Yelling Through

A knock on my door pulled me away from the word document sitting in blank in front of me. I sighed, mentally cursing the flashing cursor, before getting up to answer the door.

It wasn't a knock I knew, so I picked up my dry erase board that I kept on the little table that also held my keys and purse. I peeked through the little hole, and was surprised to see Oliver there. I didn't even know how he got a hold of my address.

"Hello..?" I glanced at him curiously as I pulled the door open.

"Hello, Jaxx."

He acted as if he randomly showed up outside of my door all of the time.

I gestured for him to come in.

"Not oppossed to your being here, but why are you here?" I asked.

"What? A man can't come and visit his friend?"

Drinks (mine being water) with Oli and the boys were fun. I was included a lot up until they were too shit faced to read my board, which honestly didn't take long. Oli surprisingly stayed sober, which I was assuming was for my benefit.

I wasn't sure if we were friends, but apparently we were. I didn't have many friends. There were two. There was Letty, who was out of her mind. (I mean that in the best way possible.) Then there was Vincent.

He got along with me perfectly. My muteness was a non issue, being as even if I did talk he wouldn't be able to hear me. Vince could hear up until a stint in Afghanistan left him deaf. He could read lips like no one else, and unless you said something while he wasn't looking at you, you would have no clue that he was deaf. Our love of coffee and mutual usage of sign language led to us being fast friends.

I thought it over and smiled. I liked the idea of being friends with Oli. He seemed nice enough, and actually took my thoughts and feelings into consideration, when addressing me. Then again I was jumping the gun. Defending me once, and hanging with me once, didn't mean he still couldn't be an insensitive prick.

"What is going on inside that head of yours?"

"Huh?"

His eyes widened, and my hand instantly shot to my mouth. I couldn't believe that had happened. I slipped. I hadn't slipped in years.

"You spoke," he said, still sounding shocked.

I grabbed my board and started scribbling.

"No need, to get upset, Love. I'm just sorta shocked."

I erased my board, writing a big fat "Me too," on it.

I ran my hand through my hair nervously, and started pacing. I slipped.

"Alright, c'mere. Do you want to wear a hole in the floor?" He stood in front of me, and put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to stop. "Now look at me."

I looked up, from where my stare was burning a hole in the floor.

"Love, listen. I'm not quite sure what's upsetting you, just that you made a noise. I'm not expecting you to start speaking to me. Only if you want. And I'm not judging you. The way you sound wouldn't make me stop hanging wit you. Lastly, there was no one else here. Just you and me. It'll be our little secret."

He gave me a small smile, which seemed honest. It was void of the cockiness, that usually presented itself in his smirks.

I nodded, feeling like a small child. I felt tiny and vulnerable.

"Good, so how about we go get some coffee?" he offered.

I smiled and nodded. I might have had a bit of a coffee addiction.

"Well I doubt you want to go in your pajamas, so go get dressed."

I walked into my bed room and changed. I threw my hair into a pony tail and walked back out into the living room. I dumped the contents of my purse into my messenger bag along with my dry erase board and marker, before walking to the couch and tapping Oli on the shoulder.

"Ready?"

I nodded.

"Then let's go."

I locked up and followed him down to his car.

"Any particular place you want to go?" he asked.

I shook my head no.

The ride was quiet. Most quiet wasn't awkward for me, but it was too others. Oli showed no signs of being one of those people. We went to a cafe.

"You ever been here?" Oli asked, as we walked up.

I shook my head. I hated doing that. Yes or no questions annoyed me, because it made me feel obnoxiously repetitive. However it was kind of silly just to write different ways of saying the same thing when one motion would work.

"Neither 'ave I."

You could't tell from looking at it, but the back of the place was a book store. Only when you went in did you see the shelves upon shelves the lined the back of the building.

There weren't many people in the front only two sitting at one of the tables, their drinks between them.

We looked over the menu.

"What do you want love?" Oli asked.

After deciding I wrote it down on my board and showed it to him. I didn't mind people ordering for me. I could've easily had shown the barista the board, but it tended to be less awkward, when someone simply did it for me.

I kept glancing back at the store. I didn't become a writer because I felt I had to get my ideas down on paper. I became a writer because I loved to read. The things I wrote were things I would've much rather read, but I didn't trust anyone else to do it, because it was my idea.

