The Scars on Your Heart

I laid awake for a while that night, trying to justify why I had kissed Oliver. I could say I was experimenting, but that wasn't enough to settle the fact that it was Oliver. I wasn't going to tell anyone, though, so why did it matter? I kissed Oliver, it was over and done with, and I was never going to do it again. We could put this behind us and just forget about it.

But a part of me didn't want to forget about it. Part of me wanted to kiss him again and call him my Oli, which I really didn't understand. Why was I falling for this guy in such a short period of time? Did he have that affect on every guy he roomed with? Or was I actually gay?

Either way, there was something I owed him.

"Hey, Oliver, you awake?" I asked, my voice quiet seeing as there was no light coming from the crack under the door.

I heard a slight yawn and then what was probably him rubbing his eyes. "Yeah," He responded, sounding really groggy.

"Er," I couldn't think of what to say. "You know how you apologized earlier?"

"Yeah." He repeated.

"Well, you didn't have to." I said, just feeling the awkward in the air. "I mean," I mumbled, putting my palm to my face and dragging it down. "what I mean is that I should be the one apologizing. For everything I've said. I said a lot of mean shit, right? And I said that it was impossible to get along with you. But now, erm, I kinda want to get along with you. You know, be friends." What the fuck was I saying? Was that really how I felt? I was just letting the words flow right out of me and into the cool air (the unit was on, thank god), right into Oliver's ears. And I don't know if he believed me, or if I wanted know that. I just kind of let go. "I understand if you don't want to be friends, because I kinda fucking broke your arm. And said that your brother killed himself because he hated you. And called you the result of a broken condom. And--"

"I get it," I heard him chuckle, and I swear that was music to my ears. What the fuck was wrong with me?!

"I'm sorry, Oli," I said, baffling myself. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," He responded quickly, and I heard him coming down the ladder and saw him kneel by my side. I sat up and looked him in the eye, him looking straight back. Even though it was dark I could see his features perfectly. His high cheekbones, the way his cheeks kind of sunk in due to being so skinny, his chiseled nose and his full lips. "and Josh, I want to be friends, too."

"That's great," I laughed. "really great."

"I know you can't hang out with me except in here, because of Max and them, but I'll respect that. I won't make you hang out with me outwardly." He said, stifling a yawn and blinking rapidly. "I'm tired, so I'm going back to bed. But, thanks, Josh. It means a lot." He gave me a slight smile and stood to return to his bunk.

"Er, goodnight, Oli," I mumbled, letting out a heavy sigh after I said his name. Oli. I guess that'd be my name for him from now on, now that we were "friends."

There was a moment's hesitation, but eventually he spoke. "Goodnight, Josh." I heard him settle in his bed and ruffle the covers a bit.
Within minutes, he was doing this little snore thing that made my heart pound. All of a sudden everything he did was adorable. I couldn't keep lying to myself. I liked Oliver Sykes. And there was no end to the guilt that I felt for everything I'd done to him. He was just a kid with an eating disorder and some pretty bad psychotic symptoms. He was gay, so what. Apparently I was, too. But he was just a person. A really good person.

I wasn't even mad at him for beating me up anymore. Originally I had planned to have Max and Dan beat him up with me after school and therapy hours when we had free time, but now that plan seemed barbaric. "Fuck you, Oli. Fuck you." I whispered, rolling over onto my side after I laid back down. I was at war with myself now because of him. But it was a war worth fighting. I knew I had to change my ways.

----------

The next day passed by rather quickly. I learned that I actually enjoyed my new creative writing class (Oli helped me out with my poem we had to turn in), and we finished the luminol study. They announced a schoolwide school trip to the Camden Markets next Saturday. Therapy went fine. I hung out with Max, Dan, Chris and Matt at meals with no problem, even though I honestly wanted to be with Oli more. Now it was free time at the end of the day. Oli had just finished not eating dinner and returned to our room, where I was at my desk, trying to write a song to turn in to the music class tomorrow.

"Do you need some help?" Oli asked, and I turned to look at him after he shut the door.

"Actually, yeah, that'd be great." I said with a laugh. "Did you finish yours already?"

"Nothing new, I'm just going to turn in one of the songs I haven't turned in already." He said nonchalantly, giving a dismissive wave of his hand as he pulled his desk chair over to my desk.

"You write lyrics? For fun?" I asked, confused. How could anyone do this for fun? This was hard as fuck.

