Glass Cutter

The weekend couldn’t come quick enough to end the first full week of school, and each day had brought upon a new struggle that I didn’t want to deal with. Tuesday had already ambushed me with Oliver Sykes at my work; Wednesday had unleashed Delilah’s news that she would be spending a future weekend in Seattle with her new beau; Thursday had left me void of Oliver’s presence in our shared class, which he’d been undoubtedly skipping; and Friday had introduced a more forward Oliver than I’d grown used to.

It was a rainy day, the weather drizzling upon the city on and off every few hours, and I’d spent all forty minutes of lunch listening to Delilah talk about how excited she was to be seeing Alex, how she would be lying to her dad concerning her whereabouts, how she planned to leave right after school the next Friday to go see him. By the time the bell rang and we were off to chemistry with Tommy, I was ready to rip my hair out of my head. In just a portion of the school day, I felt like I knew more about her Alex Ward than I did about her—and I was unhappy about this fact, considering I’d never even met the stupid boy.

I hurried to my seat once the three of us reached our classroom doorway, and I exhaled a deep breath at the sight of Oliver already at our shared lab table. He was dressed differently, I noticed. He’d always worn this gray skullcap, but his head was void of it that day, his long, chocolate-colored hair free to do whatever it pleased. I cringed at the thought that I found him even more attractive without it.

“No hat today, I see,” I greeted, smiling at him. I placed my bag down on the floor and began fidgeting my hands in my lap. He always made me so nervous, and I could never exactly pinpoint why that was.

Oliver Sykes was a cute boy, whether I liked admitting it or not. Though he stood above six feet, remained too thin for his own good, and was more lanky than masculine, he made his appearance work for himself. He’d wear tight pants but a loose shirt, and the style left anybody looking at him without a clear impression of whether he was big or small—although after looking long enough, it was certainly clear that he was much smaller than what could’ve been healthy.

His face was what made him most appealing, though—it was what made up for his lack of a figure. He had these high-held cheekbones, narrow and slender, and a pointed chin with an angular jaw. His haircut—with messy layers, most of it straight and some of it waved—framed his face perfectly, covering the majority of his eyes, and hugged his features very closely. His pointed lips, round and light in color, drew his viewer in first, and only once done imagining all the wicked things he could do with that perfect mouth, a person could notice his nose, straight and pointed, and his eyes, round and jadelike.

He simpered back to me and brought a hand up to his hair. “It didn’t really feel like a hat day this morning, despite the rain,” he replied, briefly playing with a relatively straight piece.

I nodded and took a deep breath. I was always unsure of what to say around him, and I wished that just for once I could muster up some sort of confidence to be able to act normal.

“You have nice hair,” I finally managed. “Why do you always cover it with a beanie?”

He smirked. “You have a nice body—why do you always cover it with clothes?”

I felt every cell inside me heat up from the comment, and the room suddenly felt like it was 100°. I probably could’ve steamed a pot of tea with the discomfort that was radiating from my body at that point.

He snickered and gently nudged my thigh with his knee. “I’m just kidding, Amanda.” He offered a sincere smile. “It’s just funny to see you get uncomfortable—I had trouble resisting. I mean, in all fairness, you left yourself wide open for that one.”

“Keeping out of my personal bubble also means keeping the image of me naked out of your head,” I grumbled, making sure my eyes never met his. I was caught off guard by my own retort, and I only hoped he’d been just as much.

He gave me a lopsided grin, shaking his head. “Now that’s not fair. If everyone else can have the Amanda-Tate-naked-on-their-bed dream, then I should be allowed to also.”

“Oliver!” I hissed, my fist finding his arm rather instinctively. “Shut up,” and at that point, I felt like I could take off all my clothes right then, just in desperation to get rid of some of the heat building up.

He giggled wildly, his hand grabbing my own before I could completely pull away. “C’mon, Amanda,” he said sweetly, letting me yank my arm away from his grasp, “it’s not like I’m the only one that’s ever happened to—and besides, a person can’t even control their dreams, so it’s not fair to tell me that I have to.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I murmured, sounding more nervous than I’d wanted to. I bit down on my bottom lip and felt the iron-like taste of blood almost immediately. He’d made me so nervous that I’d actually bitten down hard enough to draw blood from myself without even feeling the pain of the impact.

He did his best to frown, but the desire to smile was still obvious in his expression. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“Well you’re being a dick,” I suddenly snapped; and I gave him the best glare I could manage at that moment, but the flattery he was making me feel was hard to ignore. A part of me was unsure of why he’d suddenly found an interest in talking to me—though I was pretty sure that most of the reason had to do with finding me naked on his bed—but the other part of me, which was most of me, wanted to laugh with him and make jokes just as inappropriate in response.