"You want to go back?" Oli asked. "I'll bring your drink, when it's done."

I smiled and nodded, before heading back to the store. The first thing you saw was the register which took up the end of the cafe's counter. Then you saw the big display, which currently held my book, movie and original covers both standing proudly.

"Don't tell me you're one of those girls too," a guy groaned from where he was stocking the shelves. "Mermaid nonsense. It's just a shitty love story. Almost as bad as Twilight. That's the only reason it's selling. They made a movie and put some attractive guys in it."

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.

"Ah look at the little girl all offended," he mocked.

"Oi, what's going on?" Oli asked walking back.

I shook my head. I didn't need to constantly be rescued.

"Your girl needs better taste in books."

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my board. "You don't have to like it, but for some people it's their escape. Maybe rather than trash it and more importantly the people, who read it, you should shut the fuck up and sell the damn things. Since I mean after all, it's your fucking job."

Oli had read as I wrote and narrowed his eyes at the guy.

"Mate, there's no need to be rude to her, cause you don't like it."

I held up my board.

"What cat got your tongue?" the guy mocked.

Oli went to say something, but I waved him off. Instead I picked up one of the books and opened to the back cover. The paper wrap in the back showed my face and a tiny little bio. I held it up. The guy looked between the picture and me.

"You wrote this garbage?"

"I wrote it, and I'm gonna take it all the way to the bank, while your stuck here."

I showed him my board before turning and leaving. I walked out to Oli's car.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brown eyes filled with concern.

I nodded. I waved his concern off. I had a lot of fucking haters. They didn't take the time to read it. There were somethings I couldn't control. The romance in the book was a subplot, something minor, but of course the movie pricks wanted to make it the main focus. I'd been working to shift the focus away from it, but I'd managed a compromise. Sure they were still going to focus on the romance, but it was going to be much darker.

"People give me shit all the time. Talking about it being as stupid as fucking Twilight and stuff. Of course the movie is, that's what sells. The book is different."

He nodded, acting as if he understood. I knew he didn't read it.

"He was still a wanker," Oli decided.

I smirked.

"So what do you want to do now?" he inquired.

I thought about it, before deciding that a random trip to Barnes and Nobel was in order.

The store of course was massive being as it was in LA. We went in and I was assault with new book smell. I inhaled deeply, before grabbing Oli's hand and dragging him with me to the biographies.

"Biographies?" he asked.

I nodded excitedly.

"I figured you'd be in the fiction."

I rolled my eyes, before running them over the shelves. Oli ended up holding everything I picked out, until his hands got so full he had to run them to the check out for them to hold. Though they weren't all biographies, most were.

"That'll be $561.80," the cashier told me, when I checked out. I pulled out my credit card and paid smiling happily as I took my bags. Oli had bought something and checked out before me. He looked at my haul, then held up his one bag on his finger.

I shrugged I hadn't gone book shopping since I'd gotten to LA, a few months prior. We loaded up my stuff into the back seat of his car. I flipped through a few of my purchases, inhaling the new book smell. I wasn't really paying attention to where Oli was going, so I was somewhat surprised when he pulled up in front of a restaurant.

I peered at him curiously. "One of my favorite places to go in LA."

I nodded and followed him inside. We sat at a table and it turned out the place serves a weird mix of both Italian and French food. It was fine with me. I loved Italian.

"What'd you get ar B&N?" I wrote, before turning it so that Oli could read.

"Nothing, just a random plane read."

I let it go. "I'd ask what you got, but I'm pretty sure we don't have enough time for you to write it all down."

"I like books," I replied.

"I can tell," he said with a chuckle.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Nothing wrong with it, just I've never seen someone spend five-hundred dollars in a book store."

"First books I've bought in months. I was having withdrawals."

"I can understand that. So why biographies?"

"I write shit that isn't real. That's my escape. Bios keep me grounded. For every fantasy there is also a tragedy."

"Very true," he said with a sad smile.

Our conversation lightened up after that. We talked about my friends and his, our respective homes, and everything else.

He finally dropped me off with a hug and a promise to hang out again sometime, probably with the guys. For the first time, since I'd shipped out to LA I didn't feel alone.