L E O
The hospital was more crowded than normal.
I held back a snort at my own thoughts, it was overly amusing to me; that I noticed that first out of all things.
This place had become almost as familiar to me as home, considering the amount of time I'd been cooped up here over the past few months. Unlike the waiting rooms and cafeteria, most of the corridors were quiet and dull with only the odd echo of footsteps throughout the day when it wasn't round time for the interns.
Today was different, today was busy.
I glanced at the kids I knew from the teen home, nodding in acknowledgement as we made our way down the dimly lit corridor, following Charlie towards the room he would be holding our first group therapy session in. This was our place now, for the time being.
"Hey," Lincoln, an alcoholic kid I knew from group, murmured, falling into step with me. He was dressed in light grey sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt with a hospital tag around his wrist. "You got to go home, right?"
After the fire, most kids; like Oliver, Arlo and me, got released early and had been allowed to go home on the basis that they returned for weekly group and one to one therapy sessions.
Felix, Rowan, Presley and apparently Lincoln weren't so lucky.
"Hey, yeah." I nodded, eyeing his attire once more. "Guessing you didn't?"
"Great observation, Cluedo," Lincoln snorted, shoving my shoulder lightly. "What gave it away? The lack of shoe laces? Or the fact I'm still sober?"
I glanced at the hospital sliders on his feet. "Definitely the lack of shoe laces."
Amused, he rolled his eyes before a more thoughtful expression came. "So, how is it? Being home, I mean."
"It's going good." I told him honestly. Over the past two weeks I'd been home, each day felt a little more comfortable than the last. "Yeah, it's good."
Lincoln scanned my face and hummed. He didn't say anything else, not that I expected him to.
"So," I said after a short silence, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I glanced around for any of my friends. When I couldn't see them, my eyes fell back to Lincoln. "You don't think you'll be sober if you leave here?"
"No," he shook his head, amused. "I know I won't be sober when I leave here."
"What's the difference?" I pried. Lincoln was never one for over sharing, even in therapy he kept his words blunt and to the point. "To here and home," I clarified. "What makes it easier to be sober here than there?"
"It's easier to be sober when you're surrounded by people and not the ghost of who they were." Lincoln didn't look at me, eyes set on the floor as his brows pinched together in thought.
I could see Oliver's dark hair from the corner of my eye, but I didn't turn away from Lincoln. "You know, you can surround yourself with other people, Link. Just because you go home, it doesn't mean that's the only place you have to call home."
"All of my homes are here," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard. "I've been in the teen home since I was fifteen. I made something feel like home with everyone here in two years, and I never got this sense of belonging in the fifteen I'd been at home."
"Charlie won't let you go if you tell him. You'll get to stay here."
"Yeah," he sighed, a sad smile lifting. "But they won't be here forever. I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet without them. And if I can't do that, that's when I'll find comfort in a bottle." The way he said it; so nonchalant and to the point as if he didn't care what it would lead to. It stirred something in me.
"Hold on," I reached out and grabbed his forearm, pulling him to a stop when he began trying to drift away from me. I pulled an old receipt from my pocket and moved to grab the pen from the sign in sheet. "Call me. When you get out of here, if you need someone to listen or to comfort you in a way a bottle would... call me."
Lincoln took the paper keenly, holding it tightly between his fingers like it might blow away. He stared at it, clearing his throat before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, how sweet of you, Le," he ran his eyes over me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I knew where he was going with this, but it didn't scare me in the ways it would've before. "You're cute and all, but not my type sweetheart."
"Oh piss off," I laughed, pulling away from his embrace to elbow his side. "Get your head out the gutter. You know that's not what I meant."
"I know, I'm just fucking with you," he blew out a breath and looked down, staring at my number for a few moments. "Thank you... for this," he cleared his throat, smiling again. "I might call you someday."
I shrugged, trying to play into the false bravado he'd created. "Offer's always there."