“You’re not playing nice today,” he said sweetly, smiling once more and leaning a bit closer to me.

His voice was sultry in that moment, tantalizing me into a dark, beautiful world of horrors and visions of what his bedroom might’ve looked like—of what I might’ve looked like inside it. I felt a warm sensation form in the pit of my stomach, and the impulse—the instinct, really—to put myself inside that fantasy became overwhelmingly apparent to my senses. Goosebumps raised all over my body; my legs grew cold; my mouth watered; and I bit down even harder on my lip to remind myself of what reality was and to remember that primal instincts were no longer what drove the human psyche—but impulse, desperation, and lust were. For a moment, I believed that my feelings were instinctual, that no second thought was required; but in the moment it took for me to regain myself, I was able to realize that it was just impulse—that impulse was just all it was.

“We had a deal,” I declared, my voice cracking. I tried to sound as determined as possible, but I wasn’t so determined at that point. The memory of him saying, For now, to my one condition from a few nights before rang in my head—and the hormonal desire for now to be over was what kept the determination from being the focus of my tone.

His smiled widened, and he softly chuckled, making that melodic sound for me once more. “So I guess you didn’t plan to bail on me, then, huh?”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “What made you think I was planning to bail?”

He shrugged, suddenly growing serious. “You haven’t said anything about it since I first asked you to come.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t said anything about it,” I replied. “You are the one that asked.”

“Well, yeah, but why would I say anything about it if nothing about it’s changed?” It was odd to see his mood change so suddenly, and I felt bad for being the cause of it. He seemed to be truly concerned about my reliability and even a little offended by my lack of brooding.

I pursed my lips. “I don’t know...I just figured you’d bring it up again—and if not, then you were just asking me for the sake of asking.”

He began tracing shapes onto the counter of our lab table, and a slight smile returned to his lips. “I think I should ask you for your number next. It might help with our communication.” He looked at me through his eyelashes, his lips smirking enticingly.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, tainting the resonance of his voice in our surroundings. “It might,” I offered. “I guess you could give it a try.” I tried to be confident and flirty because the fact that I grew to be more and more of a neanderthal with each word spoken to him was becoming embarrassing. It was shameful because he was just a boy that I had no desire for—but more so because I had trouble convincing myself of that.

He grinned and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a black, beaten up iPhone, played around with the touch screen for a moment, and handed it to me. “May I please have your phone number, then? I promise I’ll behave.” He batted his eyelashes playfully.

I smiled and took the phone from him. “Fine,” I sighed jokingly. “I guess I can give you another chance.” I grinned back at him and handed him the phone after punching my number into the keypad.

We shared a quiet chuckle just as the bell rang and Miss Grey entered into the classroom. I saw Delilah peering at us through the corner of my eye, but I ignored it and just simpered to him once more before falling silent and listening to the day’s lesson. I only hoped she wouldn’t ask me why Oliver Sykes had made me smile after the end of the period—because I didn’t really have an answer.


In the more than twenty-four hours that had passed since I’d first given Oliver Sykes my number, an extremely long text messaging thread had formed between us. Questions like, What’re you doing? or, What are you thinking about? were common for him to ask, but his responses—which seemed to have genuine care for my answers—made each time feel like a different inquiry. His texts were never brief, and wait times between each were never more than a few minutes long. It wasn’t hard to figure out how he’d captured Delilah’s heart, and it especially wasn’t hard to figure out why every girl in town wanted everything to do with him.

I looked down at my phone once finishing my make-up and saw he’d sent me two texts while I’d been in the shower, the first one being a response to something I’d said prior and the second saying, Bring or wear a bathing suit...I promise to play nice ;)

I smirked at the message and felt butterflies go wild in my stomach. I quickly sighed after, though, because I was desperate to get rid of the wild emotions always regarding him.

Okay, I’ll bring my bathing suit, I answered. Whether or not you’ll get to see me in it is a different story though :D

It was easy to flirt with Oliver over text message, but I knew the second I came face-to-face with him again, I’d go right back into being dumbfounded, starstruck, and—above everything else—stupid.

He responded just as I finished getting my jeans on, and I felt like I could’ve died from what he’d revealed; Aw, you’re no fun :/ ...But by the way, your curtains are see-through, and your room is DEFINITELY in the front of your house :D

I peered at the sheer, cream-colored curtains in the front of my room and walked next to the oak wood window frame, hiding behind the light purple walls. I glanced down from my second-story window and saw Oliver Sykes’ notorious faded, navy blue pickup truck parked on the side of the road, directly in front of my lawn.

