Glass Cutter

Once Oliver and his friends’ set finished, I wasn’t sure what to do. Everyone screamed and shouted for more, but he and his friends just piled off the stage, taking their instruments with them. I looked for any familiar faces in the crowd of the audience, but the small area of The Underground Coffeehouse had grown too full to see past the ones immediately around me.

I squeezed through the people, using my elbows to make a gateway, and murmured unheard, hushed apologies as I made my way past. I left the venue to find a group smaller than when I’d arrived standing outside with cigarettes between each of their fingers. Rayne was nowhere to be found, but her boyfriend of sorts, Jason, was, so I walked over to him and cleared my throat to grab his attention.

“Hey,” I greeted softly, trying not to speak so loud as to interrupt the blonde-haired guy talking loudly to the rest of the group. “Where should I meet Oliver now that his performance is over?”

He answered me as he exhaled from his cigarette. “He’d probably appreciate his bedroom,” he said, chuckling; “but for now, just wait for him here. He’ll be out soon.”

I nodded, briefly thinking about Oliver’s bedroom. There was something about him that made me so badly want to be there, laying in his arms on his floor mattress, the plastic gone, the room still empty, music playing...

“So what’d you think of the set?” Jason went on to ask, though not really looking at me.

“I loved it,” I exclaimed, pushing my bangs out of my face. I felt self-conscious because a veneer of sweat had built up over my skin throughout the course of the songs—but to my defense, everyone seemed to be sparkling with moisture.

“I never knew Oliver was so talented,” I added, taking a deep breath to try and convince myself that I shouldn’t have been worrying so much about it.

“Yeah, Oli’s a good one,” he replied. “I gotta bash on him and the guys sometimes for having pussy music compared to what I usually listen to, but there’s definitely no doubt they’re gonna make it someday.”

“Make it?”

“Yeah, like get signed and do tours and shit. Hell, if Tyler Carter’s new band can stay in the scene, everyone and their fucking mom best believe Bring Me The Horizon’s gonna make it big, too.”

I wasn’t sure who Tyler Carter was, but Jason’s declaration left me somewhat uneasy, though I knew it was a mostly irrational fear. I wondered what would happen the day Oliver and his friends got signed to a record label and began touring the country and the world. Since Oliver had befriended me, I’d felt a sense of completion in my life, even despite alienation inevitably caused by Delilah; and if he’d left, I knew I would feel alone again. Even the two times he’d been absent from our chemistry class had caused me the emotion, and Jason’s certainty that Oliver’s band would find fame left me with a bit more apprehension than I would’ve liked.

The blonde-haired boy that had been talking when I’d first joined Jason suddenly interrupted himself by whooping loudly and making a shrill howling sound. “Ladies and gentlemen, Oli Sykes and Lee Malia!” he screamed.

I peered over to the door and saw Oliver walking outside with Matt’s bass drum in his hands and Lee following closely behind him with two cymbals. The grin on Lee’s face was ginormous, but Oliver was only smiling slightly, his lips closed and his cheeks pink. The two walked to a white, windowless van, opened the back sliding door, and began piling their instrument pieces on the bed.

They joined the group after closing the van back up, and Oliver slid closely to my side, pulling a cigarette out from the pack in his pocket.

I grinned at him. “I never knew you were holding out on me,” I greeted.

He simpered back. “I don’t tell anybody in Menlo about Bring Me The Horizon ’cause then I’d just have friends that I don’t want; but I really wanted you to see this side of my life. It’s a big part of who I am, you know? I wanted to make you a part of that.” He spoke hushed so no one else in the group would hear.

His cheeks remained a little reddened, and I wiped away a drop of sweat from the tip of his fringe. “I’m honored, Oliver,” I replied, still smiling.

He grinned. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like it and would just think we had no talent;” and finally, the coloring in his cheeks went away.

“I loved it,” I answered. “Did you see me screaming along with that first song? It was amazing.”

He lit his cigarette and exhaled as he replied; “I saw you jumping a bit, and it made me really happy. I just had to stop looking at you ’cause it was making me nervous.” He laughed lightly through his nose.

I smirked back to him as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

The sound of heels clicked lowly through my ears, and something suddenly flipped in my stomach. I hadn’t seen many other girls at the show wearing heels that made noise—even my own wedges were silent against the asphalt—and so the brief, almost subconscious thought of Delilah Weston entered my brain; but I knew I was just being irrational from the fear that she’d one day catch us in the act.

