Homecoming

Chapter 4: Bad Habits

I struggled with bad habits. It was probably because when I was younger, I made sure that I always followed the rules and didn't do anything that my dad disapproved of. But the minute I got a taste of it, I couldn't simply let it go. It gave me that temporary high that I have never gotten anything else. When the rush died down, there was nothing but hurt and the stench of embarrassment.

As my dad often said, people who play with fire would only play with it more and more, as long as they didn't suffer the consequences. And that was what I did. I repeated the vicious cycle over and over again, like a mad man. I didn't seem to care about the aftermath.

I waited on the porch, and Oliver made a turn to our neighborhood. The headlights of his black Wrangler were blinding. Oliver parked in front of the house and stepped out of his car.

Oliver looked dashing; even what he wore resembled his usual clothes, minus the plaid and the rugged jeans. For tonight, he chose an ensemble that made him look different. But, there were little things about it that still showed his personality. He wore nice fitted jeans with his pair of coffee-colored Chelsea boots. He also had a white button-down underneath a suede shirt jacket. It made him look like sin. I've never seen this side of him. I missed the version of Oliver in casual clothes. The one who wore beaten down vintage Chuck Taylors, distressed jeans with paint stains, and a graphic tee he got from a local thrift store.

Oliver advanced towards me, smiling as he surveyed me. He had dark stubble on his cheeks, that kind of faux-ruggedness of every good-looking person in Hollywood.

"You look nice," he said. He welcomed me with a hug. Was that a new perfume he was wearing? He smelled good. I fell into a daze while he ran a hand on the back of my head. I held back a whine when he shifted his body away from me. We were still close, a few inches apart. It took a couple of seconds until he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to my cheek. His stubble was rough against my skin.

Oliver appeared sheepish. Was he being shy, or maybe he was nervous? I smiled at him to give him a sense of encouragement. I didn't want to shut down his intentions before I even got to know what he wanted.

I was under his gaze that made me conscious of the intense scrutiny. I wore a maroon button-down that pretty much gave color to my all-black ensemble. It was the most decent thing I had with me.

"I like this shirt on you," Oliver said, running his hand on my shoulders. His hands traveled down. They took a stop on my chest. "Have you been working out?" He asked, tapping my chest for good measure.

Oliver pried his hand from my chest when I raised my eyebrow in question. He made the distance once more. We were still close enough that I could see the glow of the green and gold speckles that brightened his hazel eyes. His eyes shifted and roamed around my face. Oliver's lips parted. I couldn't help but stare at them and recalled them being pliant and willing. My head was clouded with our sudden closeness. We haven't aired out what I thought we should and what he felt the need to say.

"We should go." Oliver cleared his throat. He made his way back to his car, to which I followed him. Oliver and I never spoke on the car ride going to the benefit. He glanced along my way every few minutes, but I didn't want to ask him what those glances were about.

Worry pooled in my gut as I recollected what Erin told me earlier. She has always been better at dealing with things than I did. She somehow developed a sense of knowing when danger crept along the corner. I always failed to listen to her warnings. This resulted in my life being a series of bad decisions, a collective mess of mistakes. I had her guide me along the way to control the situation and rear the head of the inevitable. My stubbornness got the best of me every single time.