I couldn’t help but smile when I saw his face from his lit up phone screen. In the pale blue hue, I watched him look up at my bedroom window with a smile on his lips. My phone vibrated just a moment later with another text from him saying, Stop trying to hide behind your window frame. Hurry up because I’m waiting for you very patiently, and I’m quite lonely :’(

A chuckle escaped from my lips, and I pushed the curtain back just enough to show only a small portion of my shoulders and chest. A piece of me considered stepping further into the view of the translucent window pane—that piece of me was also the piece that understood Delilah’s lack of patience or rationality when it came to opening her legs for Oliver Sykes—but the smarter part of me, which was thankfully also the better part, held my hand up into clear view and flipped him off.

That wasn’t very nice :( a new text said.

I smirked at the screen and sent him a quick response; Mwah!

I was skeptical to send such a symbol of affection—because I was afraid that he’d expect the real action eventually—but I convinced myself to think better of him than that. My worries were only because of Menlo’s instilled beliefs, not my own.

After a few minutes, I finished getting myself and my things together, and I headed down the staircase to leave my poor excuse of a home. I knew my mother was somewhere in the house, somewhere with someone else, and as I stepped out through the front door and onto the porch, I promised myself I’d have fun with Oliver over the night. I didn’t know how the night would go, but I knew for sure that I didn’t want anything to keep me from that.

I walked over to his truck and opened the passenger side door, giving him a smile as I clipped my seat belt into place.

“About time,” he declared as he put his truck into drive. “You said you got out of work almost an hour ago.”

“What’re you complaining about?” I retorted. “That was the most action you’re gonna get all night.” I grinned at him and nervously chewed on the wound I’d given myself the previous day.

He returned with a lopsided grin. “Well, I guess that’s not bad for a first date, especially considering you don’t even go on dates.”

I felt my cheeks flare red, and I tried to discreetly roll down the manual window of his car to cool myself down. “Who even said this was a date?” I finally murmured, barely finding my voice anywhere in sight.

He shrugged and glanced over at me. “Who said it wasn’t?”

I pursed my lips and swallowed hard. I did my best to keep a straight stare at him because I wanted to tell him how I felt, my boundaries; I wanted to make sure he shared my ideas of what our friendship meant. When he peered back at me, I only looked away as quickly as I could because most of what I wanted to say wasn’t really what I wanted at all.

“If you’re gonna ask someone out on a date, it’s your responsibility to specify that it is a date,” I mumbled lowly, peering out the open window.

“Would you still have said yes if I did?” His voice was matter-of-fact, like he already knew the answer; and he might’ve, but at that point, I didn’t really even know the answer.

I did my best to glare at him. I knew Oliver Sykes liked messing with people’s minds, but it was becoming too much for me. It was making me nervous and uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to be the girl that went out on a date with her best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

“I might’ve,” I answered cryptically, “but it’s not fair to blindside a girl like that, regardless;” and force of habit led me to folding my arms across my chest.

He smiled at me and reached across the seat to take a hold of one of my wrists. He pulled my arm away, left my hand to rest in the center of the seat, and returned his grasp to the wheel. “Calypsis,” he stated bluntly. “Stop doing it.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “Why does my posture bother you so much?”

“Because from you, I take it as a personal attack;” and the smirk on his lips never went away.

“I’m not attacking you,” I defended. “I don’t really even think about it when I cross my arms or turn my back. It just makes me more comfortable to do it, so stop trying to make me stop.” The harshness in my tone came out a little more than I’d wanted it to, and the way his lips lost their upward curl and silence took over the sound of the wind from my open window left me with the knowledge that the hostility was more than evident.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that entirely.” I remembered confiding in him a few days before at the book shop, and the memory left me with the impulse to do it again; “I just got into a weird mood before I left ’cause I knew my mom was home. I’m sorry it came out on you just now—it wasn’t fair.”

He picked up his pack of cigarettes from one of the cup holders and pulled one out, placed it between his lips, and lit it before responding; “Was she with someone?” he asked softly, exhaling a gray cloud. I wasn’t sure if we were completely moving on from my previous bitchy attitude, but I sure hoped so because I was actually rather embarrassed of it.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I swallowed hard and continued on after his silence; “I try not to pay attention to when she is, but just knowing that she probably was irritated me.”

I sighed again. “I promised myself I’d have fun with you tonight and not think about it, but when you started talking about dates and stuff, it just...reminded me that she has plenty.” I said the last part as quietly as possible. Everyone in Menlo knew what my mother did for a living, and the embarrassment of actually repeating it to someone left me feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“When that happens, you should think of your dad,” he answered sweetly. “Just think of how it’d upset him to see you upset. He’d want you to be happy, no matter what your mom does for a career.”

I didn’t even realize I was tearing up until his hand wrapped around my own. I wasn’t sobbing—thank God, for the sake of my pride—but the tears were evident even in the dim lighting of the passing nighttime streets, and my voice could do nothing to cover up for it.