Almost as soon as the thought had come, it left; but it wasn’t until I heard a gasp and a loud shriek of my name that I knew something was terribly wrong.

Oliver and I had traveled fifteen miles away from Menlo in order for him to show me his surprise, so hearing Delilah Weston’s voice in my ears that far from Menlo when the only place she’d ever travel to outside was eighty-five miles further seemed highly inappropriate—yet I still heard my name so horribly. Oliver’s arm snatched away from me as he turned around to see the culprit.

I was slower to face her, and I could feel the heat in my face burning with a vengeance. “H-hey,” I uttered, “Delilah...What’re you doing here?”

“Amanda,” she began with an obvious tone of disgust, “my boyfriend likes disgusting screaming music—what’s your excuse?” She surprisingly didn’t seem to look mad, but the false sense of friendship in her tone was strong enough for anyone to notice that she’d been seriously angered by the sight of me beside Oliver with his arm around my shoulders.

“I, uh—” I swallowed hard, completely lost for words.

“I just brought her to her first hardcore show,” Oliver interjected. “I happen to like good music, as well.” I was astounded by his collected demeanor because I could feel my own mannerisms unraveling like a ball of yarn as her heels tapped closer.

“Right on!” the boy next to her exclaimed, holding his hand up to Oliver for a high-five. I recognized his face, and from the sight of the two holding hands, I knew he was none other than her newest boyfriend, Alex Ward.

“Oliver Sykes and Amanda Tate as friends,” she ascertained, glancing at Alex. “Who would’ve thought?” Anyone that didn’t know her would’ve known something was wrong by the four of us running into each other; and anyone that did know her knew she was brewing something evil in her head as a response to what she undoubtedly viewed as a betrayal from me.

My entire body cringed with every octave her voice reached. I was ready for an atomic bomb to explode on the entire Underground Coffeehouse vicinity.

“I’m Alex,” her company chimed enthusiastically, holding his hand out to me for a shake, completely oblivious to her wrath. “I’ve heard so much about you.” He grinned as I shook his hand awkwardly.

“Oh,” I answered stiffly. “I’ve heard so much about you, too.”

I glanced at Oliver through the corner of my eye, and even despite how relaxed his speech was, I noticed his back straighter than usual and his one hand, the one closest to me, curled into a fist.

“Well,” Alex began, “you guys wanna go grab a bite to eat or something? I think a double date for dinner sounds nice.” Even Delilah’s face contorted oddly at his suggestion, and I felt my own body want to respond reflexively in the same manner.

“I wanted to go see this band,” he continued on without even noticing the oddities, “but we missed it. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” He added, turning to Delilah, “I think they’re playing again next week, though, babe, so we can go see ’em then.”

“Who?” Oliver asked, seeming to be genuinely curious.

“Bring Me The Horizon,” Alex answered. “Ever heard of ’em? They’re really great. I was looking forward to seeing them tonight, but some kid at the door told me we literally just missed them.”

Oliver nodded and took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m surprised D’s going along with that plan. She hates screaming music.”

“Because it’s so talentless,” she immediately defended, crossing her arms over chest. “There’s just no work to it. I could easily scream like that, too—you don’t see me getting paid a million dollars for it.”

Oliver just exhaled and peered up at the nighttime sky. The stars were almost invisible then, and I silently wondered where they’d all gone. I knew it was just the light pollution from the city, but years of reading poetry left me with the thought that even they were hiding from the oncoming woe of the unexpected Bellingham encounter between Delilah and myself.

“So dinner?” Alex chimed again. “I’m feeling Italian. A chicken parm sounds nice to my belly right now. How ’bout you guys?”

Delilah glared at her boyfriend, and I didn’t understand how he could’ve been so oblivious to the evil emanating from her flawless face.

Oliver cleared his throat, giving the first sign of outward discomfort since the two had arrived. “I don’t know...It’s kind of late.”

“Don’t be a pussy, Oliver,” Delilah instantly countered. “Why not take your new girlfriend out with us? We don’t bite.”

I bit my tongue and watched Oliver’s stature change. The drag he took from his cigarette was longer than usual, and it left me surprised when he didn’t cough from such a deep breath of polluted air. His thick lips flattened into a bitter line, and a spark of anger flared in his dimly lit hazel eyes.