"Yeah. I have two whole books with them. Working on my third." Oli laughed, walking back over to his desk which had his drawstring bag on it. He pulled out three pretty thick journal type books and walked back over to me. "You can look at mine for inspiration." He dropped the books on my desk and I picked up the newest-looking one, flipping to the last used page. "That's just a few lyrics that I want to put in a song, but I can't figure out what to put around them." He explained, blushing.

I read them. Just forget what you've learned, just forget what you've heard. The truth is confirmed, I can't bear the sight of you anymore. You've become what I hate, sold yourself for a bit of fame. Now that the wolves have closed the door, you wanna drag me down some more, fuck you. Fuck you.

"I think I've got an idea." I spoke, reading the lyrics over and over again. I began writing on my own sheet of paper. I hate to break it to you, but you're just a lonely star...

A couple of hours later, I was done and Oli was hanging over my shoulder, grinning and nodding as he read my newly finished song, 'Bite My Tongue'.

"Nice!" He exclaimed, hugging me from behind. The air grew thick with tension for a moment before he muttered a small "sorry" and let go. "Seriously, that's amazing." He leaned around and grinned at me. "You should write more often. Those were some great results."

I smiled back at him and down at my two sheets of paper, covered in rubber marks and strike-outs but ready to be placed neatly on one final copy. Once I finished rewriting it, I wrote on the top: "Bite My Tongue (Feat. Oli Sykes)". I looked up at him and smiled, noticing the happy sparkle in his eyes that I had never seen before. "You gave me credit!" He laughed.

"What did you expect? I'm not that big a dick." I chuckled, stuffing my paper into my folder. "Wait a second, will Mr. Jem accept songs with swearing in them?"

"Oh, yeah," Oli nodded, and I let out a sigh of relief. I was not going to be rewriting this song. "he takes my stuff all the time. Like my song 'Fuck'. It's about fucking." He added in a whisper. How the hell did he know what sex was when he'd been here almost half his life? Then again, he was surrounded by guys of all ages, ranging from 6 to 18. Some guys came in their later years, like I did, so we knew what it was. He had to have been taught somehow.

"Oh," I said in mock surprise, making him laugh.

"I'm not that big an idiot." He said, repeating my words. I laughed. "Well, calling hours are almost over, so I'm going to go call Matt. He's coming to visit me tomorrow, you know. I'll be back in a little bit." He smiled and turned, walking out of the room and down the hallway. Once he was pretty far down, I shut the door. I picked up his first book and read from page to page.

You've got a mouth like a razor blade, it cuts so deep. So kiss my wrists, my neck and give me eternal sleep.
I may look happy, but honestly dear, the only way I'll smile is if you cut me ear to ear.
I've said it once, I've said it twice, I've said it a thousand fucking times, that I'm okay, I'm fine, that it's all just in my mind.
Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, it never ends.
There is a Hell, believe me, I've seen it.
Put a gun to my head and paint the walls with my brain.
I can't fight this anymore, I've given up!

There were lots of mentions of suicide and even more mentions of just death in general. Was that really all he thought about when he wrote? Some of the more recent lyrics had been a bit different, but most of them were still dark. I really had no idea what was going on in his head at all before now. I thought it was all gay shit and imaginary friends. Was this really his illness? What the hell had happened to him to make him think this way?

"I'm back!" Oli said as he walked in the door, and luckily I had enough time to place his third journal back where it had been.

"Hey," I spoke, my voice a little shaky. I looked down at his scarred arms and let out a sigh, standing from my desk and heading over to my bed. Normally at this time of night I'd be in the main lounge watching TV with Max and Dan, while Chris and Matt played table-tennis and all the other guys that lived on this floor did whatever they wanted. But I chose to stay in here with Oli, god knows why. I could be having fun as opposed to wallowing in the wave of depression his writing had sent over me.

"Josh, are you okay?" Oli asked, pulling his chair over in front of the bunks and sitting on it backwards, his chin resting on the back of it.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I spoke, shaking my head and laughing. He eyed me suspiciously then looked over his shoulder.

"No, you're not." He said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just--" His stare was burning through my soul and I couldn't help but give in. "Okay, fine, I read all of your lyrics while you were on the phone. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have but I did."

He blinked and widened his eyes, then smiled and his eyes returned to normal. "They do tend to have that effect on people." He chuckled, and I smiled. "You should've seen Mr. Jem whenever it was my turn to present my stories and lyrics. He eventually let me stop presenting because it would get everyone worked up. 'Not therapeutic,' he said." Oli was laughing really hard now. I shook my head and grinned.

"I have to say, I agree with him." I laughed, and Oli simply smiled.

