Uncharted

I ran through the mental list of things I needed to pack. Casual clothes check. Fancy Christmas clothes, check. Toothbrush, check. I continued on down the list, trying my hardest not to forget something because I really didn’t want to leave my room once I got home. I wanted to stay locked in there, away from everyone. Part of me wanted to not even get on the plane in the morning. I was so tempted to lie to my family and tell them there was some sort of screw up with the airline and I couldn’t home for Christmas. I imagine that would have been nice, spending the holiday in peace and quiet.

I ran over my list once again, ignoring my phone that was lighting up, vibrating, and emitting the annoying sound of my ringtone all at the same time. I had been ignoring it all night. Cooper was trying to convince me to come over to decorate the Christmas tree that he and Des had apparently spent hours searching for. I wasn’t in the mood to be around people, especially those two. Even more so, the thought of doing something so cheerful while I felt so miserable seemed even less appealing than human contact.

There was a light tapping on my door, I ignored it while I zipped up my suitcase. I knew it was probably Cooper trying to get me out of holiday depression. He seemed to make it his personal mission ever since the day at the shopping center when he met up with Des and a teary eyed me.

“Ollie?” I was a little shocked when I heard Desmond’s voice since he seemed not to really care about my sudden bad mood.

I didn’t respond, walking out of my bedroom right by the door he was on the opposite side of. I went straight to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I just wanted to sleep until Christmas was over. I was going to settle on sleeping until tomorrow afternoon. Then Cooper would drop me off at the airport and I would spend the duration of my flight wishing I was back in my apartment, pretending Christmas didn’t exist so I would have no reason to fly across the ocean to see my family…most of which I couldn’t stand.

“I know you can hear me.” Des said softly, sounding almost exhausted. “We’re worried about you.” I bit my lip, trying to convince myself that nothing in the world would be worth opening that door. “Can you at least open the door so I know you’re alive? No one has seen you for days.” I didn’t say anything, instead I ignored the small pang of guilt that wrenched in my stomach and poured tea into my favorite mug. “C’mon, Ol. I’m worried about you.” He said softly.

Something about the defeated tone of his voice made me stumbled down the hall and pull the door open. Desmond stood in front of me, looking down at me with tired eyes. I assumed he had worked all day and then Cooper forced him to go tree hunting. “What’s wrong?” he asked, speaking with caution like he was expecting me to punch him in the face.

“Nothing. I don’t want talk about it.” I grumbled, stalking back toward my tea.

I heard the door shut with a soft ‘click’ and then the sounds of his bare feet walking down the hallway. “If you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have to talk about it.” Des said, something about him was different that day. He was acting weird. Usually, he walked around my apartment like he owned it. That night he just stood by the table, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Okay, so we’re not talking about it.” I said finally, walking toward the couch with my cup of tea.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” Des blurted out after he stood in my kitchen awkwardly for a few minutes, all the while I kept watching TV. Honestly, I was so absorbed in a movie that I had forgotten he was there. I jumped a little at the sound of his voice.

“What?” I asked, startled and confused beyond belief.

“Earlier on in the week when we were shopping…I got angry with you and I yelled, I’m sorry.”

“What? Okay.” I said, having absolutely no idea what he was referring to, and then when I finally remembered our argument I brushed it off. I had no idea why he was apologizing for that.

“You’re still upset.” He stated.

“Of course I am!” I yelled, so frustrated that he was still talking when all I wanted was be alone, to savor the solitude before I had to leave.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked quietly. I had no idea where this side of Des was coming from. He looked so…nervous. He cared about my feelings and that alone was enough to freak me out.

“No. You have nothing to do with it!” I yelled.

“I’m sorry I had sex with you, okay?” he yelled back, throwing his hands up in the air. I was so shocked that those words had just left his mouth that I practically sit my tea everywhere. I never expected him to remember that night, I hoped he never would remember that night.

“We are not talking about this!” I said standing up and rushing toward the kitchen, dumping my tea down the sink. I couldn’t imagine drinking that after what he just said.

“Why? Are you embarrassed that we fucked?” Des suddenly changed into the Des I hated most, angry Des. He looked like he wanted to kill me. I kind of wished he had so I wouldn’t have to spend my least favorite holiday with my least favorite people.

“Yes! It’s fucking embarrassing! I was drunk! You were drunk! I’m still not over my ex. Not to mention you hate my guts ninety percent of the time!” I threw an accusing finger in his direction. “Do you think I’m proud of that!”

“Well I’m not very proud of sleeping with the likes of you either!” I’ve never heard so much hatred in his voice before. That alone was enough to my eyes well with tears, not to mention everything else in my life had turned to shit.

“Just leave.” I whimpered, turning away from him. I was biting on my lip so hard that I could taste blood. I was doing everything in my power not to cry in front of him.

“Ollie.” Des said softly, almost in a whisper. One of his large tattooed hands brushed against my arm, I instantly flinched away from him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, really? How exactly did you mean?” I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at someone the way I yelled at Des at that exact moment. I was so angry I could barely see.

“I-“

“Get out!” I screamed, feeling my throat burn from the stress on my vocal chords.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until we fucking talk about this.”

“Desmond, get the fuck out of my apartment or so help me God!” I threatened, still screaming and pointing a finger at the door.

“It’s called a fucking flat.” Des spat before walking away, slamming the door behind him.

And that was all it took to set me off. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, so angry with him that was all I could do not to walk next door and punch him in his perfect face and scratch his pretty eyes out of his flawless head.

Seconds after I was finished screaming my lungs out, I collapsed onto my couch. The pain of what Desmond said had finally set in. The way he said “the likes of you” made me feel like I was a hideous, disease ridden hag. If I said my feelings weren’t hurt more than they’ve ever been if it would have been a complete and utter lie. I wanted to curl up and die. I felt terrible, ugly, filthy, used, and more than anything like the worst human being in the world.

I cried myself to sleep that night thanks to Desmond Gallagher.