I pull at my collar, it's uncomfortably tight around the soft flesh of my neck and I'm overly hot and twitchy. My breathing is hollow and my fingers numb from clenching my hands too tight.
I'm a mess.
I focus way too hard on walking up the stairs, one foot in front of the other, occasionally having to remind myself to breathe along the way.
The sky is darkening quickly, and the homeroom I buzzing with noise. It's Thursday night, a big night for all on-campus uni students. People are hanging around the common room only starting their night — I want nothing more than to end mine.
To end this fucking horrible day.
I walk carefully, avoiding the creaky parts of the floor. I stick to the furthest side from the main lounge room where multiple students are laughing and drinking. Normally, I would be down there with them (for the booze of course). But I'm not drinking tonight.
Most of the swim team is in this hall thanks to the significant discounts and scholarships they received for being in the swim team's top squad. Means I get to see their faces way too much and hear their voice way too regularly.
Oliver isn't though, he has a flat near campus with some mates I think. But since a lot of the team are here he's over a bit.
More than usual recently.
Everything's been a bit of a blur the last few days. Coach suspended me from swimming for two weeks due to my little punch out with Josh. Which is quite the inconvenience since our last and final competition, Nationals, is in four weeks.
So I can kiss any hope of beating Oliver down the drain.
My shoulders slump further; it was not like I was going to beat him anyway. I guess I just had this fire, this swindle of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could... As if that would solve all my problems. That If I bet the best maybe people would like me better—maybe my Father would like me better, want to know me better.
Because everyone loves a winner.
Maybe if I won for once, I would be worth something. Be someone of value, like Oliver. But now I see the truth, that far-fetched goal is merely a dream—and I have woken up. So I will have to learn to live with myself as a loser.
Yesterday my Father messaged me asking how my school camp went, obviously missing the part where I didn't go on a school camp and I was at a swim competition. I didn't reply.
And today...
Henry's funeral.
A faded blur of people and time passing too slowly. Dragging on too long. Hurting too much. Not just hitting too close to home, but demolishing the home. I have never felt so helpless in my life, and all I could do was sit there and take it.
His Mum was a mess; a shell of the woman she usually is. It was tough sitting there and having to be forced to come to terms with the reality of it. I don't think I really let it sink in—really believed it. Until today.
Reality didn't just hit me hard...
It slapped me.
It kicked me.
It threw me a sharp deadly uppercut hitting me square in the heart. Stopping my heart for too long and taking too much of my breath away.
Reality sucks arse. It really fucking sucks.
I'm so emotionally hung over right now. I don't have the energy to deal with anyone or anything. Stomached empty but I can't eat anything. Mind a mess and I can't think. I feel a bit like a zombie today, just going through the motions, just getting from A to B without any real awareness of what's happening. A quiet passenger in the drive of life.
A familiar voice in the common room catches my ear. "Training was... actually really good today," Ryans says.
I pause in my step.
"That's only because Beau steals all of Oliver's coaching, coach hog."
My face hardens. They think I want him over analysing everything I do? it's a pain in my arse more than anything.
There's a grunt in objection, deep and undeniably Oliver's voice. "I don't give Beau all my attention."
Tiffany scoffs. "Ah, yeah you do."
"Your just jealous he doesn't focus more on you," Sophie comments.
"I'm not jealous, Beau just obviously needs more help, needs someone to babysit him," Tiffany says smugly.
I scowl. I don't want to hear anymore.
I start to leave but the wooden floor creaks under my weight, signaling to the people in the common room of my presence.
"Damn, look who the cat brought in..."
I sigh turning to face the group, despite how bad I just want to ignore them and go to my room. It's better to not get on the bad side of the people you see all the fucking time.
There are more people than usual lounging around the room drinking. Seems like people are in the mood for partying tonight. I internally groan, knowing I'm going to get little sleep tonight.
My eyes scan the crowd, falling on half the swim team. Sophie, Ryan, Tiffany, and Oliver amongst them. There's some people in our dorms that I've seen around but I don't know. I don't really make an effort to know anyone I don't have to. Hell, I think Oliver is friends with more people here then me,
The lighting is dull light and the furniture splashes of bright colours and modern shapes, it does little to hide the boxes of alcohol around the side of it though.
My eyes automatically and involuntary fall to Oliver. But only because he naturally draws attention with his large form splayed across the couch. He's wearing a button-up shirt that hugs his chest snugly, a few buttons undone at his collar revealing his smooth skin. His hair is ruffled slightly and expression bored.
There's a girl next to him, sitting too close for comfort. She is talking to him, her hand sliding up his arm. She's pretty.
Really pretty.
Ryan whistles when I step into the large doorway of the room. He eyes my clothing with a surprised look. Tiffany and Sophie look surprised too, their eyes widened.
Oliver turns his head and eyes me lazily, he instantly straightens, sitting up as his eyes run over me hotly. He shakes the pretty girl's hand off of his arm.
It must be because I'm not wearing my usual attire...
Instead of my usual sweatpants and shorts and my faded old t-shirts, I'm dressed in nice black pants and a grey buttoned-up shirt. My hair is done tidy instead of the mess it usually is and I know I look nothing like I usually do.
I'm glad the lighting in here is shit, hopefully, then they can't see the bags under my eyes.
