Oliver's eye was twitching by the time his shift ended. His back was aching from lifting heavy boxes and bending to stock shelves, his patience having long since run thin after helping customer after customer buying their groceries. His bed was calling to him from across the street, and he couldn't get his apron off quick enough in the back room. He knew that he wasn't going to go to sleep any time soon, though. He refused to waste the rest of the day with sleep and wake up only to have to go back to work soon the next day. Instead, he vowed to sate his stomach at the diner he lived above and maybe exploring the rest of the town.
Once his apron was placed in his locker and he had his phone, wallet, and keys, Oliver turned to exit the employee's lounge. He caught his reflection in the mirror that was placed next to the doorway and paused for a second, taking in his dark hair and tired blue eyes. He had had trouble sleeping off and on for months now, and it showed. The baggage under his eyes was next level. His hair was disheveled and had definitely lost its sheen. His plain black shirt was wrinkled and the jeans he had been wearing the past week were accumulating stains and a slight smell by now. He knew he should be taking better care of himself, but most of the time he couldn't find it in himself to care enough. He had finally gotten away from the constant disapproving eye of his mother and the stress of having to look "presentable" every day, regardless of what he was doing. Oliver had definitely let himself go too much once the pressure was gone. A little voice inside his head told him that he should go to the laundromat today and maybe clean up his apartment, and with a sigh he silently conceded to doing those, regardless of how much he didn't want to.
Oliver walked through the door and through a small hallway before appearing at the back of the store. He made his way between the aisles, his mouth set in a frown and his eye twitching again when he spotted some of the items he painstakingly arranged on the shelves. The wooden floors squeaked every now and then under his shuffling shoes and he prayed that the blonde employee and whoever came to take over the register wouldn't try and have a conversation with him. He just needed to get out of here. The amount of human interaction Oliver could handle had almost reached its peak and it was only a couple of minutes past one in the afternoon.
Thankfully, no one tried to stop him as he exited the store, a tiny bell tinkling above the door. Oliver took in a deep breathe of air, enjoying the slight breeze that kissed his cheeks. That was one thing he did enjoy about this town so far. The air was clean and cool here; the sky was clear and blue in the daytime, not sullied by smog. There wasn't muck in the air that dirtied his skin and made his head pound every time he was outside for too long.
Oliver stretched his arms over his head, groaning and wincing as his back popped multiple times. A yawn ripped across his face and he squeezed his eyes shut before reluctantly opening and lifting them to examine the diner across the road. Graham's Diner was settled between a bookstore and an apothecary, and was everything that you would expect of a stereotypical diner. The brick building looked like a piece of history. The large windows were shaded with a red and white striped awning. Red neon flickered the store's name above the double doors and painted letters on the glass advertised free Wi-Fi, the only indication that the retro establishment was of this place and time. Honestly, Oliver found it charming, but he would never say so out loud.
Sighing, Oliver looked both ways before crossing the street. Internally, he rolled his eyes at himself. Why look both ways when the streets are practically deserted? He reached the other side and made his way to the right of the diner, walking down the tight alley until he reached the back of the building. He fished his keys out of his pocket once reaching a nondescript door on the left side of Graham's and shoved the key in the lock, struggling a little to turn the key in the old door before it finally gave way. Oliver flipped the light switch to the right of the entrance, illuminating a short flight of stairs in front of him as well as a door to the right that lead to another set of stairs and the second apartment above the diner. He continued up the flight of stairs, wincing as the door he just came through slammed shut behind him. At the top, Oliver unlocked a second door and relief flooded his body when he closed it behind him and he was finally left alone in his small apartment.
He leaned against the door as he took in the small room. Two windows with alcoves took up the majority of the space on the opposite wall, overlooking the street below and the small store he worked at across the street. In front of the windows was his full-sized bed laying parallel to the wall. A large, old chest sat at the foot of his bed, the black paint chipped and its corners plated in tarnished gold. A long, wooden dresser stood against the left wall, a small flatscreen television sitting atop it and a worn, chocolate-brown corduroy leaveseat sat across from it. He had donated all of his nicer furniture back in California and had bought everything but his mattress and the television secondhand when he had moved here. He didn't feel the need to have new and expensive things in his life now that his mother wasn't there to judge him about it. Sure, everything was worn or had scratches or chips in it, but he didn't mind. Somehow, it all came together and made him feel at home, regardless of the crack in the low glass coffee table in front of the couch or the rickety leg in the lone chair he had that was currently pushed into his small wooden dining table. The only other door was on the right wall and it led to his bathroom. The kitchen took up the wall the front door was located; a sink filled to the brim with dirty dishes was nestled in the corner, separated from a small gas stove by a soapstone countertop that could barely be seen under dirty pots and pans. A fridge stood off to the right of the stove, its retro style and baby blue doors looking so out of place yet so at home in his apartment.
Oliver pushed off of the door and collapsed on the couch, leaning his head back against the seat and letting his eyes fall shut. His body sunk into the cushions and he was half-tempted to just give in and fall asleep right then and there, but when he peeked one eye open to look at the pile of laundry that had accumulated on the floor in front of his bed, he knew he shouldn't. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of yet another reason why he should stay awake. Oliver grumbled and painstakingly got up, beginning the process of gathering all of his dirty clothes into his hamper. He made a note to vacuum at some point in the near future when crumbs and who knows what else fell from the articles of clothing he picked up off of the floor.