“Don’t let it bother you, Amanda,” he went on. His voice was gentle, and it invited me to speak, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself reveal just exactly how emotional I was at that point.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” He rubbed the side of my palm with his thumb and kissed my knuckles for just one brief second in time. “She’s not the only one in this town that’s guilty of promiscuous sex—just think of it that way. Everyone in this town is guilty of something, and you can’t let her guilt bring you down—especially when you’re probably the only person not guilty of anything in this town.”

I peered at him through my clouded vision and saw his eyebrows knitted together. He wasn’t looking at me, but the tension in his face showed just how much it bothered him that I was so upset over it all. It was as if he truly believed that I was better than something so petty, as if my mom’s choices in life really were no big deal...as if I really was too good to worry about any of it.

He went on after my silence, seeming determined to make me believe what he was saying; “I know your dad wouldn’t have minded what she does if it meant taking care of you. You said he was like me, and I know that if I was married with a kid, and my wife had to sleep with a bunch of guys in order to put food on the table and a roof overhead, it wouldn’t upset me. My kid would come first, and I would want my wife to do whatever it took to make sure it stayed that way. I wouldn’t give a shit what this stupid town thought of it, and I’d have no fucking problem calling out her clientele, either.

“If it’s her safety that concerns you, then fine, stay upset about it—but if it’s because you think this shit hole is judging you for it, then I want you to stop crying right now.” He squeezed my hand comfortingly. “Deal?”

I nodded, sniffed, and wiped my eyes with my free hand. His words made sense, and my heart literally ached at the thought that he was probably right; but I was used to being upset about it because of what the town thought, not because of any regards to her health—and out of all people to bring up the real reason why I should’ve been upset, I’d never expected it to be Oliver Sykes.

“Your dad would be proud of you, Amanda,” he declared, more determination in his voice than before. “Don’t ever question that for a second. If he was as much like me as you say, then he’d be ecstatic to have a daughter like you.”

“You’re just saying that ’cause you wanna get laid,” I murmured, offering him my best smile to lighten the mood.

He smirked and shook his head as he took another drag from his cigarette. “If that was all I wanted from you, Amanda, believe me when I say I wouldn’t be trying to so hard.”

I smiled to myself, feeling rather fond of his ongoing flattery, and wiped my eyes once more to try and rid my face of the excess make-up I’d undoubtedly smeared across it. His comment left me to wonder what exactly it was that he did want from me, but I bit my tongue at that point and decided I didn’t care. Whatever his intentions were—whether they were altruistic or not—didn’t matter to me. What mattered then was that something was making him care, and whatever it was remained unimportant because it was just that mere fact alone that made butterflies do jumping jacks in the pit of my stomach.


Oliver and I arrived in Seattle just before two AM, and I was overwhelmed with all the life still buzzing around it. He parked his truck on the side of a main road decorated with bars, restaurants, clubs, and even some boutiques still running on their main lifelines. I was used to Menlo, a town that would finally quiet down only around eleven PM or midnight, and I was astounded by the action that still took place just a hundred miles away.

“We’re gonna have to walk a couple blocks to get to my friends’ place,” Oliver informed before walking over to the passenger side and meeting me on the sidewalk.

I nodded and grabbed my bag from the floor. “Where’s your stuff?” I asked, closing the door.

“It’s my friends’ place,” he answered. “I just leave my shit there—no need to carry it.” He smiled at me as we began our walk.

I nodded once more, and our journey went on for a while in silence.

“It’s beautiful here,” I murmured in awe. Everything was so bright and colorful, and it smelled like French fries and men’s cologne. It was a sensory overload to someone like me, but Oliver seemed used to it. I just couldn’t get over it.

“You’ve never been to Seattle before?” He sounded surprised.

I shook my head. “I never had a reason to go.”

“Well no one needs a reason to go to Seattle,” he argued, laughing. “You just go, and you find your reason for being there once you arrive—kind o’ like your philosophy of life.” He gave me a lopsided smirk.

I chuckled. “Yeah, but Seattle’s a big city. A small town girl like me could get into a lot of trouble here by myself. It wouldn’t be worth it if I have no purpose.”

He snickered back. “Trouble? Yeah, okay. Maybe a small town girl, yes—but you? I doubt it.”

“Hey,” I grumbled, playfully hitting his arm. “I could get in trouble if I wanted to—and besides, in a big city like this, I probably wouldn’t even have to look for it. I’m pretty confident it would find me.”

We shared another laugh, and he shook his head. “Ah, Amanda—you’re so innocent and naïve. Trouble doesn’t find people. We look for it.”

“And how is that?” I countered, keeping the banter lighthearted.