"I think Oliver's waiting for you," Link gestured his head to the side. I turned seeing Oliver leaning against the wall as he observed us. "Go," he waved his hand to dismiss me. "Oliver's never been very fond of me. I'm gonna find Ash anyway."
"Oliver isn't really fond of people in general." I said, hoping to show it was nothing personal.
"Believe me, I know." Link snorted and began walking away, calling over his shoulder to me. "See you in there."
Oliver was by my side the second he left. "I don't like him," he murmured under his breath, dual eyes narrowed on Lincoln's retreating figure.
I tried and failed to hold back my smile. A sense of pride washed over me; I was so proud of Oliver and how far he had came with using his voice. There was still hesitance before he spoke his first word, a cruel reminder of how far he still had to go. But it was progress nonetheless.
"You don't like anyone." I pointed out, turning to him with a teasing grin.
He raised an eyebrow, unaffected by statement. "I like you." he said, no hesitance this time.
I hummed, grin shifting to a smile. "So, how's home?"
From our daily texts, I knew home life for him was shit. He didn't dive into detail, but I knew he hated being around his father and older siblings. Sebastian was the only one he cared about, the only one keeping him sane.
"It is what it is," he signed, recoiling back into his mute shell at the mention of home.
I pursed my lips, cursing myself for even bringing it up. There was so much I wanted to say; I wanted to tell him I was here for him, that I would listen if that's what he needed. But I didn't press any further, Oliver already knew what I would do for him. It wasn't my business to pry and stir up even more reminders.
Whenever he was ready to talk, I'd be there to listen.
—
"Wanna come to my house?"
Hearing my question, Felix halted to a stop, which caused us all to tumble against him. He ignored the flabbergasted looks of annoyance on each of our faces and turned to face me, green eyes narrowed and mouth twisted in pain; as if my question had physically wounded him.
"How could you?"
I blinked, "Huh?"
"Felix, you're holding up the line," Charlie reprimanded, being the only person left in the room behind the six of us. "Move."
"I'm in the middle of an important conversation, Charlie. Something you wouldn't know about since all you wanna do is talk shit." When Charlie's eyebrows raised in offence, Felix smiled sheepishly and continued in a sweeter tone. "You always say to let my feelings out, that is exactly what I'm trying to do. So, please, hush."
Charlie raised his hands in surrender before dropped them and folding them over his chest. He had an amused smile on his lips when he leaned back against the wall and observed us. "Oh, of course, your majesty. My apologies."
Felix ignored his mocking tone and kept his hard eyes focused on me. "Et tu Brute?"
Rowan made an amused noise at the back of his throat, covering it with a cough as I shot him an indignant look.
"What the fu—" Charlie tsked. "Fudge are you talking about? How did I betray you?"
"Inviting Oli and Lo back to yours whilst we're stuck in this place? Isn't that the definition of betrayal?" Felix began pacing in the doorway, spitting slurs at me like bullets. "How could you be so... thoughtless and cruel and disloyal and —"
"Alright, alright. Calm down, princess." Presley cut him off, resting her hand on his shoulder. "It's not Leo's fault that we're stuck in here, you're taking your anger out on the wrong person. Blame Charlie."
"What?" Charlie's amused face morphed to one of distress. "No, don't blame Charlie. Charlie is only trying to help!"
"Presley's right," Rowan echoed, staring at our therapist with a smug expression. "It's all Charlie's fault."
"On that note," Arlo quietly cleared his throat and grabbed a hold of mine and Oliver's sleeves. "We better get going."
Oliver waved whilst I mumbled a quick goodbye to our friends, leaving them to argue with Charlie as the small blonde dragged the pair of us from the room.
"I'd love to come to your house," Arlo admitted once we were a safe distance away from Felix, pale cheeks flushing pink. "I can't today, though. It's a two hour drive back home and my Dad's already here. Next time?"
"Yeah, Lo, next time." I nodded, swallowing down the disappointment. The feelings I tried to hide must've shown on my face, because both of them stared at me strangely; as if waiting for me to say more.
