Oliver's Point of View
It's been four months since Beckinsile left me; I still remember it like it happened yesterday and it still hurts just as much.
It's august right now which means two things. 1) I'm about to start my senior year without Beckinsile and 2) it's almost my birthday.
I turn 18 in less than a week and I've overheard my parents talking about having a celebration but I'm not really in a celebration mood;I'm not really in a mood for anything as a matter of fact.
I feel like crawling up under my covers and forgetting that I even live in this world anymore. My mom's still been forcing me to go see Dr. Byrne but he doesn't really help at all.
He mostly asks me to describe my feelings and then he changes my anti-depressant meds again. I just go to humor my mom, not because I actually feel helped.
My mom looks stretched thin from all my moping around. I feel bad that I'm the one doing this to her but I can't help it. She makes me reassure her every morning that I'll still be here when she gets home; I do as she pleases but I don't think even she believes me anymore.
She knows I spend my days at home, looking at pictures of Beckinsile and listening to All Time Low. I know she's worried but I think she should just give it up. I'm beyond being saved and now it's just a waiting game, seeing how long I last before I snap.
I hear the phone ring but I don't rush to answer it. Once I make it to the line, I pick up and hear Ed's voice on the other end.
"Oliver, hey man, I had this crazy idea...I want to write a song about Beckinsile. I want it to be about your guys' love and how it has continued. I want it to be raw and emotional and I want you to help me out with it...I'd like it to be from your point of view." Ed sounds hesitant and the line goes silent as I ponder his offer.
I should probably get out of the house, as my parents and everyone else keeps telling me, and all I want to do is think about Beckinsile, an unhealthy activity according to my therapist, so what better way to do that than write a song for her?
"I'll do it; when should I be over there?"
"Great! I'll send my manager over to pick you up within the hour."
"Thanks, see you soon, Ed..." I mutter and hang up.
I race up the stairs and change into a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt. I squash my sleep-ridden hair down with a beanie and slip on a few more bracelets to cover up my wrists. I don't need another person to add to my pity parade.
A limo pulls up in front of my house and out steps a well groomed man in a business suit. He introduces himself as Mr. Garner, Edward Sheeran's personal manager. I shake his hand and he leads me to the back of the limo. I slip inside and slide across the buttery leather seats.
"So, I hear you are going to work on a new song with Ed...Is that true?" Mr. Garner gives me a kind smile and urges me to respond.
"Yeah, I guess I am." Mr. Garner doesn't look very satisfied with my short response but he doesn't pressure me to continue the conversation.
We arrive at a modern looking building that sports the logo for Stark Weather Records. I step out with Mr. Garner and follow him into a glass elevator.
We ride up a few floors, snake through some hallways and finally arrive in a recording studio. The recording studio has all the usual equipment including a recording booth and a mixing board. However, the rest of the space is filled with bean bags and refreshments, perfect for spending all day writing a song. A familiar redhead engulfs me in a hug and tugs me towards a pair of bean bags. I sink down into one as Ed hands me a notepad, pencil and bottle of water.
YOU ARE READING
Some Wounds Never HealTeen Fiction
**Watty Honorable Mention/Undiscovered Gem** He lies awake in bed, thoughts of her still overpowering his brain. He wants her back lying next to him. He needs to feel her touch just one last time and maybe then he could move on. But that's not possi...