“Easy,” he answered simply. “We leave our house, knowing that the world is full of shit heads like Donovan Graham,” Menlo’s mayor, “and John Mace,” the head of Menlo’s power plant, “and we expect for everything to just be okay at the end of the day.

“We go to school with teachers like Miss Grey, who’ll pass you just for being a dumb shit with blonde hair, and administrators like Principal Ross, who’ll turn a blind eye to anyone related to the town’s power but go out of his way to find people without that connection to make up for his lax to the other part. If you ask me, it’s pretty easy to find trouble in our town. If anything, it’s harder to find it out here in a big place like this.”

I pursed my lips and remained quiet, pondering what he’d said. It made sense, in all honesty, but one part of it bothered me; “If you hate Menlo so much, then why do you stay?” Oliver Sykes was already eighteen years old; he didn’t have to stay for anyone, not even his mother.

He chuckled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoody. “Now why would I go and do a thing like that?”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him; and for the first time, I felt like he was the one to say something stupid and not me. “Because you always talk about how fascist it is,” I answered, “and it just doesn’t make sense that you would stay when you could very easily leave.”

He continued to smile, his eyes following the cracks in the sidewalk. “If I ran away from everything that was difficult, that wouldn’t make me a very good human being now, would it?”

I pursed my lips. “I don’t understand. What’s so important to you in Menlo?”

He sighed. “Amanda, what d’you wanna do as a career in your life? What d’you wanna be when you grow up?”

“Um,” I hesitated, “I don’t know—but what does that have to do with anything?”

He smiled but kept his eyes away from me. “Do you wanna change things—you know, change some shit you don’t like, maybe make a difference in the world?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it,” I answered honestly. “I guess it’d be nice to change some things...but I also think that most things happen for a reason, so if something is a certain way, maybe it’s meant to be that way—even if that way sucks.”

“Well, okay, that’s fair enough—but then maybe you’re supposed to change it,” he countered. “Remember how you said life isn’t pointless, and we’re all just put here to find our place? Maybe someone’s place here is to change it all.” He stopped walking once we reached a four-storey brick building and peered at me, waiting for some sort of response.

“So...you stay in Menlo because you eventually wanna change it?” I concluded, feeling dumber around him than usual.

He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll explain it to you more one day;” and with nothing else said, he turned to the wooden door of the building and pressed the white bell next to the frame.

Before I could ponder his words much, a blonde-haired man with almost as many tattoos as him opened the door. “Oli!” he wailed, throwing his arms around Oliver. “What took your ass so long?” He spoke loud and slurred his words, and the glassy veneer over his eyes told me he was probably more than just drunk.

Oliver smiled. “Hey, Jona,” he greeted. “This is Amanda;” and directed to me, “Amanda, this is Jona.”

I offered my best smile to the stranger, but it was hard to take him seriously as he fell into any and every sturdy object near him—including Oliver.

“Come in, come in,” he urged, ushering us through the doorway. “Nice to meet a beautiful young lady, but it’s fuckin’ boring down here, so let’s go up to the party.” He laughed wildly and stumbled up a wooden staircase, causing a raucous throughout the entire place.

He led us up four flights of stairs, and the last one brought us to a wooden door that led out to the roof of the building. There were about fifteen people scattered about, a mix of more guys than girls, and only some were clothed. A built-in jacuzzi was at the center of the roughly 200-square-foot area, and only four of the party-goers were in it, most resting with glasses of drinks in one hand and cigarettes in the other. A sweet, smoky smell that I recognized as pot filled the air, and numerous bottles of liquor were scattered about.

Before I could form much of a reaction to the sight, another man wailed Oliver’s name. “Oli!” The new stranger was shorter than the two other men with me and had more childish features than them.

“What the fuck’s up?” he shouted, hugging Oliver just like the first man, Jona, had. He turned to me with a big smile on his face. “She’s pretty!” he exclaimed. “This is your date?”

Oliver laughed and gently nudged him away. “Amanda, this is Lee. Lee, this is Amanda.”

“Pleasure to meet you, love,” the second stranger, Lee, declared with a giggle. “I am Lee Malia.”

“Oh shit!” Jona shouted. “Better watch him, Oli!” The two drunkards laughed hysterically and quickly broke away to join with their other company, playfully cursing and hitting each other as they stumbled off.

Oliver peered at me, a lopsided, seemingly almost embarrassed smile on his face. “Those are two of my closest friends,” he declared softly, clear shame in his tone. “They’re better when they’re not smashed, so try not to judge them too harshly, okay? They mean a lot to me.”

I simpered back to him, and I was about to tell him that it was okay, but before I could, a high-pitched girl’s voice shrieked his name. “Oli!” she squealed.