I withdrew my eyes from theirs and stared at the floor. My hands clenched in my pockets, finger nails embedding into my skin, though not as harshly as they would in the past. A sense of strangeness washed over me, feeling their absence felt unnatural. I'd grown so used to my own company over the years, drowning in the loneliness of being alone, that missing their presence each day felt foreign to me.
As the silence that washed over us grew thicker, I cleared my throat and lifted my eyes to Arlo's. "Why don't you ask your Dad to pick you up later next week? That way you can hang out with us for a bit longer?"
Arlo blinked at me, cheeks burning brighter as his lips lifted into a cheesy grin. "Really? That would be awesome! My parents are a little... overprotective," he sounded embarrassed, voice growing softer as he mumbled. "They might wanna talk to your dad before they let me come. Would um that be okay?"
"Yeah," I shook my head, a smile making its way to my own face at his bashfulness. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. "Of course that's okay. I'll text you his number."
"Great!" Arlo rested his head against me, wrapping his arm around my waist in a half hug. "I'm super excited now."
"Me too, Lo." I released him, ruffling his white blonde locks before turning to our quiet friend. "You coming today, Oli?"
He nodded, not looking excited in the slightest. "Sebastian's here, he can drop us off." he signed.
"Alright," I pulled my phone from my pocket, hoping Dad hadn't left yet. "I'll call my Dad and let him know."
Oliver nodded, his attention drifting to Arlo who began rambling about everything we could do next week. I took the opportunity to step aside and call Dad.
It rang once.
"Hey, bambino. You okay? How was it? Charlie just text to say the session was over, I'm just about to leave. Stay inside until I get there please."
"I'm fine. It was fine. I don't need you to pick me up." I told him softly, hearing a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. "I—"
"Le, we spoke about this. We agreed I wouldn't wait at the hospital as long as I picked you up as soon as the session ended. I get that you want to go out and do your own thing, but I need to make sure you're okay. I—"
"Dad, I am okay. I'm still coming home, I just don't need you to come get me. I was going to ask if—"
"I'm not okay with you walking home, not a chance. Your leg is still healing and-"
"For fu- fudge sake, can you let me speak?" I snapped and he went quiet. I sighed softly, feeling Oliver's and Arlo's eyes on my face. "I'm sorry for snapping, but you wouldn't let me talk. I'm not walking home, Oliver's brother is going to drop me off. That's what I was calling to ask you, would it be okay if Oliver came over for a while?"
"Oh," he sounded relieved. "Don't apologise, I should be the one to do that, I should've let you finish what you were saying. Of course that's okay, Le. He can stay the night to, if it's okay with his parents."
"Okay, I'll ask him." I paused, smiling softly. "Thanks, Dad. Love you." I cut the call before he could say anything sappy in response.
"You wanna stay the night?" I asked Oliver, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
"Please," he signed, seeming almost relieved. I wanted to question his relief, that was until my own thoughts caught up with me; Oliver didn't want to go to his fathers house.
—
"Shit." Arlo hissed under his breath.
Oliver and I both turned to gape at him, he'd rarely ever cussed in the teen home. Actually, I think this was the first time I'd heard him say a cuss word that wasn't in a teasing tone. Even then, those cuss words were almost always directed at Felix, and never went beyond the word ass.
"Can you guys leave?" He said, almost pleadingly.
"Sure," I shared a look with Oliver. "But only if you tell us why. I'm not gonna leave you here alone when you're clearly distressed."
Arlo huffed in a way that was so unnatural for him. "Never mind," he muttered. "You're about to find out why I'm so clearly distressed."
"Ari," a voice called in the distance and Arlo's body tensed further. I took a step closer to him, a feeling of unease spreading around my gut.
"Are you okay?" I whispered, seeing the girl's figure get closer. "Who is that?"
His shoulders sagged, cheeks puffing as he tried to calm his own nerves or annoyance; I couldn't tell which. "My sister," he grumbled, scuffing his shoes against the gravel. "I'm fine, she's just a lot. Our friends don't like her and I really don't want you to have to meet her incase she's mean to you."
