So Be It // o. maatta

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty: Alex's POV

I laid in Olli's empty bed, scrolling through my phone, bored as hell. It was New Year's Eve, and the Pens were on a road trip. And even though Olli promised he'd be ok if I went out with Molly, or another one of my girlfriends, the idea of going out without Olli was weird. And anyways, we were nineteen. It's not like we could necessarily just slip into clubs, no questions asked.

Although, there was this one club, just off campus that never carded. I'd gone there once or twice with Molly, while Olli was away.

The Penguins plane was flying in around ten, and it was well past eleven-thirty, so I was expecting Olli back pretty soon. Not that I was wigging out since he wasn't home yet, but I can't help but deny the fact that I was slightly worried he back.

Ever since I was little, I was the worrier type. I was the perfectionist. Apparently people with October birthdays were supposed to act like such, that it was apart of the zodiac sign, or something dealing with all that mumbo-jumbo.

While casually laying there, watching Jenna Marbles videos on YouTube, my phone slipped out of my hand, and came crashing down, onto my face, bashing my cheekbone. It was bound to leave a lovely bruise. Damn me, and my butterfingers.

After what seemed like centuries, I could hear the front door creep open, gently. Earlier in the day, the Pens had played the Devils, and Olli had been a healthy scratch. Of late, his play had been declining, slightly, and the Penguins coaching staff decided it would be best for him to take a game off to clear his head. I knew that would upset him. I knew that hockey meant so much to him, and that making a good impression on the coaches -especially since he was so young- was a necessity. I was definitely expecting him to be disappointed. I was not expecting what actually happened...

I rolled out of bed, adjusting my tank top, and laid my phone on the bedside table. I wandered out to a suit-clad Olli, whose hair was askew, and legs were wobbly.

"Olli." I called, softly, rushing towards him.

"What?" He growled, quietly.

"I missed you." I wrapped my arms around his waist.

He jerked back, breaking my chain of locked arms. "Don't you have your own house?" He wondered.

Something wasn't right. I could smell alcohol on his breath.

He was fucking drunk.

I stumbled back a little, and nodded. "Well yeah, but I like being with you. I mean..."

"I fucking need some space." He hissed. "You're always underfoot."

"I'm sorry." I blurted out, stupidly.

"Don't be sorry." He demanded, "Just spend sometime at your own place, every once and awhile."

He was drunk. There was no point in arguing. But hell, there was no point in listening to your conscience either, eh?

"I'm only here because I love you, and want to be with you."

"Well I need some time away from you. I mean, you're so fucking clingy," The drunkenness was making his accent even more prominent. "Just, just go home."

And if I had a clue, I probably would've gone home. But alas, common sense does not exactly flow through Neal genes. I mean, you could tell that by just watching my brother play.

"Olli, you're just saying this shit 'cause you're drunk."

"I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid. I don't want you. You distract me. You're the reason I was benched today."

So that's what this whole intoxication thing was about. He blamed me for being scratched.

"I'm not a fucking distraction, Olli. I'm not holding you back. You're a goddamned Olympian. Obviously, I'm not fucking anything up." I yelled, voice getting progressively louder. It was a lame-ass argument, but I wasn't thinking very clearly.

The kid swayed around, looking off-balance. I began to wonder how many times he'd been drunk before. I mean, I was pretty sure the drinking age in Finland was 18...

"I'm not a goddamned Olympian because of you, it's because of me." He pointed to himself. "And only me."

It was kind of scary seeing him so unaware of how much of a douchepants {AN: Anyone get that reference?} he was being.

"Whatever." I threw my hands up in surrender. "I'll leave."

"Yeah? Good."

I began off towards the bedroom to get my real clothes, trying to forget what just happened, when I heard the thick accent yell out, "Give me back the ring."

"Huh?" I turned on my heel, to face him.

"Give me back the ring. You're obviously too much of a distraction. I need it back, so we aren't all-that committed." His explanation made no sense to me.

I clutched the hand to my chest. "You fucking said the ring was mine. That it was our promise ring."

"Yeah, the ring that I paid a fuckload for, on a girl who's nothing but a distraction."

I was at my wit's end. I didn't give a flying fuck that he was drunk. He promised that ring was for me. For me to keep, to remember us. Not to give back whenever he got drunk, illegally.

"Whatever!" I yelled, grasping my ringed finger roughly, and chucking the ring to the ground as hard as I possibly could. "There. It's yours."

"You bitch!" He screamed.

"That would be me." I replied, simply.

"We're done." He bellowed.

Again, I can't quite express what was going through my head at that point. All I know is, I made a rash decision.

"Fine!" I yelled. "We're done." I then proceeded to storm off, towards the bedroom.

I collected all my things, then, instead of having to face Olli again, I climbed out the bathroom window, and onto the fire escape. From there I quietly sat, watching the Pittsburgh New Year's celebration. I watched the people cry, the couples kiss, lights flash across the crowd.

I wasn't crying. You probably would've expected me to, but I wasn't. I can't explain why, since I really should've been, but I wasn't. I guess it was because he was a dick, and I didn't feel bad for leaving dicks in the dust.

I dragged my body down the fire escape, and up the hill leading to the Duquesne campus. All the kids were home, or out partying with the Pitt kids, so the campus was empty.

I meandered to a bench, under a tall tree, and laid down on it, admiring the stars, a million thoughts racing through my head. I guess I can't really tell you how I felt, because, to quote the great John Green, 'My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations,' but honestly, I felt really, really confused.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: IF YA WANT, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY NEW STORY, 'DEAR BRIAN'