A busty blonde came skittering to us, her body completely soaked from the jacuzzi water. Her hot pink bikini pulled my eyes to her chest, and when I heard the smile in Oliver’s voice as he said, “Hey, Rayne,” I felt a spark of discontent flare inside me. It took me a moment to realize it, but I actually felt a hint of jealousy towards this girl simply because she was beautiful and Oliver didn’t seem to hate her. It was odd, and it made me uncomfortable in my own skin.

He turned to me. “Amanda, this is Rayne. Rayne, Amanda.”

The girl—whom I immediately didn’t like—sniggered. “Oh, Oli, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. She’s pretty.” She took a drag from what I’d thought was a cigarette—but from the smell of it, knew it wasn’t—and mouthed, Wow, with wide eyes as she exhaled. “Good job!”

I felt my cheeks warm only slightly at the mention of me being his girlfriend, but the fact that she was no longer a threat to my instincts kept me from worrying too much about it. I only smiled at her because the fact that I’d actually felt jealousy in terms of my friendship with Oliver Sykes left me feeling discomfort. I shouldn’t have cared who was greeting him, whether she was pretty or not, and I definitely shouldn’t have cared if she was showing off her perfect hourglass figure.

“Tom!” she suddenly yelled, running away from us.

Oliver turned to me, smirking. “How come she can make inappropriate assumptions without you getting your panties in a bunch, but I can’t?” and there was the blushing heat that should’ve happened before.

“Oliver,” I mumbled, unable to really answer him due to the fact that I didn’t have much of an answer in the first place.

He grinned just as the party’s song changed. Two speakers had been set up on opposite corners of the roof, and when the melody had gone from a hilarious folk song, chanting, “And we’ll hang out with Jimi and his friends—yee-haw!” it only took Oliver a second to wrap his arms loosely around my waist.

He began swaying to the reggae-like beat, and snickered at my stiff frame. “C’mon, loosen up. This is a great song.”

“I have a bag I’m trying not to lose,” I murmured, trying to find any and every reason for him to not do exactly what he was doing.

He pulled the strap of my messenger bag from my shoulders and dropped it to the ground. “C’mon,” he repeated, leading my hands over his shoulders.

“But you see the colors in me like no one else; and behind your dark glasses you’re, you’re something else,” he hummed, grinning at me.

“C’mon, you know the words,” he urged, pulling me closer.

“You want to love me underneath it all.” He pulled me tighter to him so that our bodies touched, and the heat radiating from his thighs, his abdomen, and his collarbones sent shock waves throughout my nerves. “I’m really lucky underneath it all. You’re really lovely.”

I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights because with every look he gave me he laughed a little more. “You need some discipline,” he sang, his face just a few inches from mine, “but lately you’ve been trying real hard and giving me your best; and you give me the most gorgeous sleep that I’ve ever had.”

I glanced up at the nighttime sky and saw the full moon sparkling overhead, casting a light blue hue on his face, and the thought of Aristotle’s lunar hypothesis urged me to let myself loosen up. Anything stupid done, I could—and easily would—chalk it up to lunacy brought on by the Harvest.

I smiled back at Oliver, and began to sway in rhythm with him, humming the words as they went on; “You’re really lovely underneath it all, and you want to love me underneath it all. I’m really lucky underneath it all.”

He laughed, the grin on his lips wider than I’d ever seen, and we went on singing in unison, our bodies closer together than I would’ve ever thought possible. “So many moons that we have seen, stumbling back next to me. I’ve seen right through and underneath, and you make me better. I’ve seen right through and underneath, and you make me better, better, better;” and when I stopped singing, he continued right on with the oncoming rap, with not even a second of hesitation.

“Fo’ real, ’cause underneath it all, you are my real Prince Charming,” he chanted, a Jamaican accent in full gear on his tongue. “Like the heat from the fire, you were always burning; and each time you’re around, my body keeps calling for your touch, your kisses, and your sweet romancing; and there’s an underside to you that this, ’ere woman, yeah, adore. Aside from your temper, everyt’ing is secure. You’re so good for me, baby—of that, I’m-a sure, ’cause over and over again, I want more.”

I couldn’t stop giggling from the thought of Oliver Sykes rapping, and he just went on with the song like he hadn’t just done it. He held me tight to his body, swayed with the beat of the music, and when the last line came, he placed his forehead into the hollow of my neck and whispered against my skin, “Mmm, mmm, mmm—underneath it all,” sending chills all throughout my body.

He ran his hand down to the small of my back before pulling away. He laughed at the sight of my face—which probably looked horrified by the affection, despite that that was the exact opposite of how I’d felt—and for the second time, I realized, I’d been turned on by Oliver Sykes.

“Well,” I choked, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat, taking a step back away from him. “I never knew you could sing.”

He chuckled and grabbed my bag from the cement. “C’mon, Gwen, let’s go get changed and hop in the jacuzzi.”