"Mean to me?" I echoed, seeing Arlo and Oliver nod in confirmation. "She's been mean to you?" I asked the latter.
Oliver nodded and Arlo took the time to speak for him. "She doesn't see much further than black and white. She was rude to Oliver because he didn't speak to her. Apparently, selective mutism is just an excuse to be an ignorant bastard as she so kindly put it."
"Oh damn," I whistled. "Don't worry about me, Lo. Trust me, I can handle myself."
"Ari," the blonde girl, who's name I still didn't know, stopped in front of us. Her blue eyes regarded me with interest before her gaze drifted to Oliver and hardened.
"I've told you not to call me that." Arlo muttered, stepping closer to his sister and taking a gentle hold of her wrist. "Let's go."
"Nope, not so fast, Ari." She dismissed, pulling out of his grip. "Who's your new friend? I already know mute boy. Of course." she pursed her lips, her distaste for Oliver clear. "I thought I told you to stop hanging around with freaks like him?"
I raised my eyebrows whilst Oliver flipped her the bird.
"His name is Oliver, not mute boy. Don't be a bitch, Mar." Arlo scolded, an unnatural bite to his tone, which, like the cussing, surprised me. "And this is my other friend, Leo. I've told you about him."
"Ah, the one who saved you?" She tilted her head, examining me; judging me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. "Nice to finally meet my little brother's hero," she extended her hand towards me. "I'm the famous Marley, you've probably heard a lot about me."
I looked at her hand before lifting my eyes to her face, studying her features. She looked a lot like Arlo, only older, maybe seventeen or so. She had the same white blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes. It was just the blush that was lacking.
I glanced at her hand again and raised an eyebrow. Famous? "Can't say I have," I dismissed her obnoxious claims and stuffed my own hands in my pockets.
Marley blinked at me, her extended hand dangling between us awkwardly. "Oh," she coughed almost uncomfortably, seeming unsure of what to do next. It made me think she'd never faced rejection in her lifetime.
Oliver snorted. I could tell by the smirk on his lips that he was enjoying this.
"Where's Dad?" Arlo cut in, gazing at me fondly; as if telling he wasn't upset with my reaction, but rather appreciated it.
Her hand dropped as she turned to her brother. "In the car, he sent me to find you."
"Okay and look at that; you found me." Arlo's voice pitched higher as he made a weird jazz hand signal. "Go back to the car, please. I'll meet you there."
She stilled, staring at him with a cautious expression. "Come with me."
"Marley," Arlo gritted out in vexation, lips pursing into a childlike pout. The look on his face reminded me of my sister; the way she would play the puppy dog eyes card to get what she wanted. "I want to say goodbye to my friends. I'll meet you back at the car."
"Fine, you have two minutes." Marley folded a lot quicker than I expected her to. She narrowed her eyes at Oliver, and me this time, before turning on her heel and stalking back in the direction she came from.
"I'm so sorry about her," Arlo's cheeks were flaming. "She's not always like that. She's got like a dog tendency, you know, marking her territory and all, trying to play the alpha."
"Did you just call your sister a dog?" I laughed.
The blush creeped down his neck this time. "No! Yes! Maybe? I don't know. I'm just sorry."
"Relax, Lo." I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I'm not mad. Oli's not mad either, isn't that right, Oliver?"
Oliver gave Arlo a thumbs up.
"Okay," Arlo mumbled, the tension leaving his shoulders ever so slightly. "I'll make sure she doesn't tag along with Dad next time."
"Don't worry about it."
He smiled at me, leaning against me for a brief moment before pulling back. "I need to go," he said sadly, walking away from us. "I'll see you guys next Friday!" He called over his shoulder.
"See ya." I returned his smile, whilst Oliver waved at him with a blank expression.
"Sebastian's here," Oliver murmured, nodding his head towards the black car that came speeding through the hospital gates.
—
"Sebastian, slow the fuck down." I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering how the fuck this idiot passed his drivers test.