"What did you think of them, though? Are they good enough?" He asked. Good enough for what?

"Yeah." I responded dully, making his eyes sparkle again. He let out a small "hooray" and returned his chair back to his desk, then taking his books and returning those to his bag.

Oli sat at the desk with his head in his good hand, appearing to be looking at the open music theory book on his desk, but then his shoulders began to shake. There was a small sob and I saw a tear fall from his eyes, and then he simply collapsed on his desk. I stood up immediately and went over to him, kneeling by his chair and placing a hand on his back. I didn't like touching him, I had tried to avoid it, but in this case it was necessary. "What's wrong?" I asked, feeling like we switched roles.

"You're a fucking liar!" He cried, not bothering to look up and continuing to cry. "My lyrics suck, don't deny it. And I'm fat. And I mess everything up. I'm a failure. Why didn't they let me die?" He looked up at the ceiling. "Fuck you mum, dad! Fuck you!" He practically screamed. Then he looked at me, the whites of his eyes a pinkish-red from the salty tears. "You don't want to be friends, do you?" He asked, not giving me a chance to answer. "You just used me for help in creative writing and for your song. You still hate me, and you're going to ditch me as soon as you get the chance!" He stood up and headed over to the window, punching the bullet-proof glass and screaming once more. "I hate you!" He cried, turning sharply and balling his fists. That really hurt me. I wasn't planning on ditching him at all. I wanted to get to know him better, actually. He seemed... nice. Not right now, but still. "I hate you so much! Go tell your friends that, too! I hate them! And tell Lee and the other Matt and Jordan, and tell everybody that I hate them! This is fucking hell..." He added quietly, placing a hand to his forehead and then dropping it down. He stared at his drawstring bag.

"What are you doing, Oli?" I asked as he approached the desk, and I moved to stand in front of him. Something hinted to me that he had something in there he wasn't supposed to have, and that he was going to hurt me with it. He back-handed me with his cast, really hard, and sent me reeling backwards. I heard him dig through the bag and then open the door to the bathroom. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of something small and silver in his hands. Was he really going to do that? In my room? "Oli, you better get out here or I'm going to fucking kill you," I threatened, more concerned for his safety than the cleanliness of the bathroom sink or tub, whatever he used.

"Go the fuck ahead!" He cried, his voice shaking. "Do it! Please! Just kill me!" I didn't respond, too shocked to do so. I preferred not to have staff involved. They could come running if they heard something, which apparently they didn't, but there was no way I was going out there to get them. Eventually his crying got less and less loud and eventually stopped, and I heard Oli hit the floor. By this point I was pounding on the door, tears streaming down my face and hearing myself shout but feeling numb.

"Oli!" I screamed. "Open the goddamn door! Please!" He didn't respond and my first instinct was to kick the door. I did so a few times, and it finally swung open, the area where the lock was splintering. Oli was on the floor, his wrist bleeding profusely and his face turning even more pale than it already was. In the hand with the cast was a box cutter. How the hell did he get that in here? And why the hell was he doing this? It didn't really matter at this point, because there were too many cuts, all too deep. He was still conscious, seeing as his eyes were moving in circles, as if he was watching something on the ceiling go round and round and round. I ran out of the room and down the hallway, banging on the medicine room's window and trying to get someone's attention.

"What is it, Mr. Franceschi?" George asked, looking seriously concerned.

"Oli cut himself and he's bleeding out and someone needs to help him!" I cried, drawing stares from the entrance of the main lounge. Max was one of the pairs of eyes, and he stepped out and walked towards me as George ran from behind the window to our room.

"Oli?" Max asked, cocking an eyebrow. "You gave him a pet name?"

"So what?" I shouted. "Now's really not the time for this, he could die!"

"What do you care? You said it yourself, you hate him." He said to me, igniting a fire inside me and making me grab him by the fabric of his shirt. I turned and slammed him against the wall.

"That doesn't mean I want him to die." I growled. I heard an announcement over the intercom, probably about Oli's predicament. "And I don't hate him. Once you get to know him he's a really nice guy." That sounded weird coming out angrily, but it needed to be said.

"Wow, Josh," Max said, shoving me away from him. "I never thought you'd fall into his trap."

"What trap?" I asked.

"You start to care about him and then he pushes you away and your feelings get hurt. That's what just happened, right? That's what he does to everyone." He explained. "I've heard horror stories. He's got something going on in his head, more than most of us."

I frowned. "And I intend to find out what that is and put it to an end."