As she followed Adam through the house, only half listening as he pointed everything out, she thought about Olly's quick departure. He was really sticking to what he had said two weeks ago; he really was making every effort to stay out of her way. Amelia didn't know whether she should be thankful, offended or ashamed.
"And here," Adam said, stopping at a door near the end of the upstairs hallway, "Is Tom's old room."
He pushed open the door andAmelia gasped, feeling the wind knocked out of her. Everything was exactly as he had left it the last time he had stayed here, which had been five months ago after a wild night with them. He had been too drunk to drive and Jason was feeling particularly unsympathetic as the designated driver and had refused to drive him home to Amelia. Stepping into the room gingerly, she felt her heart pound in her chest.
She had only been in the room a handful of times. When they began their relationship, they were spend time at her old apartment or out on the town; it was easier that way. Any time she did come around the house, she and Olly shot venomous words at each other and everyone found they were in the crossfire of a situation they could do without. As such, everything seemed like a mystery, like a museum. Like she had studied the subject in books and now she was seeing it displayed in front of her.
Sensing her distress, Adam stepped back and began to close the door. "I'll let you settle in," he said softly, setting her bags on the ground. She nodded mutely before walking further into the room.
Feeling her being break and her head spin she crawled on top of the bed and felt her eyelids grow heavy. It was too much to deal with. Why had she thought this was a good idea? She couldn't do this now, she couldn't do this ever. Squeezing her eyes shut, she blacked out then; dreaming disjointed dreams about Tom and the house and blue eyes. She woke up disoriented hours later when a knock at her door sounded.
"Mils?" Adam's soft voice came. "The guys and I are going out to get some things for dinner. Make yourself at home, okay?"
She didn't respond, but rather sat up in bed, feeling dazed and confused. She glanced around the room and felt everything crash upon her again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she felt her legs grow numb beneath her. The room held so much of him, even more than the home they shared together. The walls were lined with framed photographs depicting scenes of his life. Photos of he and Adam when they played little league baseball together, another of he and Olly in college. Another of her own face, smiling back at the camera. She squeezed her eyes shut and flopped down on the blue plaid comforter, unable to remain sitting. It smelt musky and stale; like it hadn't been cleaned or slept on in quite some time. She cringed, realizing that though his scent didn't linger on the fabric, his being haunted the room.
He had a collection of baseballs lining a shelf above the bed and a small book shelf crammed with classic novels. Tom loved to read; 'The Kite Runner', 'The Great Gatsby', 'Grapes of Wrath' and 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' all had a rightful spot on the wooden case. On top of his dresser there was a watch, a tray with spare change, a deodorant stick and a CD player. The floor was covered in loose leaf paper and random pieces of clothing. A sock here, a button down shirt there. Feeling her composure break, she crawled off the bed and took his shirt before pulling it over her camisole. She shuddered as it hit her skin and she curled into a ball on the bed, hoping desperately that the pain would filter away and that she could feel whole again.
She had once read a novel where the female protagonist was dealing with a broken heart and had described herself as feeling like swiss cheese. Filled with holes and gaps that could never be filled again. As stupid as the book had turned out to be, and as silly as the female protagonist was...there was no better description for how Amelia was feeling at the moment.
She felt her body begin to shake as tears filled her eyes and she clutched the comforter with her fingers. She felt a gaping hole through her, felt empty and so, so numb. She had never felt anything like this since her father had died, but this, this was entirely different kind of pain. It was fresh and while her father's death had crumbled her heart, shattered it; Tom's had ripped it right out of her.
Suddenly everything was hitting her all at once. She was plagued with memories. Dancing with Tom at the wedding, picking out a Christmas tree with him. Their first date, the first and last times they had made love, the first time he told her I love you. Her eyes snapping open, she saw her own face staring back at her from the wall and she swung her legs over the bed, breathing heavily.
She had to get out of there.
Hastily exiting the room, she shut the door loudly behind her. She raced to the bathroom across the hall and yanked open the door. Locking it quickly behind her, she clutched the rim of the toilet before retching into it. She felt the hot tears run along her face and when she felt her stomach empty entirely, she leaned against the edge of the bathtub and took shallow breaths, catching the tears before they could hit the ground. Pulling herself up, she went over to the sink and pressed her palms into the surface, trying to still her beating heart. How could she stay here?
This was going to be a lot harder than she had expected. But things always go worse before they got better and maybe with that notion, she could get through her. Running the tap, she gathered cool water and rinsed it over her face. She took a tube of toothpaste and scrubbed a little bit over her teeth as her own tooth brush was still locked in the confines of her suitcase. Feeling considerably calmer, she stepped back out into the hallway.