Seb grinned in the review mirror, his eye falling shut as he belted along to the song playing on the radio. "If I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by. 'Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles."
"Sebastian!" I gripped my seatbelt tighter as the car span round the bend of road. "You're not Terry fucking Crews. Open your goddamn eyes!"
I glanced at Oliver. He didn't seem to share my unease, expression impassive as he stared blankly at his brother from the front passenger seat. I had a feeling this was something Sebastian done often.
"If I could just see you..."
"Sebastian."
"Tonight. Da na na na na na na."
"I'm never getting in a car with you again." I told him with as much sincerity as I could muster, releasing a breath as we finally pulled up to the gates of my house.
"You say that as if it bothers me," Sebastian responded, rolling down the back window so I could type in the gate code. After I'd threatened to more or less jump out of the car if he didn't drive safely, he put the child locks on. "It doesn't by the way."
"Good to know." I hummed, pressing the last digit as the iron gates began to part.
"This house is so peng." He said in awe, drumming his fingers against the staring wheel as he gaped at my home. "Oliver didn't say were a rich kid."
"When does Oliver ever say anything?" Oliver glared at me for that. "I'm not a rich kid. My Dad's rich."
"Tomato tamato."
I rolled my eyes, deciding it would be best to leave it at that. Sebastian struck me as the type that could argue pointless facts until he was blue in the face.
"Is that your Dad?" Sebastian asked, nodding his head to entrance.
I took a glance, seeing Dad standing there almost anxiously. "Yeah."
Sebastian whistled lowly. "Damn."
"Don't even say it."
"Wasn't gonna say a thing, mate."
I didn't believe that for a second. "Thanks for the ride." I said to him, waiting for Oliver to open my door. "Even if you did almost kill me."
"You're so dramatic. I'm still tryna get used to the whole driving on the wrong side thing." He waved off my concern and rolled his eyes, watching me step out of the car before rolling his window down to address Oliver. "What time will I pick you up?"
"I'm staying here tonight." Oliver signed.
"Have you asked Dad?"
Oliver didn't sign anything to that, face twisting in annoyance at the word Dad.
"Oli," Seb groaned, running his ring cladded hand down his face. "You can't keep pushing his buttons. I'll tell him that you're staying here, can guarantee he won't be happy, though."
Oliver blinked. "And that's my problem how?"
Sebastian's jaw clenched, fists tightening around the steering wheel. I thought he'd scold Oliver again, but to my surprise, his voice was soft when he spoke. "Have a good night. I'll pick you up tomorrow, text me if you need me," he began reversing out of the drive way, calling to me from the window. "Bye, Leo. Good luck spending your night with that moody little fucker."
Oliver flipped him off as I waved.
I wrapped my arm around Oliver's shoulders, leading him across the gravel towards my Dad. "Excited to meet all of my siblings?"
"No."
—
After slipping our shoes off, Oliver's eyes scanned the walls of the hallway with interest; lingering on the many photos of me and my siblings. His gaze remained glued to our last ever whole family photo, dual eyes studying it intently.
I let my fingers drift over the faces of my parents, feeling Oliver's gaze shift to the side of my face. My heart felt heavier in my chest as my hand drifted lower, my pointer locking on the small space between Ace and Kaden, the place where another child should've been.
It felt wrong to describe the photo — the family — as whole. Jack wasn't with us at the time it was taken and I hated the fact that he wouldn't be for ten long years. I always had thought, the what could have been if he was with us.
"Hey, Oliver." Dad's voice pulled my attention away from the photograph and the thoughts I had often, my finger dropping almost instinctively. "It's good to see you again."
Oliver nodded at him in greeting, lips lifting into an almost smile. That was something I admired about Oliver. He didn't try to please people with big false smiles or unearned pleasantries, he didn't care what anyone thought; what you see is what you get with him.
Dad didn't seem surprised by his lack of expression, turning to me with his smile still intact. He stepped closer, brushing his hand through my hair. It had gotten longer now, not quite a buzz cut anymore but still not as long and curly as it used to be.