“Alright,” he finally answered, almost growling. “There’s an Italian place right down the street. We can walk;” and on one heel, he turned, leading the way without even waiting a second for the rest of us to follow.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed happily. “My stomach is gonna be so thrilled to have some Italian fat inside it. My bathroom’s not gonna be too happy later, but all that’s well doesn’t always end too well, right?” He snickered at his own statement.

Delilah scoffed. “That’s disgusting, Alex.”

He shrugged, taking her hand, and grinned. “But that’s why you like me so much—’cause I never hesitate to let you know what’s going on with me, even if it disgusts you.”

I simpered because I actually liked Alex, which was surprising. I’d kind of figured that since Delilah liked him so much, I wouldn’t have been such a fan; but it was pleasant to meet such a free spirit. He almost reminded me of Oliver, and I liked that a lot.

“So Delilah tells me you’re undecided about what you wanna do after high school, Amanda,” Alex declared, breaking the deadly silence that was bound to take place.

“Yeah,” I murmured, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

A bit of resentment stung the back of my throat at that moment for a number of reasons. The main one was because I’d wanted Oliver to take my hand, but I knew he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—and the second one was because my educational business shouldn’t have been of Delilah’s concern to share.

“Well what kind of things do you like?” he went on to ask.

I shrugged. “I like art, but art’s not gonna pay my bills in the future, you know?”

“Well you don’t know that,” he argued. “It actually could—but I mean, it also couldn’t. I would pursue it if I were you, though, ’cause you never know. You think you’re any good at it?”

“She’s amazing at it,” Oliver immediately answered, interrupting my own breath to do so.

Alex grinned. “Well then go for it, dude. It took me a while to decide I wanted to major in business—but I really like money, so that was kind of the deciding factor for me.” He chuckled. “I mean, I like music, but I’m not any good at it. I’m motivated with business, though, so I think it’s gonna work out.”

“I just think it’d be stupid for her to pursue something so hair-brained,” Delilah replied for me. “She’s such a book worm. She’d be better off doing something with that kind of knowledge.”

“Don’t put her down just because she’s actually got a brain inside her skull,” Oliver interrupted, peering at Delilah with an unreadable expression on his face. “Yes, she’s intelligent—but she should do what she wants with her time.”

“I have to say, I second Oliver on that one,” Alex chimed. “If money’s not her main concern, then fuck it. Is money your main concern, Amanda?”

I shook my head silently, feeling uncomfortable that the conversation between all four of us had topically focused on me. For once, I would’ve liked it to have been on Delilah.

“Okay, well if money isn’t your main concern, Amanda, then what do you plan on doing with the rest of your life?” Delilah countered. “You can’t expect to work at a diner and Nanny Brook’s for the rest of your life. It’s pathetic, honestly.”

I didn’t even care that she’d insulted me because I was just too nervous about the projection of how I knew the night was going to inevitably pan out.

I swallowed hard and shrugged. “What does it matter?” I asked quietly. “Alex was just making conversation. It didn’t need to be a big deal.” I kept my voice quiet because I didn’t usually argue with Delilah, but the discomfort I felt from their choice of conversation had left me on edge and uneasy. I disliked it too much to even pretend I didn’t.

“So how ’bout a new topic, then?” Alex suggested, still lighthearted.

“We’re here,” Oliver stated bluntly, stopping in front of a small restaurant with a large window set into a red brick front.

“And I am so ready for this deliciousness to become one with my intestines,” Alex declared, grinning and opening the door for all of us to shuffle through. I couldn’t help but notice that Delilah didn’t even thank him for it, despite having heard Oliver and me do it first.

The hostess in the small, cramped restaurant seated us promptly. I immediately caught onto her flirtatious demeanor towards Oliver. Alex was an attractive boy, but Oliver was eye-catching with the myriad colors painted into his skin. Alex’s appearance could be found in many guys, whereas Oliver’s dynamics were much more unique. I knew Oliver was more than easy on the eyes, but the fact that the brown-haired girl didn’t even bother trying to hide her attraction was disconcerting—even amidst the entirely already awkward setting.

