Oliver Thorton

His boyfriend is in prison. The trial had been one week prior to his current mental and emotional breakdown. Carter killed someone; murdered an innocent young woman in cold blood because he needed a quick fix. He knew that the relationship was not a healthy one…he has known for a while.

Carter was a drug addict and even sold drugs in order to make enough money for a place to live. He was also abusive; mostly when he was drunk…Oliver still had the bruises and scars to prove it. So why did he care that his abusive, drug addict/dealing, murderer of a boyfriend was in prison? Good riddance, right?

A sob broke though the young man’s parted lips. He knew that he should get home, it had begun to snow and it was below freezing. He began to shiver, but could not find it in himself to care. There were days where Carter was good to him. He would make breakfast and kiss him and tell him sweet words. Carter would say “I love you” and seemingly mean it. Those came less frequently as time wore on.

There was no happy ending to his story. His knight in shining armour would not come waltzing by and offer a jacket and shelter from the cold. They would not fall in love and live happily ever after. How did Oliver know this? It was two o’clock in the morning in the middle of a park in Chester in the winter. There was no one simply strolling in the park. If there was, Oliver would have bigger problems than his currently deteriorating state. 
So he sat and cried. Cried for the man who broke his heart several times and still managed to fix him afterwards. Cried for his life that was in the crapper.

He never went to post-secondary, choosing to bum on his parents’ couch instead, until they got tired of him and kicked him out. He had rotten luck and an even worse sense of judgement.

Twenty more minutes. Then he began the trek home. He yearned for a cigarette, but his fingertips were cold and the pack was nearly empty. He barely had enough money for rent while working at his crappy shop job; he would not waste his food money on smokes. 


His flatmate had another whore over; her thong was on top of the outdated television set. Her bra on a lamp. The fish died again; he needed to stop buying them. The heat in the flat was horrible and refused to work…yet again. Oliver had to plug in his small heater and curl under three thick duvets. He cried in his sleep. He missed Carter.

But life would go on. He would continue to go to work, pay the rent and wonder when his life had gone wrong. Both him and his twin brother had been raised the same way by their non-caring parents and had mostly the same friends. Somewhere along the way, Tom decided to go on to Oxford for a law degree. Oliver did nothing.


 By the time his twenty minute break from work came on the next blustery Tuesday evening, Oliver felt that it was well needed. He had gotten yelled at by two women, a child got sick on his apron and a motorbike hit the side of his car. Oliver was more than grateful to exit the shop and inhale a few toxins.

“Oi, Ollie!” 
For three months, Stephen Parchers has been following Oliver. The reason is quite unknown to the two year older boy. Stephen moved from Ireland four months before and for some odd reason he decided that Oliver would be his role model. Oliver did not dislike the boy, but he wished for him to find someone else to look up to. 
The small, almost mousy boy ran up to Oliver’s side. He shook his mess of brown hair free of snow and offered a bright smile.

“Ello Oliver! Fancy meeting you ‘ere. Me mam sent me to the chemist’s shop for her inhaler. Are ye working? You can come along!”
 Oliver’s thoughts went to Carter. He used an inhaler. But he smoked like a chimney. The older man shook his head to dispel the thoughts of his once lover; they would no longer do him any good. Taking the last drag of his cigarette, Oliver ruffled Stephen’s hair before throwing the fag on the ground.

“Sorry, but I have to go back to work. Stay in school kid.” Don’t be like me. He wanted to add, but to admit his own failure would hurt, even if he knew it was true.

The motorbike had taken his passenger mirror. He would not pass inspection if ever stopped by the police. He had no money for a new one, so he would have to take his chances.

His flatmate was having sex on the couch when he returned home that night. It made him long to see Carter all the more. Everything made him miss Carter. 
They were still going at it when Oliver stepped out of the shower and went to watch the television while nursing a lukewarm ale – the refrigerator seemed to have gone down for an hour. When her moans grew louder, so did the show. Oliver learned not to care.


James did not allow her to stay and simply turned his back while she composed herself to leave. Carter would often do the same. A gleeful laugh made its way from James as he dropped next to Oliver. James came from money. His mother and father were rich beyond belief; therefore when they disowned their only son for being a lazy freeloader, they ensured that he would be well off for the rest of his life without them. It was his decision to live in a poorer neighbourhood in a broken down flat with a depressed roommate. Lord only knows why. Oliver was jealous…James could afford cigarettes. 
James lit one, blowing the toxins into the air with a triumphant smirk set on his handsome features.

“You need to get out more.” He bellowed. “Come to the pub with me and a few mates.” Oliver went to state his ‘no cash’ situation, but he did not get the chance. “Tonight will be on me. Listen mate,” He took one more drag before handing it to Oliver. He looked at the younger man with concern in his light blue eyes. “Carter is not coming back; he’s got life in the slammer. You need to get over him, man, and find someone else to make you happy.” 
Oliver agreed. But he hated the pub. Whenever he brought himself to go, it reeked of old men, desperation and regret. He would rather go anywhere else.

A discotheque was not much better. James and his equally attractive friends too decided that a pub was not enough fun; they needed dancing as well. 
Scantily clad women threw themselves at the men within the first two minutes of them getting drinks in hand and they were swept off. Oliver found himself sandwiched between two very drunk females who soon began to nibble on his ear and rub him through his denim. A part of his brain - his old self - enjoyed this. The other, newer him, felt as if he was cheating on Carter. This made him angry. He did not want to think about Carter anymore; Carter hurt him too much. Had he loved him, he would not have needed the fix so badly that broke into a woman’s home to kill her for money she did not have. And for what? He will never get drugs again! 
Oliver did what the old Oliver would have done. He grabbed one of the women and forcibly pressed his lips on hers; she eagerly agreed.

This continued between him and the two women. He would enjoy himself without thoughts of Carter on his mind. He would take both women home.