"How was therapy?" He asked softly.
"Fine." I answered, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting more than a one word response. "It was good. I didn't talk this time, just listened."
Dad hummed. "When's your next session?"
"I've got my next one to one with Charlie on Tuesday, then group again on Friday."
Just as he went to respond, the front door opened with a bang, startling the three of us as I flinched. Dad's arm fell from my hair to my shoulder, squeezing it softly as if to tell me I'm okay, I'm safe. I wouldn't be surprised if he could feel my pulse hammering beneath my skin. He didn't look at me, attention drifting to the dent in the wall where the door handle had struck, rupturing through the dry wood harder than one of Ace's fists.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Ace stormed past the three of us and stomped upstairs without so much as a hello.
Dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's wrong with him?" He asked Alex and Jack as they entered.
"Hey, Le, Oliver." Jack greeted with a smile. Alex nodded at the pair of us, lips pressed in a straight line. "To answer your question," Jack turned to Dad, raising his arms. "What's right with him?"
Dad didn't find this funny. "Jack."
"He's annoyed that I haven't forgiven him." Alex said, dropping his backpack as he slipped his shoes off and placed them in the rack. "More so, he's annoyed that I'm talking to Jack but not him."
"I did say you should talk to him." Jack pointed out. "He said he hated you in the heat of the moment, it's not that deep."
"I think it's pretty deep," Lily added, entering the house with the twins in tow. "I wouldn't forgive you so quick if you said you'd hated me. Actually, I'm surprised Alex has forgiven you. You and Ace were so mean."
"What she said." The twins agreed in unison, sharing an identical look of annoyance. "Stop doing that." They done it again. "Stop copying me!" And again.
"Do they do that a lot?" Oliver signed to me. He stared at them with wide eyes, as if they were a pair of animals that had escaped from the local zoo.
"No," Killian answered him in an annoyed tone, surprising Oliver with the fact he knew ASL. "We don't."
I snorted. "Yes you do."
"What the heck are you two talking about?" Kaden looked confused, as always. "What did you say?" he asked Oliver.
"He asked if you do that a lot." I told him.
"Do what a lot?"
"Never mind." I deadpanned. Sometimes talking to Kaden wasn't worth the hassle.
"So," Dad cleared his throat and looked at Alex. "Why have you forgiven Jack and not Ace?"
"After the talk we had at the hospital, Jack spoke to me and apologised in private. Ace hasn't done that." Alex clarified, face void of any emotion, making it hard to understand where his head was at. "He needs to grow up and learn that he can't have everything his own way. If he wants me to talk to him again, all he needs to do is apologise to me. I'm not caving in because he's thrown another tantrum, not this time."
Oliver hummed and signed. "That's fair."
"I thought so to," Alex stared at him with a look of appreciation, head nodding in agreement.
Oliver blinked in shock and turned to me. "Do all your siblings know ASL?"
"No." I shook my head, guiding him to the kitchen as Dad spoke to Alex. "Just Killian and Alex."
"Just Killian and Alex what?" Grey asked, not looking up from one of his many worksheets. He was sat at the breakfast bar, glasses perched on the end of his nose, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his many tattoos. The rest of his paperwork was littered across the marble counter top in a messy way I knew Alex would scold him for.
"Know ASL."
Grey looked up at me, clearly offended. "That's a lie. I know sign language." he waved at Oliver.
"Waving and knowing how to sign your own name is not knowing ASL." I pointed out.
"Whatever," Grey huffed and turned to my friend. "Nice to see you again, Oliver. You're staying the night, right?" Oliver nodded. "Do you like pasta?"
Oliver stared at him incredulously. "What kind of question is that?"
I laughed at Grey's puzzled expression. So much for knowing sign language. "He likes pasta."
"Great," Grey clapped his hands together. "I'm making carbonara for dinner."
"Dude," Carter strolled into the kitchen, still dressed in his pyjamas from the night before. "I freaking love carbonara night."
