Andy, You're A Star

I'd stayed at Oliver's house for five months, and every single day of the first three months, my parents would call and try to convince me to come home.

I had been reported as a runaway, had the police called on me, and once I even had to hide in Tom's closet because the police came to the house for me, demanding that they know where I was and that my parents were worried sick.

The only reason I had to go back before was Annie. In one of the many phone calls my mother made to me, she told me that Annie was back in the hospital with joint problems. I was very tempted to go home then, but I didn't give in.

My parents have had the last six years to get to know me, and it's their fault they didn't take the opportunity.

Oliver's parents were surprisingly immoral about this. They covered for me, never telling my parents or the police anything, though they risked kidnapping charges, no matter how willing I was. They took me in and I felt like I was part of the family after the first two weeks.

All of my clothes were here as well. I even had my own dresser in the guest room, though I hardly ever slept in there.

That was one of the lines Mr. and Mrs. Sykes drew. They wouldn't allow Oliver and I to share a room, for obvious reasons, though I'm pretty sure that Oli's Dad knew that I usually ended up sneaking into Oliver's room after the house was silent.

I grew comfortable in the house, which probably was a bad idea considering everything that has been going on between Oliver and I.

We fought a lot more often lately. It was always about things that seemed incredibly important at the time, like my habit of going on walks early in the morning (he was always worried about my safety, it seemed) or the way he was drinking himself into alcoholism.

Right now, I was sitting in the wake of one of these arguments, but this one was much different than others. Oliver's parents were away on business until June third, which was three weeks from now. Tom and Shauna were out enjoying themselves like always, and Oliver and I stayed in to finished our Advance History final project.

An uncomfortable silence hung between us as we both colored the poster that displayed a time line and several pictures representing the presidential term of John F. Kennedy. Last night, Oliver had gone to a friends party, and I stayed in with a headache. He came home drunk, like always, and had acted unacceptably. I went to bed in my own room for the first time in weeks (we had a good couple weeks where we didn't argue) and this morning he refused to admit that he did a few things worth an apology to me last night.

Of course, being the stubborn person I was, I wouldn't talk to him until he apologized for the hurtful things he'd said when he was drunk, and so we were at a standstill; he wouldn't talk to me because he didn't think he needed to say sorry, and I wouldn't speak a word to him until he did just that.

And then he went downstairs and came back up with a beer in his hand. It pushed me over the edge.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I yelled, standing from where I laid on the floor.

"What, you wanna talk now?" he snapped, taking a swig from the bottle.

"I cannot believe that you're going to drink! After it's caused so many fights between us! Does this...relationship or whatever it is we have mean absolutely nothing?"

"I'm sure that I don't know what-"

"BULLOCKS, OLIVER. I KNOW YOU'RE TOO PIG-HEADED TO ADMIT IT, BUT YOU HURT ME LAST NIGHT. You said things to me that you would never say if you weren't completely trashed, and you won't even give me a quick 'I'm sorry' although I think I deserve a little more than that," I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.

"I don't remember that..." he said quietly. I knew he was lying, because his eyes were on the floor and his lips twisted to the side.

"Oliver, I'm leaving after finals. I'm going to stay with my brother in Los Angeles for the summer..." I told him, and his gaze shot up to mine, and he dropped the bottle he was holding. I winced as the bottle hit the ground and it's contents spilled. It didn't break, which I was secretly thankful for because I wouldn't have to clean up glass and beer after Oliver stormed off.

"You're...what?" he asked slowly, staring at me with wide eyes.

"After finals, I'm gone. I'll be back in late August for school, but it's a long time. Too long for something like this to last if you're not serious about it," I said. Keeping my voice steady was difficult, but I managed.

"You're leaving? Because of what I said?"

"No, not just that. What else have I got to stay for? It's never going to work between us, unless something changes. Who knows, maybe when I come back, I'll be a violent drunk just like you and we'll be perfect for each other."

"Three weeks? That's all the time I've got to change your mind?" he sighed.

"I'm going, no matter what happens. The only thing that you can change is whether or not I come home to you as my boyfriend, or as an acquaintance." I looked down at the nearly finished poster and wanted to cry. I had done a lot of crying over Oliver in the past two months, and frankly I was getting sick of it.

I wondered why Oliver wasn't getting angry. Usually when I yelled, he yelled back. Now, he just stared at me with his jaw clenched tight and his eyes shining with unshed tears. It was heartbreaking to see. I wanted to run to him, to allow his arms to cradle me to his chest, to feel safe in his arms again before I would be without him for three months, but I didn't. I rooted my feet to the ground, and watched as he fought with himself over what to do.

"I'm scared, Andy."

His voice was just a whisper, but it was very clear. Never in the seven months that Oliver and I had been seeing each other have I seen him this vulnerable. Even if I could have forced myself to talk, I wouldn't have known what to say to him. So I waited for him to say more.

"I'm absolutely terrified of you, Andrea Ross. Nobody in my entire life has frightened me more than you do, because nobody has made me feel this way before. It's like you tore away all the defenses I had against falling for all the countless girls that I've dated, and it scares the shit out of me. I...I love you more than I ever thought I could, and I'm afraid of the amount of power that gives you. I never wanted to fall in love; it was never one of the things I dreamed of like everyone else. I just wanted to make music and be with my friends until the day I died," he said quickly and quietly, like he was worried his control would leave him completely if he didn't get everything out fast enough.

"But then I forced myself into your life, not knowing what I was getting myself into. When I said you weren't like the other girls, I meant it. You're the most beautiful, brilliant, amazing person that I've ever come in contact with, and you're absolutely intimidating because you hold so much of me in those delicate, wonderfully gentle hands of yours," he moved closed to me, and I couldn't move at all.

This was the first time that he said he loved me, and I was shocked by how sincere he was being. It was my turn to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Oliver, I think that we both need a break to think about this. All of this moved very fast. We're only sixteen, Oli! We're still kids! What do we know about love?"

"Andy, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't break my heart. I can't handle that," he shook his head, his voice quivering.

"I'm not. But can you really assure me that you'll be waiting for me when I get back? That you won't find some other girl that you like more and forget about me by July?"

"'Course I won't, Andrea. It's only you, forever. I might be young and stupid, but I know that I'll never need someone the way I need you," he sounded more confident when he said this, and it made me feel slightly better.

"I need to take a walk, think things through. Will you be drunk when I get back?" I asked quietly, and Oli snorted.

"After that fight? I think not, love," he sighed, looking down at the puddle of beer as if he'd suddenly remembered why the fight started in the first place.

"Good," I smiled very small and brushed past him on my way out of the room. I heard him sigh loudly again, before I was down the stairs and out the front door.

And now I sat on the front steps, not quite ready to go back inside and face Oliver and his intense love. And here all this time I'd been worried about falling to hard for him.

Not that I don't love the bloke, because I do. But I don't know how well things are going to turn out with us when we couldn't even make it an entire month without having at least two arguments.

We would both have to change, and quite a bit at that, to make it work.

In fact, the whole reason I was taking this trip over the summer to visit Daniel wasn't to bond with my fleety older brother. I would no doubt come back a changed girl after spending the summer in America, and hopefully when I got back, Oliver would be waiting for me just like he said, and he would be accepting of the new Andy.

Because god knows that the old Andy couldn't handle Oliver Sykes and his many problems well enough to have a relationship.

I was willing to shape myself for him, but would he do the same?

I just didn't know.