Straight Shot ➳ Oliver Queen

06. Soul of a Storm

C H A P T E R    S I X

SOUL OF A STORM

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For the last five years, I had hated storms. I don't think much explanation is needed as to why. That night, there was a particularly bad storm. The rain pelted the windows so hard I waited for the glass to shatter as I laid under the luxurious covers of an oversized bed in one of the many guestrooms mixed into the Queen mansion. The room was bigger than my old apartment and fitted a sitting area along with the usual components of a bedroom.

Unable to sleep, I slipped out from under the indigo bedspread and beige silk sheets. The planks of the wooden floor froze the soles of my feet. I untangled the fabric of my S.T.A.R. Labs t-shirt and grey sweatpants. I fell onto the couch in front of a flat-screen TV where I used the remote on the side table to turn on the television. The light blinked on and the room was filled with the soft glow of the screen.

"...Oliver Queen has been confirmed as alive and was spotted leaving Starling City General earlier, accompanied by his mother and Karter Mitchell, the daughter of Jason Mitchell, the co-founder of Mitchell Industries." The news anchor announced, launching into a backstory of my father and his brother creating one of the most successful businesses to still be in operation today. I groaned as they showed footage from earlier that day, Oliver, Moira, and I fighting to push past the reporters. Security hired by Moira flanked us on either side, pushing the reporters crowding us away.

The news cut to a gossip segment in which they addressed the usual topics: the latest celebrity breakups, what Taylor Swift was wearing on the red carpet, recent Channing Tatum sightings. Two overly enthusiastic women chatted about the topics, but their annoying voices were drowned out as I began growing drowsy and started drifting off to sleep, my head on the arm of the couch. A clap of thunder shook the mansion and I was brought to full awareness again, though I was exhausted from having such little sleep in the past weeks. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and yawned.

Giving up on sleep, I stood up, stretching my arms above my head and quietly walking towards the double doors of the massive bedroom, like a teenager sneaking out of the house without their parents' permission.

I didn't think any of the Queens had ever stepped foot in the kitchen. It was pristinely cleaned, as I suspect it would be. It was dark until I flipped the light switch by the door, light pouring from the overhead lighting. I opened the first cupboard door above one of the counters, swinging the glass door open. I grabbed a glass and filled it with water, quickly gulping it down. As soon as the water was drained from the cup, I wiped my lip with the cuff of my shirt and rinsed the glass in the kitchen sink, closing the dishwasher after placing it in the top rack.

Sleepily, I began carefully walking back to my room, but I had barely made it halfway when I was startled by a shout and loud crashing noises. With adrenaline sparked by the sudden and unexpected cries, I bolted down the hall to where the noises were coming from. I shoved Oliver's door open with the palm of my hand and rushed past the threshold. On the opposite side of the room, the window was wide open, the curtains frantically undulating with the violent storm winds that also rustled through my hair and clothes. The open window panels were swinging back and forth uncontrollably and rain was aggressively infiltrating the room, soaking the curtains and floor.

Oliver was slumped in front of the window, clinging to the edge of the window sill, as if he was holding on for dear life. His grey t-shirt and boxers were sopping wet as if he had just climbed out of the pool the window overlooked. Lightning crackled and lit the room, each flash exposing a mixture of swear and rain painted onto Oliver's forehead. His eyes were tightly closed and he was struggling for breath, even though he seemed to be asleep.