I followed him down one of the staircases we’d come from and through the doorway of the top floor apartment. The place was small, but it felt homey with the autumn-colored decorations and tightly spaced furniture.

I continued behind Oliver through the small area and walked into a bedroom that looked to be completely untouched. The queen size mattress and ornately designed wooden bed frame made it almost impossible to walk to the other side of the tiny quarters where a pair of sliding glass doors leading out to a patio were stationed, but after a tight squeeze, we were outside on the large wooden platform, standing side by side in front of the banister.

My breath hitched in my throat at the beautiful sight of the fourth floor apartment’s balcony overlooking the city. The multicolored lights, the mixed scents, and the cool air took over my senses, and I was left speechless because of it all. It was breathtaking, even more beautiful than at ground level.

“We’re gonna sleep out here tonight,” he said, smiling at me. “This is where I sleep anytime I spend the night here if it’s nice out. I figured I’d show you this before anything else.”

I peered down to see him gently kick a pale blue air mattress as he turned his back to the city view. “And this is your bed,” he added, smiling.

I swallowed hard, overwhelmed, and followed him back into the bedroom and out to the living room. “What’re you gonna sleep on?” I asked, stopping at the small bathroom’s doorway, where he’d entered.

He handed me my bag. “Nothing, probably. I haven’t decided yet.” He smiled and closed the door before I got to respond.

“You can change in the bedroom,” he called after a moment.

I bit down on my lip and obeyed, quickly changing into my swim suit. My body reflected in the bedroom’s glass doors, and I grew self-conscious at the sight of my barely clothed image. My bikini wasn’t much different from the girl, Rayne’s—except mine was a plain black color; I’d double-knotted the ties on the bottoms; and I had much smaller proportions that didn’t quite threaten so severely to fall out from the protection of the cloth—but seeing my pale skin made me think more about what Oliver’s opinion on my sight would be than anything else. I cringed at the worry—I shouldn’t have cared either way—but I was also beginning to get used to the feelings I could never allow myself to approve of.

A light knock came against the door, followed by Oliver’s voice asking, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” I answered, turning to face the entrance.

Upon seeing my mostly naked body, his jaw dropped, and a small O formed between his lips. I quickly wrapped my arms over my waist and cleared my throat; and for the first time in my entire life, I saw Oliver Sykes blush. It was only a pale pink in his cheeks, but it was definitely a blush—and it definitely made him even more attractive than usual.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, immediately turning to leave the room. He took a step but walked right into the wall with a thud, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. I’d never seen him so disheveled, and I would’ve been lying if I’d said it wasn’t flattering.

“Uh—” he stammered, turning back to me. “I’m sorry.” He dropped his eyes to the wooden floors. “Ready?”

I laughed and nodded, despite that he wasn’t looking. I walked past him and out into the living room. Maybe it wasn’t fair to him because I had no intentions of giving myself up so easily, but as I led the way back up the stairs for our return to the roof, I definitely put some conscious thought into my walk and the sway of my hips.

I opened the door to the outside quarters and headed straight for the jacuzzi. I’d been able to open up more to Oliver because I’d been spending so much time near him, but I still didn’t have enough confidence to show myself off in front of anyone else. I practically jumped into the steaming water, and I was immediately reminded of why I never showed myself off—because it never ended well; and at the exact time that my skin started stinging from the heat of the water, it was the exact time of a pure example of a bad ending.

A light-haired man appearing to be with his girlfriend greeted me once in the jacuzzi. “Well hello,” he chirped, lightly laughing. “Looks like Oli’s girl is in a bit of a rush, aye?”

The man that had spoken had his arm around a dark-haired girl—whom I assumed was his girlfriend—and she smiled to me after his comment. “Forgive him, he has no manners. He’s Vegan, and I’m Erica. You’re Amanda, right?”

I nodded and shook her outstretched hand. “How’d you know that was my name?” Any normal person probably wouldn’t have cared how the girl knew and would’ve just gone on with the conversation, but my brain was too fried—by no reason other than the infamous Oliver Sykes—to be able to process much of anything other than the fact that he was slipping into the water right beside me.

I peered over to Oliver as she answered but only heard part of the explanation—that he’d told her and a few others about me the previous weekend. His torso was only halfway covered by the height of the water being that he was so tall, and the distraction of his colorful, bony chest left me unable to focus on anything except how damn attractive he was. I wanted to believe it was sickening how attracted I was growing to him, but the thought of how wrong it was seemed to be in a faraway place at that moment.