Now what? She could watch television, she supposed. Or she could give herself a better, proper tour of the house. Either way, she could not go back into that room. Weighing her options, a tour seemed like the better one out of the two. Glancing about the hallway, she knew the room beside hers was Jason's and the one across from hers was Olly. She knew that on the floor downstairs was the kitchen, living room, Adam and Jeff's rooms and another bathroom. There was one door whose contents remained a mystery to her.
Curiosity was getting the better of her, and hell, she was home alone. Walking over to the door, she pulled it open slowly and peered inside. She had not expected to find it occupied. She had thought all the males were out for the day.
Naturally she hadn't taken one into account.
Olly was in the room with a woman, but despite what Amelia would have assumed had she been told that information, it was anything but what the words insinuated. The woman, tall with curves in all the right places and long chocolate brown hair was sitting in an armchair, her legs flung over the side. Her lips were painted a shocking red and in her hand she held a multi-coloured fan. Coyly, she peaked over the lace edges of it, her eyes dancing as she watched Olly.
He was kneeling in front of her, a camera poised in his hands. He wore jeans, a grey v-neck t-shirt and a black trilby. He snapped pictures rapidly; adjusting on his knees as he did so, getting different angles. Amelia froze. She had stumbled upon Olly's studio.
She had known he had one; Tom had mentioned it time and time again in an attempt to get her to warm up to him. Amelia enjoyed art plenty, and Tom, being Tom, had assumed that she would maybe be able to bond with Olly. Amelia simply didn't care though, she didn't like Olly so there was no way she was going to like this work. It was like watching a film with an actress or actor you weren't particularly fond of; you can't focus cause all you can remember is how much you dislike them.
Just as she was trying to edge the door closed, however, the woman's eyes fell on her and she lowered her fan, uncomfortable with the intrusion. Seeing her body shift, Olly turned to look over his shoulder and stiffened when he saw Amelia.
"Um, hi?" the brunette woman said quietly, awkwardly running over her hair. She glanced over at Olly. "Did um, you have another girl lined up for now? We have gone over time?"
Amelia shook her head, "Um, no, I'm not..." she looked over at Olly who was fiddling with a dial on his camera and she fingered the hem of Tom's shirt. "I'm not...um, don't let me interrupt you."
The woman in the chair flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed," she laughed nervously. "There's not a lot of women in this house often."
Amelia smiled slightly and turned. "I'll let you get back to work." She turned to look at Olly, who had a hand pressed to his forehead.
"Forget it," he sighed loudly, standing slowly. His knee made a sharp cracking noise that filled the awkward silence that had fallen over the three. "My stride's broken now. Angie, you can go."
The brunette frowned as Olly set his camera down and made his way over to her. "Olly, are you sure? I don't have anything better to do this afternoon anyways."
Olly smiled at her as she swung her legs over the armchair and took the fan from her. "Yeah, don't sweat it. You've been here for nearly three hours anyways. I've gotten hundreds of shots." She rose and he gave a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Tell Rob I say hi."
She grinned brightly and grabbed her purse off the floor. "Will do. See you, Olly," she came to the door, where Amelia was still standing. "Nice to um, meet you...um..."
"Amelia," she filled in, smiling tightly. Angie smiled back weakly before stepping past her to leave. Once Amelia heard the front door snap shut, she leaned against the doorframe and watched as Olly plugged his camera into the computer set up on the desk on the other side of the room.
"Sorry," she began softly. "I was just wandering and I was just wondering what this room was," she answered honestly. Olly glanced up at her before taking a seat at his desk chair. "Adam didn't mention it when he gave the tour earlier."
She glanced around the room. The walls were painted a deep charcoal and several lights were set up on either side along with a white drop screen. There was a small wooden box that was open, revealing several props. Fans, masks, costume jewelry and the like. In the far right corner of the room, across from the area where Angie had been posing was Olly's desk, where he was seated now. A silver iMac computer sat on top of the desk, along with an printer, two other cameras and a series of lenses. Black and white photos lined the walls, city scapes, flowers and landscapes; work she all assumed to be his.
Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Olly hit a few keys before replying. "It's not your house, Amelia. You shouldn't go snooping around."
Amelia narrowed her eyes, feeling the familiar sense of adrenaline past through her veins at his words. "Sorry I took away your opportunity to get her to pose nude," she snapped and he narrowed his own eyes, shaking his head.
"You're such a twat, Amelia," he said quickly, clicking his mouse. His eyes flew over her appearance and he grimaced. "What are you wearing?" He flicked the strands of hair poking out from underneath his trilby out of his eyes.
Amelia flushed. "Oh, I just...you know, found it in Tom's room," she pulled the ends of the sleeves over her wrists and fingers, hiding her fists from him.