"Didn't I tell you to shower and change like two hours ago?"
Carter rolled his eyes at Grey. "Hey, almost dead kid that I revived," he greeted my friend with a cheesy grin, sidestepping past him to the fridge. He pulled out the half empty carton of milk, proceeding to gulp from the bottle to further piss Grey off.
"Ah," he wiped his milk moustache on his sleeve and placed the empty carton back in the fridge before turning to Grey. "Didn't I respond by saying I'm not a child and you're not my Dad?"
Grey closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Just stop talking and go shower, Carter."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?" Grey took his glasses off. "You stink, that's why. Just because you don't need to go to school right now, doesn't mean you can be a lazy slob."
"Mi scusi?" Carter gasped, holding a hand over his chest as if his heart was physically wounded. "A lazy slob? I'm in recovery, Greyson." he pointed to the bandage on his neck for emphasis. "Not all hero's wear capes, you know. Some wear very comfortable velour pyjamas and drink cow juice to hydrate."
"Let's go," I nudged Oliver's shoulder and nodded my head to the doorway. "There gonna be at this for a while."
—
I lead Oliver down the hallway, glancing over my shoulder every so often to make sure he was keeping up. Each time I looked at him, his eyes were glued to the walls, travelling along them with a look of something I couldn't quite place.
"Who are they?" He asked, voice soft hesitant.
My footsteps faltered and I paused in place. I hadn't expected him to speak to me for the rest of the night. It had become a common thing between us now, whenever I'd bring up something that made him uneasy and pulled him back into memories he'd yet to share with me, he'd go radio silent for hours on end.
I turned to where his finger was pointing, my breath catching in my throat as my gaze locked on the oil canvas of my parents. It had been a while since I'd came to this side of the house, in all honesty, part of me forgot this was here.
I smiled sadly. I used to admire this picture as a kid, try and recreate it with my own little paint set. I remember each time I'd fail, which was more often than I'd ever admit, I'd run to Dad with tears of frustration in my eyes. He'd hug me tight to his chest, my ear against his heartbeat as he whispered how my painting was so much better than the one our parents had paid hundreds of dollars for.
"See this painting?" He'd say. And I'd purse my lips in annoyance because of course I could see it, I'd tried to recreate it. "The man who painted it, painted it for money." He'd kneel beside me on the floor, taking the scrunched up ball of paper from between my little fists before using both of hands to straighten out.
"You see this one?" He'd ask, looking down at the painting tenderly, eyes lit with awe as if it was a work of art from Vincent Van Gogh himself. "The little boy who painted this, painted from love. Never try to compare two things that are worlds apart."
"My parents," I told Oliver, my eyes shifting from the oil canvas to the image above it. I felt my eyes burn, how had I never noticed it before? There it was, in a solid oak frame that made it seem more valuable than any other painting on the wall; my seven year old replica.
"Your parents?" Oliver echoed, voice laced with confusion. "But... your Dad?"
I pointed to one of the other photos, a group photo from the day Lily and I were brought home from the hospital, three day old me snuggled up in the safety of Zac's embrace.
"I always thought Zac became my Dad the day our parents died." I said, not referring to him as my brother because it never felt right to call him that. "But I think he's been my Dad from the moment he first held me in his arms."
Oliver didn't comment, not that I'd expected him to. He continued to stare at the oil painting with that same unreadable expression until I spoke up again.
"C'mon,' I nudged his shoulder. Part of me wanted to question why he kept staring at each photograph so intently, but I didn't want him to recoil into his voiceless shell again, so I left the question in my mind for another time. "I think you're gonna like what I have to show you."
—
I sat by the piano, my fingers tapping against the keys as I played a random, out of tune melody. I wasn't too focused on the ear piercing sounds, my attention never solely on Oliver. He was in awe; speechless from the second we'd entered the room, not that it took much to actually render him speechless.
But this type of speechless was different.
He was sat on the centre of the floor, legs curled into a basket, like an elementary school kid would sit. He had a guitar resting on his inner thigh as his wide eyes roamed every inch of the music room for what had to be the hundredth time.