After sitting down at the table, Alex and Delilah next to each other and across from Oliver and me, the two started discussing back and forth between themselves what they were going to order. Alex was set on chicken Parmesan, but Delilah was torn between two different kinds of salads. He kept telling her to go all out and order something with a lot of fat and grease, but I knew it was beyond her to commit such a sin of gluttony. It was nice to see him urging her ego, though, because it wasn’t to stay on her good side; it was because he genuinely wanted her to love her own skin no matter what it looked like.

“I’m gonna go out for a cigarette,” Oliver mumbled to me as they continued on with their disagreement. “Come with me.”

I nodded, putting my menu down. I normally adored time alone with him, but something made me more uneasy to leave Delilah’s company than actually being in her company did.

He and I stood up simultaneously, and Delilah immediately peered up from her menu. “You two can’t even wait until you’re home?”

“Excuse me?” Oliver retorted.

“Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “Why else do two people leave a restaurant at the same time other than to fuck?”

Oliver rolled his eyes and turned away, heading for the door.

“It’s not like that,” I murmured to her, dropping my eyes to the table. “He and I are just friends.” It formed a tight knot in my stomach to tell her such a lie because Oliver had grown to mean so much more than that to me, but I wasn’t ready for her wrath yet. Oliver could mean all he wanted to, but it didn’t mean that Delilah had to yet know.

I hurried outside after Oliver and found him pacing back and forth along the sidewalk, his cigarette already a third of the way finished from his deep drags.

“Why do you let her do that?” he immediately demanded, his voice low with anger.

“Do what?” I asked dumbly, almost positive of what “that” was.

“You let her walk all over you like you’re a fucking doormat,” he snapped, his fist suddenly punching the brick front of the restaurant. “It’s so fucking infuriating because you won’t even tell her what the fuck I am to you, so I can’t even defend you from it—’cause you’re sure as hell not gonna defend yourself.” Fury was set deep in his voice. “I can’t even believe we fucking ran into her here. I’m so fucking pissed that I’m not even fucking hungry.” He slammed his fist into the brick once again, and drops of blood began to run from the scrapes on his knuckles.

I was too stunned by his temper to even be able to respond. I’d never seen him so angry before, especially not when it was being directed towards me. I wanted to tend to his wounds and console his growing wrath, but I didn’t even know if I should’ve been offended or flattered by the fact that he’d gotten so upset over my passivity.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly, his head dropping in defeat. He walked over to me and wrapped his one arm around my waist, burying his head into the hollow of my neck.

My arms hung limply at my sides because the surprise of his tantrum had left me unable to respond for the reason of confusion as to how I should’ve. He took a deep breath and pulled away from me.

“This night didn’t go at all how I’d wanted it to,” he mumbled. “I just can’t believe we ran into Delilah here.” He shook his head.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, trying to find words in my head to voice. I only came up blank.

“I’m sorry,” I finally whispered.

He pursed his lips for a moment and followed it with a frown. “You shouldn’t be. You just do whatever you think will make everyone happy.”

Oliver promptly finished his cigarette after I said nothing to his comment, and the rest of the night with Delilah and her date didn’t go on too much differently than it had begun. Alex and Oliver dominated most of the conversation, and she’d occasionally chime in if she wanted to call me out for something; but it really wasn’t until Oliver had questioned me so harshly that I’d noticed just how often she called negative attention to me.

At one point over the course of our meals, I tried to keep track of how many times she’d do it, but I lost count after a conversation concerning her Halloween party came up.

Every Halloween since she and I had been in high school, a boy in our grade, named Roy Radke, would host a party for every few holidays and special occasions. It was always for at least Halloween, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, and the end of every school year. It was always a big deal to everyone in our school because upperclassmen would be present, but now that we were going to be the oldest there, Delilah had joined forces with him to also invite Alex’s college friends.

She promised that this year’s party would be epic since Roy had finally given her a piece of the planning, and an odd feeling rose in my gut because once more attention had been mine, once more courtesy of Delilah. She started the focus with a question of what I would wear and followed it with a criticism of me needing to show more skin in order to qualify as any kind of “sexy.” It wasn’t so much the found fault that had thrown my count off, though—because whether Oliver liked it or not, it was something I’d grown used to—but it was the desire to qualify as sexy because I knew Oliver would be there.

He’d never been known to miss a Menlo party, and Delilah’s conscientiousness caused a sick idea to plot in my head. I found myself wanting to dress in the skimpy clothes she’d don everyday because I wanted Oliver to want me so desperately that he couldn’t even hold it back anymore. I felt myself in that moment in that small Italian restaurant thinking the way I’d always imagined and chastised her for, and it made me feel like I didn’t even know myself anymore. Who was I, and what was making me change? Who was making me change?