"Wow, if it ain't Beau all dressed up looking sharp." Tiffany comments, eyes running over me.
Oliver's eyes narrow and lips press together as his eyes take me in.
"What's the occasion heart breaker? Someone brave enough to go on a date with you?" Ryan snorts.
Maybe that would piss me off... if, I didn't have the day I've had today.
"Nope. No date." I shove my hands in my pockets taking a step in the direction of the dorms, making it real obvious I don't want to talk. I really don't want to talk. My throat is raw and energy non-existent. I need this day to be over.
"No date? What are you so dressed up for then? Trying to get lucky tonight?"
I grimace. "No."
"Come on Beau, you got to give us something. Who's this brave chic willing to put up with your moody arse?" Tiffany eggs on.
Oliver crosses his arms over his chest, eyes dark and narrowed. The rest of the team intently waiting for my response. Curious. Intrigued.
I grit my teeth, knowing they aren't going to let this drop. They will keep on badgering me until they get a response, or they will spread some stupid false gossip around the team.
"A Funeral." I breathe, voice dead of emotion. "My hot date was a funeral. You happy?" I wave my arms out.
There's an awkward silence. A parting of lips. A flash of sympathy and I decide it's best that I leave now. Everyone's out for a party, for a drink, to get lucky—and I'm not.
"I'm heading to bed. Night." I'm already walking to my dorm, my strides longer than usual, and my desire to get to my room stronger than usual.
When I am in my room, I suddenly feel suffocated in my small room. Like there's not enough air in here. Trapped.
I stride to the side of the room frantically opening my window as far as it will go. But it's not enough. I rake a hand through my hair pacing, trying to calm down the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. I sit down on my bed, so fucking exhausted and tired. Unsure of what to do with myself.
I grab the ball on my beside table and start to throw it up to the roof and catch it with one hand on repeat.
There's a knock. I ignore it the first time, assuming it's for one of the rooms beside me because no one comes to my room. Occuastionly Andy, but he's back home for the weekend. But then it's louder and undeniably on my door.
I pull the open to see the one and only Oliver Fowler.
Too tired to deal with this I go to shut the door in his face, too numb to give a shit if it's rude.
He slips his foot inside, stopping me. He easily pushes the door open and walks in. I scoff stepping back. I sigh resigning, too tired to try to stop him.
Ignoring him I slump down on my bed, sprawling my body along the bed in a lazy manner.
"What do you want Fowler?" I grunt, voice tired. I grab the tennis ball and start throwing it back at the roof again and catching it with one hand.
He frowns, eyes not leaving me. "I came to see if you're.." he dies off scratching the back of his head. "alright?" He cringes at his words, like he thinks it's a stupid question to ask.
Maybe I'm not as good at hiding my emotions as I thought. But Oliver's always been good at reading me.
I don't remove my gaze from the ball. "Well, I'm fine. You can leave now." I deadpan.
Oliver rakes a hand through his hair, then sits down at the chair by my desk. He stretches his long legs out and leans back, making himself way too comfortable.
I pause my throwing. "What part of, 'you can leave now', did you not understand?"
Oliver grabs my textbook from my desk and absently starts flicking through the pages. "None of it, I guess," he shrugs nonchalantly.
My hand tightens around the undeserving tennis ball. I breathe hard through my nose, forcing myself to continue to through the ball back up.
Up. Down.
Up. Down.
The chair squeaks as Oliver leans further back into it, his large figure dwarfing my chair.
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the stupid strand of hair that falls across his forehead and the way his lips press together as he lazily reads my book. He's so attractive it hurts to look at him sometimes.
He's going to leave, I reassure myself. He has to. Who wants to spend their Thursday night with a depressed loner boy instead of partying with their friends.
***
He doesn't leave.
He just sits there quietly, minding his own business in his nice going-out shirt. With his delicious cologne drifting my way and his fitting baby blue dress shirt.
"Don't you have a party to go to?" I grunt, glancing over at him to catch his response.
He shrugs. "No."
Ball up. Ball falls back down.
Up. Down.
"If you're waiting for me to break, or lose it or some shit. I'm not."
At least not while he's here.
Oliver lifts his head from the book, looks at me and nods. "Okay." Then he looks back down at the book, continuing to read.
I groan, because this is painful.
"Oliver. I don't need a fucking babysitter," I say spitefully, the tennis ball long forgotten now.
Oliver undoes the top few buttons of his shirt with one, not lifting his eyes from his phone which he's started typing on. "I'm far from it that, Beau."
I scoff. "Yeah? Cause sounds like you are, especially at training."
His head finally lifts, eyes finally meeting mine. "You heard that?"
I focus back on the ceiling. "Of course I did."
He releases a breath of air. "Beau... I'm not babysitting you. Is it that hard to believe that I like your company? Or that I'm trying to keep you company."
I snort. "Yes."
He huffs, gripping the ends of his hair in frustration, like he's never had to try this hard to get someone to trust him before.
I feel a pinch of guilt. I'm difficult, I know I am. But I've learnt the hard way what happens when you trust people, and Olivers has already gotten close enough to me. If I let him any closer, there will be no going back.
I start to through the ball at the ceiling again, but it's different this time. Another new emotion swirling in my chest this time. And no matter how many times I throw the ball up and catch it, I'm unable to ignore the feeling in my gut telling me that tonight is going to be a long night.
***
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