A story I wrote when I was 15.

Baltimore was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The world outside Alex's window was a rich white. It was almost three in the morning, but it was bright. The sky was an eerie orange, and the wind blew softly like whispers against the house. Alex sat alone in his kitchen, legs pulled to his chest so that his calves cut against the edge of the table, almost painfully, and his bare feet were cold on the chair. He had no idea what his hands were doing, or strangely where they were. Every part of him was numb, with cold and a dripping sadness. His mind was everywhere, and the more he was drenched in silence, the more he thought. The more he thought, the more he hated himself and the world around him. Outside, the wind knocked down a trashcan in the back, the sudden noise striking through the silence, startling Alex. He looked around wildly, as if looking for someone to be there. As if looking for him. But, deep in his mind and heart, he knew he wouldn't be there. He was never going to come back. In the entertainment room downstairs, the television was still on. Just like they had left it. Craig Ferguson was on, his voice echoing, getting louder the more Alex paid attention to it. He wanted to go downstairs, to turn it off and cease all possible joy. He heard a joke, but the laughter died inside him. He gritted his teeth together, grinding them against each other in frustration. Anger, at himself, bubbled inside of him like magma ready to burst out of a volcano.
"Why am I so fucking pathetic?" He burst out, slamming his head down onto the surface of the table, his legs falling down as well. He stayed there, keeping himself as still as possible. He concentrated on something other than his mind, his thoughts, him. He listened to Ferguson, to the distant ticking of a clock, to the noisy silence. He closed his eyes, feeling his eyelashes against the table. He held his breath as long as he could, until his throat and lungs hurt as much as his head and heart. He mumbled something, random and incoherent to even himself. He tried so hard to keep his mind from earlier that night, or the night before, whenever.
Oli was giggling into Alex's clavicle. His hot breath sent chills down his spine. Rian and Zack were screaming at the television, smiles slowly creeping upon their features. There was a blur of green and purple on the screen, but Alex took no attention. Oli was whispering something soft in his ears, the words forming against his skin. Alex could hear Matt laughing, more screaming from Rian but all he could see was the patch of skin and color as Oliver stretched, his long arms draping around Alex's shoulders. Someone bumped against their heads, ushering a slurred apology close to Alex's ears but he took no notice. There was the sound of breaking glass, followed by more laughter. Jack came downstairs nosily announce he had more beer and pizza, not finishing his sentence as Rian yelled the current score. Someone jumped on the sofa next to him, and for a split second Alex looked at them. It was some singer, from some local band that he couldnt remember right now because Olivers slender fingers were sneaking behind him, closer and closer to that small of his back that drove him crazy. His breath hitched, but he tried to hide the fact but having a swig of stale tasting beer. It burned all the way down his throat. Oliver was saying something, barely audible as the Ravens scored again. Alex was standing up, steadying himself on his feet as he took another long sip. He looked at Oliver, gave that sideways smile of his, and started up the stairs. He went into the kitchen, shivering at the cold that was sneaking in through the old back door, grabbing a slice of pizza fresh from the box. He scarfed it down as he walked down the hall.
Alex remembers that time started slowing down at that moment.
He walked into his bedroom, turning on the light.
And it wasn't Oliver on his bed.
It was that singer from that local band, with his tight jeans and his thin shirt. He was walking over, he was reaching over Alex's shoulder, closing the door behind Alex. It wasn't even closed before his lips were on Alex's. He was pulling at Alex's clothes, trying to pull them off. The beer splashed around in his stomach. He said names, saying as many names as he could to stop this kid, but his shirt was off and his pants were being unbuttoned. The beer told him to go with it, to stop saying no. It was so slow, it took so long but as soon as Oliver stepped through the door, time came back.
It came back as fast of Oliver fist in his face.
He was gone before Alex could leave the room.
He heard the door slam.
The singer from the local band left, but not before slipping one of his demo CD's into alex's open hand.
He went into the kitchen, taking groggy drunk steps to the table where he sat down on the same chair he was still in.
Was in.
He was up, standing to his feet, walking to the back door.
His hand was turning the knob, pulling open the door, exposing alex to the cold. He took a couple steps back, grabbed two open beers off the counter and drowned them, all before taking a leap into the snow.
It was at his knees, soaking through to his skin in seconds.
He wanted to stop but the beer told him to keep going, to lay down and stay there.
In the freezing cold he shook, and let his mind go.
All he could think about was Oliver and where he was going next.
As his body and mind started shutting down, he felt as warm as the sweltering summer he knew all too well, for Oliver Sykes was on his mind.