Two full months of the school year had gone by when it came time for Delilah and Roy Radke’s Halloween party to take place, and I found myself gently trembling the night of as I dressed. Oliver was already ready and waiting in my bedroom, and I wondered what he might’ve been thinking as he sat alone on my bed. I’d told him I decided on being a cute librarian for the party, but I’d failed to mention just how much more skin than usual I’d be showing. My palms even grew moist as I stared at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

I didn’t feel comfortable in my choice, but I also knew that as I pondered many ways of backing out of it all, there was no way I actually could. Delilah had never mentioned our encounter in Bellingham once we all returned to Menlo, and I didn’t care to do so, either; but something in the pit of my gut told me all the questions that had to have risen from the time would be demanded that night. A conditioned expectation even told me I’d be questioned on my choice of a “costume.”

One more look in the mirror and a deep breath allowed me to put my hand on the doorknob. I was out of my element, and I felt it entirely. Red lipstick, black-rimmed Ray Bans, a lowly buttoned white blouse, a short, black high-waisted pencil skirt, and a pair of black ballet flats left me feeling uneasy with being out of my shell. I wondered what Oliver would think, though, because while I felt uncomfortable, I also felt like I looked good.

I walked into my room to see him laying on his stomach, his face in my pillow and arms at his sides. I cleared my throat and lightly knocked on the doorframe. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He turned his head to look at me. I didn’t think the expression on his face then could’ve ever been replicated, his eyes wide and lips pouting. “Wow,” he breathed, almost sighing. He quickly sat up, straightened out his own outfit, and stood from the bed. “I didn’t think you’d be so...hot in your costume...Damn.” His eyes dropped to the wooden floor.

I felt my cheeks warm and walked over to him to loosen his maroon-colored tie a little more. His costume was supposed to be that of a bad husband, with a pair of black dress pants snugly hugging his legs and a wrinkled, white button-up, the sleeves cuffed just under his elbows, to portray the disguise. “I gotta give you a couple kisses to complete your costume,” I said, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I felt attractive to Oliver then, like the forces pulling him to me were a real, physical electrical current buzzing throughout my skin.

He held my hands just as I went to pull my touch back to myself, and he peered into my eyes. “If I get hard, it’s not my fault.”

I smirked and kissed his cheek and neck, leaving red stains on his skin and red heat in my cheeks. “It’s okay,” I replied. Whatever it was about Oliver in a messy, haphazard suit, I liked it. Weeks of getting closer to him had only made me more and more attracted to him and hormonally driven.

He cleared his throat. “You better not leave me tonight,” he declared. “Every guy in Menlo already wanted to fuck you, and I can only imagine what they’re gonna be thinking now.”

I smiled and ran my hands over his chest. “You’re crazy.”

He grinned back to me and kissed my forehead. “C’mon, love.”

I drove to Delilah’s so Oliver could enjoy himself with a few drinks, and the anxiety only grew in me as we neared her oversized, overbearing three-storey house. After running into her in Bellingham, she’d figured out Oliver and I were friends, but she’d remained oblivious—or at least led me to believe she was oblivious—to any other sort of affection he and I shared. I also knew that Oliver drinking meant he was going to get more affectionate, and this knowledge only left me more anxious because with it I also knew I wasn’t the best at resisting.

The music was loud before we even entered into her house, and some fast-paced electronic sounds poured onto her front lawn, along with some familiar faces from school decorated with intoxication. I was only half surprised to notice the smell of pot thickening the air.

Oliver and I made our way up to the long staircase of her front porch, where Tommy Dennings stumbled out from the front door, liquor spilling all over his hand from a red cup.

“Whoa!” he declared, gaining his composure but his eyes still sort of straying in different directions. “Damn, girl,” he went on, grinning stupidly. “I never even knew you had tits.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, politely walking past him. I blushed and glanced at Oliver, who looked entirely pissed off. Still, he followed closely behind me.

The presence of him near slowly distanced as the presence of everyone else’s booze, weed, and sweat grew closer. More than a hundred people must’ve been squeezed into the Weston’s living room foyer.

