The Frame of Our Love

My friends tell my I'm a nice person. A shy person. A bashful person. Even socially awkward. But never have I ever raised my voice or used my fists to hit something besides someone else's knuckles.

That's just not me.

But no, all because of Oliver Scott Sykes my kind nature disappeared. Almost everything about me has changed.

All but my heart.

Of course, he owns that.

I glared at the ground and purposely walked around him, to the back of the classroom. He was talking to Drane Smith. As always.

It doesn't help that it's the day before Valentines day and he was practically shoving white rosebuds into Drane's arms.

"Aye," He says, sliding onto his seat.

Oh there it goes, acting like everything is perfect. Like our relationship isn't on the bridge of crumbling to pieces.

I place my cheek on my palm and force my face into a yawn, hoping to come off as bored, tired, worn out from activities he couldn't begin to imagine.

Instead of replying, I began doodling on a piece of notebook paper with fingers so shaky my pen slips right out of my hand.

I bend down to retrieve it, when I come back up I find a single red tulip laying idly on top of my desk.

"Wha' happen? Yeh run ou' of whi'e rosebuds?" I ask, flipping through books and papers, as though I've something important to do.

"I woul' never 'ive yeh a rosebud," he says, his eyes searching for mine.

But I refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to get sucked into his sadistic little game. I turn my head and grab my bag and pretend to search for something inside, cursing under my breath when I find it stuffed full of tulips.

"Yeh strictly a tulip boy, a red tulip boy," He smiles.

"Isn't that great," I mumble.

----

I ran out of school as the last bell began to shrilly ring. I didn't stop as Oli called after me, arms flaring around.

I'm tired of this.

I'm tired of him.

He acts like everything is okay when it's not. He acts like he doesn't stay out late on the weekends, ignoring me as he goes partying.

He acts like he doesn't toy with my feelings and flirt shamelessly with boys, infront of me.

He acts like he doesn't come home smelling of sweet perfume or cologne.

I jammed my worn out key into the doorknob and twisted it and swiftly walked in, ignoring the worried look my mom sent me.

----

When I get to School, Oli is waiting on the steps talking to girls and boys alike. But mainly one boy who I don't like.

Drane Smith.

Oli sends me a look, as if asking, Where are you going?

I throw my hands up in the air and glare at him before stomping towards my first class. By the time I get to English, I feel better, alright, kinda normal.

But when I see Oli talking to Drane my emotions spill out of control, much like a bucket full of water.

"Um, excuse meh," I say, blocked by Oli's gloriously long legs.

I watch as he reaches behind Drane's ear, and comes away with a rosebud.

A single white rosebud.

A fresh, pure, glistening, dewy, white rosebud.

And when he hands it him Drane, he grins so wide you'd think he just gave him a condom for them to go fuck later.

"Holy shit! How did yeh do tha'?"

I press my lips together and gaze down at the ground, fiddling with my iPod and cranking the sound until I can no longer hear Drane.

"I need to get by," I mumble, my eyes meeting Oli's, catching the briefest flash of warmth before his gaze turns to ice and he moves out of my way.

I storm toward my desk, my feet moving like they're supposed to, one of front of the other. Then I settle onto my chair and continue the routine, pretending I don't notice how reluctant Oliver is, how he drags his feet when Mr. Wright makes him return to his seat.

----

That's it.

I'm done.

I give up.

I grab onto Tom Sykes collar and crash our lips together. He struggles at first, his hands pushing against my chest. I tighten my grip around his neck and force his mouth open. He relaxes as his moist tongue comes out and-

"Wha' theh fuck?"

Tom sprang away from me at the mere sound of Oli's voice. I turned my head to the side and send Oli a lazy smile.

"Yea' Olleh dear?"

"Wha' are yeh doin'?" He demanded, shoving me against the locker.

"Exactly wha' yeh do," I retorted.

"Are we competin' now?"

"Yeh star'ed it!" I fired back, shoving him away.

"There was never any contest!" He says, following me.

"How can I know anythin' when yeh run so hot and cold?" I say, my hands trembling, my voice shaky, wishing I could just stop, let it go, reclaim the nice, romantic times we ounce shared together. "I mean, one minute yeh gazin' at meh in that way yeh do, and the next thing I know yeh all over Drane."

I press my lips together and wait for him to respond, watching as he walks toward me as I fight to catch my breath.

"Shane, I-" He closed his eyes and sighs. And when he opens them again, he takes another step toward me and says, "It was never my intention to hurt yeh. Truly. Never." He slides his arms around me and tries to make me face him.

And when I do, when I finally give in, he looks into my eyes and says, "Not ounce did I set out to hurt yeh. And I'm sorry if yeh feeled that I played with yeh feelins'. I told yeh I'm not so good with this sort of thin'." He smiles, burying his hands in my hair.

He pulls them away and and hands me a red tulip.

"How do yeh do it?" I ask, holding my breath.

"Do what?" He smiles, his arms encircling my waist, pulling me closer.

"The tulips, the rosebuds, all of it?" I whisper, trying to ignore the feel of his hands on my skin, how his touch makes me warm, sleepy, dizzy.

"It's magic," He smiles.

----

I carefully open my locker and a note tumbles to the ground. I bend down and pick it up, my breath hitching as I read it.

As cheesy as it sounds, You are my red tulip, the frame work of my life, the declaration of my love, the reason for my fame. - Oliver Sykes.

I was soon enveloped in warm arms. I gasped and spun around to meet Oli's all too familiar gaze. I leaned up and capture his lips with my own.

"I love you," I breathed.

"Happy Valentine's Day."