A few hours had passed since Oliver and I first seated ourselves in the jacuzzi with his two friends, Vegan and Erica. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I finally decided my skin was pruned enough to pass for a discolored raisin, and the party had already died down enough—only eight people were left, including Oliver and myself—so that I didn’t feel like a buzzkill by calling it a night. I left Oliver with a brief goodbye, and he told me he’d be going to bed in a little bit. A part of me wanted him to come with me, but I knew that it was just me being irrational. It was just me falling under the spell of a stupid boy.

I laid on the air mattress—which was actually more comfortable than I’d thought it would be—and peered up at the stars. The moon was almost completely below the horizon, and the city finally seemed to be dying down a little. Horns honked less; trains’ bells were more spaced out; and not as many lights remained illuminated in the distance.

I was just starting to doze off when I heard one of the glass doors slide open and shut. I kept my eyes closed and listened to what I knew were Oliver’s bare footsteps tap quietly against the wood of the patio. I cracked one eye open to see his back to me, and I couldn’t help but study his figure with such an unrequited moment available—his bare back, the pale skin of its colorless sight, the contrast of his decorated arms on either side, his skintight, dark jeans. I took a deep breath, feeling the desire to walk over to him and hold him take over, and closed both eyes once more.

I listened to him move around the area, and when the atmosphere fell silent, I peeked an eye open again to see him laying on his back with one arm folded beneath his head and his body just a few inches from the full size air mattress.

“Come here,” I whispered, opening both eyes fully.

He looked over, seeming to be startled that I was still awake.

I patted the empty space next to me and scooted closer to the brick wall of the building to make more room for him. “You don’t have to sleep there.”

He didn’t say anything as he crawled onto the mattress beside me, our bodies just centimeters from contact, but a small smile crept to his lips as he slid into a laying position.

I smiled back to him and closed my eyes, welcoming the warmth from his body that seemed to calm the atmosphere around us.

He startled me when I felt one of his arms slide between my side and the mattress and the other trail over my waist. He pulled me to his body and kissed my forehead, no sound ever escaping his lips, as if the most silent noise would ruin the moment.

Had I not been ready to collapse into a never-ending sea of nirvana, I might’ve gone crazy with the thought that he’d just kissed me and was holding me so close; but the fact was that I was tired, and I really didn’t mind anyway...and if I was being completely honest, I would’ve even admitted to myself that I liked it.

“Sleep well,” he gently whispered, finally breaking the silence, and rested his cheek against the top of my head.

“You, too.” I buried my face into his bare chest, feeling the goosebumps of his cold skin against my forehead. “You should put a shirt on,” I mumbled. The morning air was cool, and I was sure he’d get sick from wearing just jeans. Even despite how good he looked with only one article of clothing on, the weather had no bias for attractive people.

“I think this is a lot better than a shirt,” he murmured back, a light laugh in his tone.

I smiled to myself. “You just wanna get lucky, Oliver.”

“I already am.” He shifted our position so that I was about halfway on top of him, and his one arm slid into my jacket, over my shirt. “How many guys can say they got to spend the night with Amanda Tate?”

“Not many,” I admitted, almost shamefully. “I think my dad is the only one that’s got you beat.”

He chuckled and began stroking my side with his thumb. “Well then I’m a pretty lucky guy right now, if you ask me.”

I moved my cheek so that it rested on his sternum, and I looked up at his face to see his eyes still open and staring up into the early morning sky.

He peered down at me then and smiled. “What?”

I swallowed hard and felt the question arise in my conscious. It was something I’d wanted to ask him a number of times in the past week and a half that school had commenced, but I’d never felt it so close to spilling itself before—and then it suddenly just came; “Why are you only coming onto me now, Oliver?” I adjusted my head again so that he couldn’t see my face blush. “You’ve never shown interest in me before.”

He was silent for a few moments—the first sign of true hesitation I’d ever seen in him before. “If I told you all my secrets,” he began, “then I’d take away the element of my mystery—and that’s the whole reason you’re letting me do all this, after all, isn’t it?” He wasn’t asking me, though; his question was rhetorical because he already knew the answer.

“Well I do find you intriguing,” I answered honestly, “but I’m also extremely skeptical of why you’re suddenly talking to me.”

“Okay, I tell you what then; we started school on the fifth, so how ’bout I answer your question on October fifth? If you stay around ’til then, I’ll tell you why I have a sudden interest in you.” Sarcasm filmed over the word sudden.

I pursed my lips. “Okay,” I agreed, “I guess that’s fair;” but the curiosity would kill me. I already saw it coming.

He kissed the top of my head again. “Good. Now go to sleep, love. We gotta head out around noon so I can get you home early enough.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes with the exhale.

“Sweet dreams, Amanda,” he whispered, giving my body a gentle squeeze.

“Sweet dreams,” I murmured back, smiling; and within just moments, I fell into a sea of oblivion in which Oliver Sykes was the only person in existence—and it truly was a sweet dream.