I immediately spotted Delilah dancing with Alex near the DJ’s table. Her hips swayed in tiny black shorts, and her chest bounced in a leopard print corset. I pursed my lips and glanced at Oliver. I hadn’t expected to go beyond Delilah’s willingness to show herself off, but I also hadn’t expected she’d go so far, either. I wondered what Oliver thought, and the knot in my stomach only tightened as we shortened the distance to the refreshments table—which was also near her and the DJ’s table.

Oliver quickly grabbed a red cup and poured some spiked fruit punch into it. The alcohol mixed within the juice was so potent that it almost gave me a headache just from the mix having been disturbed a few feet away from my nose.

“Ah!” I heard Delilah scream. I turned around to see her run to me, her thin leg muscle’s pulling and loosening in her too high black stilettos. “Amanda, you made it!” she shouted over the music.

She pulled me into a hug. “Oliver,” she declared sternly, nodding her head. “Did you guys come here together?” she asked, suddenly losing her excitement.

I glanced at Oliver, and he didn’t answer. His eyes just stayed on Alex’s striped Beetlejuice-esque suit; and even despite his efforts of keeping his gaze away from Delilah, I felt that old spark of jealousy ignite within me because whether anyone liked it not, she looked sexy enough to make anyone aroused—and I certainly didn’t want Oliver feeling that way.

“Nice costume, bro!” Alex shouted over the music, quickly changing the topic and sparing one of us the response. “You a naughty boy or something?”

“Bad husband,” Oliver answered dryly, putting his one hand into the pocket of his pants.

Alex nodded and high-fived him, grinning. “Nice.”

A moment of silence followed suit, and I’d never understood what cutting the tension with a knife felt like until that moment right then.

“So," Alex went on, obviously trying to ease the atmosphere with desperation, “I’m feeling a cigarette.” He pulled a black and blue pack of cigarettes out from his pants pocket. “You wanna come?” he asked, directed towards Oliver.

Oliver nodded. “You coming?” He turned to me.

I nodded back to him, and Delilah scoffed loudly over the singer’s high pitched voice. “I’m going to the bathroom, assholes. Enjoy your nicotine!” and she walked a crooked line to her staircase, in the direction of the second floor bathroom.

From the short few minutes spent inside her home, the fresh air from her yard was relieving. I didn’t think I’d be able to spend a long time at the party because a headache was already creeping into my skull from the drinks, drugs, and music.

“I forgot my cigarettes in the car,” Oliver softly informed us once outside. He held his hand out for my keys. “I’ll be right back.”

I nodded and handed my purple carabiner to him, an awkward mood eminent between us; and the possible reasons as for why made me feel self-conscious and even more impatient to get home than I’d started the night off with.

Alex had a large grin on his face as he sipped from a glass Heineken bottle. “What a night,” he commented.

I pursed my lips and nodded. “It’s only just begun.” I said it more cynically to myself, but Alex was a little more perceptive than I’d given him credit for—not to mention, his hearing was a lot better than Delilah’s.

“Delilah had feelings for Oliver at one point, didn’t she?” he asked, still smiling and gazing up at the oak wood ceiling of the porch.

I swallowed hard and looked away toward her front lawn, where numerous people danced about, seeming to be on more substances than just alcohol or pot. “That’s not my place to tell you,” I murmured, breathing in the smoke of his exhale.

He chuckled and shrugged. “I’m not stupid, Amanda. I mean, I’m asking ’cause I’m not trying to be a dick about it, but I know the answer. She liked him, and she still does.”

I shook my head at that. “She doesn’t like him anymore.”

He took another sip from his beer. “That’s what I like about you, you know that? You’re a good person, and you wanna see everyone else as just the same. It’s a refreshing outlook, you know?”

I folded my arms across my chest and continued looking away from him, searching for Oliver in the distance.

“I think you and Delilah make such good friends because of it,” he went on. “She needs to hang around more people like you.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, pursing my lips. Despite how the conversation made me uncomfortable, I did appreciate his flattery.

He snickered. “I’m sorry, hun. I am a little a drunk, and I really like you, so I’m sort of refraining from censoring myself.” He held his beer out to me. “Care to join the wagon?”

I shook my head. “I have to drive, but thank you.” I watched him sip the bottle again, and I added, “But I like you, too, Alex...I think you’re a good balance for her.”