He didn't say anything for a moment, his eyes fixed on her trembling hands. "That's no way to heal," he said after several beats of silence. He smirked bitterly. "Are you going to rent a wood chipper and toss the rest of his stuff in there, too? Because this is our house and I think we have a say in it this time."
She scoffed, irritated. "Oh, what do you know?" she said angrily. "You didn't love him like I did. You couldn't possibly understand."
He chuckled darkly before turning in his desk chair. "Don't act so high and mighty, Amelia," he said lowly. "You're not the only one whose dealt with a broken heart. So stop running your mouth before it gets you in trouble."
Glaring and propelled by an unknown force, Amelia stepped into the room. She wanted to throttle him. How dare he insinuate that her feelings were not unique? Maybe hundreds, thousands upon millions had gone through similar things, but that didn't make her pain any less real. Stepping over to him, unsure why she felt the physical need to touch him, sock him in the jaw or dig her nails into his bicep, she restrained herself and glanced at his screen. On display where hundreds of images of Angie, all of them portraits. She raised her eyebrows, impressed, before Olly minimized the screen.
"First you open the door without knocking," he began, removing his trilby and ruffling his hair, "Then you read over my shoulder. Haven't you ever heard of privacy? Personal space?"
Amelia didn't say anything, instead leaning over him and clicking the mouse. A particularly stunning image appeared on the screen and she felt her chest tighten. It was beautiful.
Suddenly, Olly snatched the mouse from underneath her palm. His fingers brushed hers and she felt a jolt run through her. She pulled back as if burned. She never wanted him to touch her. Ever.
Olly recoiled before sighing. "Why," he began tiredly, "Are you in here? Especially since I was the one who promised to keep my distance."
She wasn't expecting him to question her actions and she found herself faltering under his words. "I told you," she said cooly, "I was just wandering around the house."
"Fair enough," he responded, turning back to his work. "Since your lack of respect for personal property caused me to lose at least another hour of work, it'd be great if you could leave. I have editing to do and I don't need any distractions.
Amelia laughed sardonically. "Like I was planning to stick around, Murs." When he didn't respond, she began to walk towards the door. As her hand closed over the doorknob, she turned back and saw Olly hunched by his computer screen, scanning photo after photo and she stilled.
He looked so tired, the dark circles under his eyes prominent and his face pale. She knew that face, she knew that exhaustion. She saw it in the mirror everyday. For the second time in the three years she had known him, she found herself wishing things weren't the way they were between them.
Then he cast his eyes on her and furrowed his brows, raising a hand as if demanding to know why she was still there and the moment was gone.
---
Later that night, Amelia had opted out of helping to prepare dinner. Olly was downstairs in the kitchen, drinking a beer and frying meat, and after their early encounter, she thought it best to try and keep her distance as well. Not only that, she felt she had to deal with being in Tom's room sooner or later.
So she had taken to wandering around the room, looking through his old books and belongings. She put on one of his old mix CDs and smiled as The Beatles filled the room. She had never been a huge fan, but Tom had, and she enjoyed remembering the things he loved.
The whole room was like a shrine to him and his younger years. She found old beer bottles stashed in a cupboard in his bureau and dozens upon dozens of old school assignments from college. He never wanted to part with them, saying that you never would know when you would need them again.
She stepped over to his closet and pulled open the doors, her eyes running over it's contents. She was still dressed in his old shirt and her pair of skinny jeans from earlier than day, not changing out of it despite Olly's words. In the closet hung dozens of button shirts, all similar to the one she wearing and she smiled. She would wear a different one to bed each night.
The top shelf of the closet was cluttered with objects. Books, shoeboxes, he box for his laptop and his beloved baseball glove. Tom had loved baseball. She saw a single photograph sticking out and she pulled it from the top and glanced at it. Her heart stopped.
The photo was of she and Tom a year ago at Adam's birthday. He had his arm around her and she had her head resting on his shoulder. They looked happy.
She smiled, holding the photo in her hands, her fingers running over their faces. They had been so happy, so close. Her chest felt tight and her body began to tremble as she once again was hit with the full impact of his death. He had given her happiness, had held her heart and with him gone, it was impossible to get either back.
She took the photograph and tucked it in her back pocket, before stepping on her tiptoes and attempting to grab the baseball glove that was wedged between two shoeboxes and a clutter of books. It didn't seem to want to budge and she gave an extra hard tug. One that was too hard, sending the books and boxes flying to the ground.
She groaned as a shoe fell out, smacking her on the nose. Running the wound, she looked down at the mess that now surrounded her feet. Crouching, she sighed as she began stacking the books, putting the shoes back in her box and scooping up the photographs.
Wait. Photographs?
----
A/N: quite long...SORRY!
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