There was this glint in his eyes, a childlike glee that made them seem brighter than I'd ever seen before. He looked up at me, catching my stare. The light never dimmed as the skin around his eyes furrowed into a glare. I raised an eyebrow, confused by the sudden hostility.
"Can you stop?"
"Huh?"
He jutted his chin towards the piano where my fingers drifted along each key, creating a sound similar to cats screeching in an alleyway.
"Oh," I lifted my hands away, smiling at him sheepishly. "Sorry."
"You're staring," he commented, eyes roaming my face before drifting back to the guitar as he plucked the strings softly. "Just spit it out."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Leo."
I sighed and closed the piano lid. "I guess I'm just wondering if you're okay?" I asked cautiously, chewing on my bottom lip. "You haven't mentioned much about how things are going." At home was on the tip of my tongue, but part of me knew Oliver wouldn't appreciate me referring to his father's home as that.
"Shit," he said with a shrug. Sliding the guitar off his lap, he lay back and stared up at the ceiling. "I hate it there," he whispered. "I hate him. I hate my sister. I hate my brothers. I just want to go back to the way things were; Seb, Mum and me."
I stood from the piano stool and slipped down onto the floor beside him. I didn't say anything, gently taking his hand in mine as I silent I'm here. It was rare for Oliver to be so talkative — so open, I wasn't going to take the moment for granted. I wanted him to know that I'd be his shoulder to cry on, his listening ear without the fear of judgement.
Whatever he needed, that's what I'd be.
"It'll never be that way again, though." He blew out a breath and shook his head. I squeezed his hand. I'm here. You're okay. "She's dead and Sebastian... he likes it here. He pretends he hates it as much as I do, like he's trying to prove to me that we're still in this together."
His hand trembled in mine as he turned to me, eyes filled with unshed tears. He didn't bother trying to blink them back, he was baring his soul to me, trusting me in a way that made my chest fill with a warmth I thought I'd lost.
"How can we be in this together... if I can't even bring myself to talk to him?" He whispered, voice shaking.
I didn't know what to say back to that. I didn't know Sebastian well enough to offer Oliver any words of wisdom. Oliver stared at me with a sad smile, as if he knew that my tongue was tied. He shook his head gently, squeezing my hand with his, silently letting me know that he didn't expect an answer. The question was his and his alone. No one knew his brother in the way he did. Oliver had all the answers he needed buried under his pain and grief, he just didn't have the courage to dig deep enough yet.
He'd get there someday. And if he let me, I'd be with him every step of the way.
"He's sending me to school." Oliver said, breaking the thickened silence. Silence never bothered him before, but this time he seemed fearful of it. I had a feeling that was because the stillness was based on his own admissions.
"Which school?" I asked.
"Some preppy private school." He sat up, letting go of my hand in the process as he reached for the guitar. He strummed the strings softly, rubbing the tops of his cheeks against his shoulder, drying his tears.
"You can keep that you know." I followed his actions and pulled myself into a sitting position, nodding my head towards the guitar in his hands. "Preppy private school doesn't narrow it down. It's New York, Oli, there's a lot of preppy private schools."
"Back up, I can keep this?" He gaped at me, mouth open in shock whilst his eyes glittered with excitement. "Seriously?"
"You saved my childhood blanket in the fire." I stated in a matter-of-fact tone, lips curving upward at his giddiness. "Call it a thank you."
"Your brother saved my life. I think that's thanks enough."
"You don't want it?"
"I didn't say that." He clutched the guitar to his chest protectively, gazing down at it with hearts in his eyes. "Thank you, Le."
I hummed. "So, which school?"
"You just ruined the mood," Oliver groaned. "River something, I don't remember."
My eyes snapped to his. "Riverside High?"
—
END OF CHAPTER
thoughts?
Sebastian?
Ace?
Oliver?
any guesses on what happens next?
it'll be the calm before the storm...
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6700 words