He grinned again. “I really like her, you know? And it’s not even that she’s super hot—she’s a totally different person with me than she is with everyone else. I know she still likes Oliver, but I also know she has feelings for me, too. I think she’s just a little confused in life right now. We all go through it, though; I can’t say I wasn’t there once.”

I nodded, sincerely appreciating his optimism.

“She does like Oliver, though,” he conceded. “We were kind of messed up on some molly later that night we saw you guys in Bellingham, and she sort of said it in a really long monologue.”

I looked away from him once more and saw Oliver heading back to us with his cigarettes in hand. I felt even worse from Alex’s information, and I quickly foresaw the night going into a terrible direction. I was almost positive at that point that there was no hope of enjoying myself left.

Oliver lit his own cigarette and chugged the rest of his mixed drink. “What’d I miss?” he asked, slipping his pack of Newports into the pocket of his pants as he reached us at the top of the staircase.

“Just some special time with your girl,” Alex answered, smiling. “She’s a keeper, bro.”

Oliver simpered and peered down at the wooden planks beneath our feet. “I know,” he replied lightly; and the sincerity in his voice actually soothed my distress away.


Time went on throughout the night, and after a few hours, I began to find myself worrying about Oliver. He and I had spent most of the time together, but every once in a while, he’d say he was going to the bathroom, and he would come back with a red nose and pupils almost nonexistent. He’d also been downing drinks like they were going out of style; and the more the hours went on, the more trashed he became.

A dance song with heavy bass was playing as we swayed together, Delilah nowhere in sight. His hips slid against mine. The heat seeping through his pores was like a radiator, even almost too much for the sweat-filled living room foyer of the Weston household.

“Oliver,” I said, placing my hands on his hips and gently pushing him away. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, grinning and laughing. “Yeah, love, I’m great. I got the world’s best hard-on from the world’s best girl.”

I felt myself blush. While the compliment was nice, I knew he was only saying such things because he was drunk. “You should slow down,” I murmured in response over the music.

He took a hold of my hips, more towards my backside, and pulled me closer to him. “This is the point of a party, love. I gotta get as fucked up as possible if I’m gonna not beat the shit out of your best friend.

“She’s such a piece of shit, you know that? I’m sorry, but I can’t fucking stand her...” He began rambling about how much he hated Delilah’s guts, and the disgust in his voice made me almost uncomfortable.

“You should slow down,” I repeated, interrupting him. I knew he disliked Delilah—and after much time spent with him, I didn’t like her much more—but I wasn’t used to hearing it voiced so loudly, nor was I really ready to.

“Amanda’s worried about me, aye?” he said, chuckling. He brought his face close to mine, and the stench of alcohol on his tongue filled my nostrils. “You shouldn’t be,” he whispered, suddenly pulling away.

I pursed my lips and stopped moving to the music. “Well, I am,” I declared sternly. “What have you been doing in the bathroom? You’ve been peeing more than an eighty-year-old man with a swollen prostate.”

He giggled and sipped from his bottle of Heineken. “Oh, so you’ve noticed?”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Yes, I noticed, Oliver. I’m not fucking stupid. What have you been doing?”

He shrugged and made a wave-like motion with his arms. “Why does it matter? I’m just having a good time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not;” and with that, I walked toward the front door, leaving his company. I saw the whole night crumbling before me, and disappointment swelled in my gut. I’d been around a drunk Oliver before, but this intoxication was different, and I didn’t like it.

“Amanda,” he called over the loud music as I walked through the open doorway and onto the front porch.

I wasn’t going to leave the party without him, but I knew he wasn’t going to leave unless he thought I would.

“Amanda!” he repeated again, louder this time as he grabbed my shoulder.

“Amanda,” he said a third time, out of breath. “What’re you doing?”

I stepped away from him. “I wanna go, Oliver. I’m not having fun anymore, and I just wanna leave.”

I saw Delilah stumbling out from the front door with Alex shuffling behind her, seeming to be considerably sober. “Babe,” I heard him call for her, “babe, come back inside.”

“Oliver Sykes!” she shouted, and the flash of anger across his face was almost frightening.

“Fuck you!” he suddenly screamed, turning to face her. “Fuck you, you goddamn fucking cunt! You are a piece of shit, and I swear to God, if you don’t get out of my fucking face, I will slit your goddamn throat!”

Alex took a hold of her arm then, trying to pull her away from him. “This isn’t the time, D. Come on,” he said, tugging at her.

