehab, as well as the outpatient house I had lived in for the rest of the time I was in Bournemouth. Every one of my demons came out at night. Memories flashed through my brain at a headache inducing speed, leaving me nauseous and confused. It was amazing how real everything felt as my mind went into a stage of lucid dreaming. It was like I was sitting back in that flat, a needle in my arm and Oliver's lips all over my body. And thoughts like those were what made me want to use again.

After rendering myself unable to sleep at all, I finally dragged myself out of my bedroom at around noon the next day. I was still in the same clothes I wore the night before, and they were completely wrinkled and my hair was matted and the small amount of make-up Dylan had put on my face was now smudged and gross looking.

"Oh my God," was the first thing I heard. Dylan and Lee were both sitting in the living room, their eyes wide and on me. It was obvious Dylan was the one who had spoken and it seemed that Lee was just surprised by her sudden outburst more than anything. "I seriously thought yeh were dead."

"No such luck," I grumbled lightly as I tried to drag my fingers through my knotted hair.

"Don't yeh say tha'!" She yelled, tossing a small couch pillow at me and throwing it just wide of my head.

"Yeh 'ave 'orrible aim," Lee informed her.

"Shut up," she glared at him for a moment before directing her attention back at me. I let myself fall down to the arm chair adjacent to the love seat her and Lee were positioned on and I sighed deeply as I curled my legs under my body. "Wha' 'appened las' nigh'?" She asked. "One minute yeh're gone an' tha next yeh're runnin' past everyone like there was a fire."

I didn't say anything, instead I just gave her a look that let her know she already knew what had happened. Her expression softened considerably after that and she let out a sigh of her own. Dylan felt bad for me, but it wasn't in the way everyone else did. She actually wanted to try and put the pieces of my life back together, while everyone else just chose to look at the broken pieces sigh and say "what a shame."

"Wha' did 'e say?" She asked in a much softer tone.

"'ow did yeh know she even talked ta 'm?" Lee interjected, an utterly confused look on his baby face. I set him a small smile as he tried to figure out the words that had been left unspoken between us.

"'s a girl fhing," Dylan replied off handedly, not taking her eyes off of me.

"'e told me tha' soon everyone will realize wha' a proper fuck up I am an' tha' I shouldn't fhink I can come back inta 'is life an' fuck everyfhing up again," I answered her honestly. I didn't see the use in lying to Dylan. She might never know the reason behind all his hostility towards me, but at this point lying to her about the present didn't really effect anything like it would if I told her about the past.

"'re yeh fuckin' kiddin' me? Wha' a twat!" She exclaimed. "Lee, yeh're mate is a proper psycho!"

"I know," Lee replied with a nod. "I live wiff 'im nine months outta tha year."

"I can't believe 'e said tha' ta yeh," she shook her head, her lips pursed as she gazed off into space.

I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered what she thought had happened. I'm sure she thought about it. Or at least had thought about it. Especially when I turned up on her doorstep at 2 am begging for her to send me away and threatening suicide. I wondered what she thought brought me to that point. I wondered if she thought I was right to blame myself. I wondered if she blamed Oliver. I wondered if he had told her anything. Anything at all.

"'e was proper fucked up afta yeh left," Lee chimed in his voice small, like he wasn't sure if he should have said anything at all. But when my glossy eyes caught his he knew he had to continue. "'m not defendin' 'im, 'cause tha' was pretteh harsh, but 'e's jus' as torn up as yeh 're."

I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse. I guess in some sort of twisted way I hoped he was torn up too. I wanted him to feel every ounce of pain I had felt and that I still felt. But then there was the other part of me, the more guilty part, that hoped he had gotten over it and he was happy with Amanda. And then that first part told me I was crazy, because how could I be happy the man I was in love with could have very well found someone else to spend the rest of his life with? Because yes, after all of this time, and after all he had said to me (both last night and that night two years ago), I still loved him. I still craved him. I still wanted him. And I still needed him.

Dylan knew that without saying. And she was probably the only one. And I was thankful for that. These were things I could go my whole life without every admitting out loud.

"We're goin' out ta lunch today," Dylan interjected with a smile. "Yeh should come wiff us."

"I dunno..."

"Yeh're comin'," she decided for me. "I refuse ta let yeh sit 'ome all day by yehself."