She yanked her arm away from him and charged to Oliver. “You’re a fucking prick!” she screamed. “You’re a fucking piece of shit! You think just because your dad left you and your mom’s burning in hell that you can be a shithead to everyone, and that’s not how it fucking works in this world, Oliver! Fuck you!”

With the blink of an eye, Delilah suddenly had a wad of spit on her face and a red mark on her cheek. “Fuck you, cunt,” Oliver growled, and with that, he was walking past me, throwing his glass onto the lawn, and heading toward my car.

I stood there awkwardly, watching the girl I called my best friend remain stunned at Oliver’s action. At that point, no matter how upset I’d been with him, I couldn’t even try to blame him for spitting on her and slapping a girl. What she’d said was the lowest remark I’d ever heard from any human being, and I probably would’ve done the same thing.

I stepped away from her as Alex wiped the spit off her face with his sleeve and walked after Oliver. By the time I reached him, he was leaning against my car, rubbing his face with his tattooed fingers.

I stopped a few feet away from him in the middle of the street. “Are you alright?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Can you take me home, please—now?”

I nodded.

The car ride back to his house was silent. Music didn’t even fill the discomfort. I wondered what he was thinking as we sat there, but I didn’t want to ask. I wanted to apologize for snapping at him, but I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to set him off and upset him even more, and I just didn’t know how to react to his mood.

I pulled into his driveway, parking beside his pickup truck, and glanced at him as he peered into the distance of his barren backyard.

“Will you spend the night with me?” he asked softly, not even looking at me.

I nodded again to him and turned off my car, stepping out into the cool October air. We headed into his house silently, and neither of us spoke as he handed me a pair of sweatpants and a tank top to sleep in.

We both crawled into his bed, still no words being uttered, and we laid there beside each other with no contact, both just staring up at the ceiling. To call it awkward wouldn’t have been accurate, and to describe it as unsettling wasn’t sufficient. It was just unwanted.

“I was sniffing dope,” he whispered.

I was quiet for a long while before finally mustering up a response. “Like heroin?” It was probably the dumbest reply I could’ve given him, but the unexpected reality of his confession had taken me off guard.

“Yeah.”

I didn’t say anything, and so he went on; “I don’t do it a lot...I just do it when I know I’m gonna have a lot of anxiety.

“The first time I went to the bathroom tonight, I hadn’t planned on it, but Delilah started following me and telling me we could go have fun in the room and how you and Alex would never have to know; so then I did it because I wanted to hit her right there. I wanted to fucking kill her for betraying you like that.”

The sincerity in his voice, the truth in his story, left me with a bitterness inside me that I’d never felt before. I felt an odd emotion that I’d never experienced; it was the desire for revenge, the desire to actually spite someone.

I pulled his arm around me so that I could cuddle into his embrace, but I still said nothing. I didn’t know what to say, really.

“Say something,” he whispered.

I shifted uncomfortably beside him and cleared my throat. “I appreciate you telling me.”

“Of course I’d tell you,” he immediately replied. “I don’t have it in me to lie to you.”

I kissed his bare chest and closed my eyes. “Let’s just forget tonight, okay?” I would never forget it, though. I already knew Delilah had once tried sabotaging Oliver’s relationship with me, but that was before I knew him. What she’d done that night was different.

“I wanna tell you something, though, that I don’t want you to forget.” He laughed a little and kissed the top of my head. “’Cause I know I’m not gonna say it another time.”

“What is it?” I asked softly.

He kissed my forehead, letting his lips linger for a short while, and began stroking my arm. “I love you, Amanda—like a lot...like the kind of love that makes me wanna wife you up.”

I froze at the end of his statement, my breathing hitching in my throat.

“And you don’t have to love me, too,” he went on, not even sounding panicked; “but I just want you to know that I love you more than anything could ever love another thing in this world.”

The conscious idea of loving Oliver Sykes had never crossed my mind until then, but as his words began to sink in, the subconscious feelings came ahead. I got upset with him for getting so intoxicated because I wanted him to be happy sober. I wanted the utmost contentment for him in his life because I did love him. I’d just never known I could. Even more so, though, I’d just never known I would.

“Oliver?” I murmured after a long while of silence.

“Hm?”

I peered up at his face to see his eyes were closed and a small smile upon his lips. “I love you, too.”