I don't think Dylan knew he was going to be here. She wasn't that type of person. And I knew at this point she was angry with Oliver and wouldn't go planning something like this behind my back. But we were all sitting at lunch getting ready to eat when they showed up. I saw Amanda first, if I'm being honest. She was walking in front of them both, their fingers loosely tangled together. I immediately looked down at my plate, pretending things weren't about to happen the way I was picturing them to.

"Oli," Dylan squeaked out. She sounded surprised and I could feel her eyes on me as I refused to look up. "Amanda," she added. "I didn't know yeh two were comin',"

"Well Matt mentioned somefhing 'bout it yesterday and since Oli doesn't seem to wan' ta do anyfhing lately I figured I'd drag 'im out for lunch wiff all of 'is mates," Amanda's voice was sweet and airy, and it felt like thousands of little paper cuts against my heart. I could tell she cared about him, and I could tell he cared about her as well. And all I could think about was how much better their relationship seemed in comparison to ours and I had only seen them together twice up until this point.

They took a seat at the end of the table opposite to one another. As they quickly scanned through the menu for something to eat I began to feel sick and excused myself from the table without a word. I practically ran to the bathroom, dodging around waiters and waitresses and nearly causing one to drop the plates she was balancing on her arm. My hands found either side of the sink when I finally made it to the bathroom. I breathed heavily and stared back at my reflection. There were bags hanging under my eyes because of the lack of sleep I had gotten last night and they were more apparent because I hadn't bothered to cover them up with any make-up. It was useless really. I could barely muster enough strength and courage to get out of bed, applying make-up and dressing nicely just seemed like an impossible feat at this point.

I don't really know what I expected when I finally came back to Sheffield. But seeing Oliver with Amanda was just too much. I hadn't expected him to move on so quickly and in such a major way. I guess I always knew he'd probably fuck around with a few girls while I was away in Bournemouth but I never expected to come back to see him with a steady girlfriend of a year and a half. It was more painful than I had imagined it would be. It made me regret half-assing my way through rehab. Because maybe if I hadn't went through with the tiniest notion that I'd come home and Oliver would be waiting for me with open arms and an apology, I would have healed properly and seeing him now wouldn't fucking tear me apart.

I had just splashed some water in my face when the door to the bathroom opened. I briefly looked up towards the door and then looked back down to my hands. But I did a double take when I realized it was Oliver who had stormed through the door.

"This is tha women's room," was all I could say.

"I don't fhink yeh understood me properly las' night," he ignored my pathetic comment and took a few large steps towards me, a colorful finger waving in my face. "I want yeh ta stay tha fuck away from me, my friends, my girlfriend, my family. Jus' fuckin' go back ta Bournemouth."

"I live 'ere," I replied meekly, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Yeh left," he stated simply. "Yeh left everyone. Yeh left me. Why not leave again?" He snapped.

"Yeh didn't exactly make it seem like yeh wanted me anywhere near yeh, Oliver," I answered, my voice raising if only slightly. "I had ta leave. I couldn't stay 'ere anymore."

"Because yeh're weak?"

"Because no one wanted me!"

"Wha' makes yeh fhink anyone does now?" He challenged me. My mouth formed into a straight line and I felt the familiar sting in the back of my eyes as they began to blur with tears. I didn't let them fall though. I couldn't let him see me cry. Not like this. Not now. "I stayed 'ere, but yeh couldn't deal wiff yeh're mistakes. Yeh never could. Up until I saw yeh I was doin' fine. I 'ave tha band, my company, Amanda, I've been doin' fine. An' then yeh 'ave ta come back and fuck everyfhing up for me."

"That's all I ever did, huh?" I asked him, my voice small again. "Fucked everyfhing up for yeh?"

He stared at me long and hard, his glare never softening. But he didn't answer me right away. And somewhere deep within me that gave me a spark of hope. Because I was certain that at one point he loved me. Even if he still didn't. I was sure those moments between us weren't fake. And I was sure those words weren't lies. And I was sure those looks shared between us meant everything I thought they had.

"Yeh screwed up," he finally said, his voice void of any emotion at all.

"Oli," I croaked out. "Yeh know I never meant ta-"

"Don't," he stopped me. "It's over Tris. Yeh can't change wha' 'appened."

The sound of my nickname rolling off his tongue sent my heart into a flutter and launched me back into memories I had buried deep within my subconscious. They were painful to think about as I stood in front of him now, knowing I couldn't touch him in the same way I used to.

“And yeh can’t blame me for everyfhing either,” I bit my lip softly.

“Watch me.”