When he could see the hardwood floors again, Oliver shucked his rumpled shirt off and tossed it into the hamper that was just about full now. He slipped out of his shoes and slid his stained jeans off to the floor, stepping out of them and almost tripping on a pant leg. With a scowl on his face, he threw the jeans into the hamper, as well, and stalked over to the dresser. Opening a drawer, he was faced with only one clean shirt. Unfortunately, it was also a shirt he loathed to wear. With a twitch in his eye, he plucked the light pink shirt up and put it on reluctantly, sighing in annoyance when he caught a glimpse of the bold, black lettering and the drawing of an old man with a metal detector. 'Beach better have my money'.
He yanked another drawer open and grabbed his last clean pair of jeans. He kicked himself mentally, wishing he didn't wait so long to do laundry. The jeans had originally had tasteful rips along the legs, but those rips became gaping holes over time. He had also grew some since buying them years ago, so they were a little too short and snug for his tastes. Whatever. It's not like he cared what people thought of him here, anyway. Although... on second thought. Maybe it was worth smelling bad if he didn't bring extra attention to himself. Not that he found himself particularly attractive, but his clothes were generally loose-fitting, so what he was left wearing now was far more revealing than anything this town had seen him in before. Oliver reluctantly turned away from the dresser and eyed the piles of dishes in the kitchen area.
Ugh. Why. Why do I have to be the way I am?
He decided to ignore the dishes for now and just focus on getting the laundry started and feeding himself. Ignoring how uncomfortable he felt, Oliver picked up his change jar from the dresser and walked over to get the laundry detergent from under his bathroom sink. He tossed the items into a backpack he almost never used and slung the bag onto his back before pulling his shoes on and grabbing his hamper and making his way out of the apartment. It was a struggle carrying the basket down the stairs, but he somehow managed. He pushed his way out the door and lugged the laundry over to his car, briefly taking in the pale yellow, classic convertible VW bug his mother had hated him for buying. It was his baby and he absolutely adored it, even if the air conditioning didn't work half the time and he didn't get the best gas mileage. Setting down the hamper, he popped open the trunk and shoved the clothes inside before slamming the trunk shut.
Seconds later, he was in his car and on his way across town to the local laundromat. It was as nice as a laundromat in a tiny town could be, he supposed. The washers and dryers worked fine, and there was a folding table and carts to make it easier for the customers. Oliver wished he could have found a place that already had a washer and dryer inside, but it was only a minor inconvenience. It forced him to go somewhere besides work and his apartment, at least.
He parked his car on the street and got out, tugging at his shirt uncomfortably as he walked to the back and got out the hamper. His arms complained at the weight as he carried the hamper to the door of the building. Setting it down, he pulled the door open and held it with his foot while he picked the clothes back up. Awkwardly, he maneuvered his way into the establishment, almost falling over in the process. Oliver didn't have great balance, or coordination in general. He had scars littering his knees from the many times he tripped and skidded across various surfaces during his childhood, oftentimes concrete. They didn't really bother him too much, though.
He set the hamper down in front of a washing machine and began to load it up, forcing himself to keep a straight face when an odd smell wafted from some of the items. Thank god I had the motivation to do the laundry today. Whatever is festering on this shit would probably have gained sentience in a day or two. Fucking hell.
He poured a random amount of laundry detergent on the clothes and popped some coins in the machine, slamming the top shut and feeling satisfied he accomplished something today. Oliver could hear the water starting to fill the drum and turned away, grabbing his backpack. The door creaked as he exited the building while setting an alarm on his phone so he could keep track of his laundry. Now what to do...?
Oliver looked around, taking in the quaint little homes that the laundromat was surrounded by. He looked further down the street and could see some businesses and a gas station. Deciding to finally see a new part of the town, he headed off in that direction, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets so that he wouldn't keep pulling at the uncomfortable shirt. He passed houses with white picket fences and green yards, the occasional tricycle or rubber ball dotting the lush grasses. A couple of cars passed him by on the street, probably on their way to the diner or coffee shop on a lunch break. Soon he reached the first business, an antique store. The building had two stories and its windows held old paraphernalia. Paintings and lamps, war memorabilia, dolls and trinkets and more random things could be seen through the glass. Oliver hesitantly opened one of the doors and walked inside, immediately being hit with the smell of moth balls and dust and vanilla incense.
A long counter stood off to the left, a display case showcasing various homemade sweets. An old soda fountain took up the majority of the space behind the counter. Everything was cluttered in here, and Oliver felt slightly claustrophobic, but his curiosity spurred him on to walk deeper into the store. Various rooms branched off from the one he was in now, holding everything from old cookie jars and salt shakers to spindles, paintings, jewelry, rocking chairs, playing cards, discontinued children's toys, and more. It was a hoarder's paradise, except that everything seemed to be organized and had a place. No one was behind the counter when Oliver continued into the room. He looked around and couldn't hear anything but soft music that seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere. He had never been in such a place before, but he had always been drawn to new and exciting things and loved exploring. This was a perfect way to spend the next thirty or so minutes. Nobody was around, and he let himself relax a little as he meandered around the first floor. Record players and old china sets and porcelain dolls collected dust on shelves and benches. Figurines and glassware, old guitars and Stetson hats, games over 50 years old and furniture that must have been made long before he was born were just a few of the things his eyes roved over. He soon discovered a set of stairs leading to a second level and another set of stairs leading to a basement level. His stomach flopped nervously as he looked down the stairs leading to a basement. It was an irrational nervousness, seeing as it was well lit and the stair railings had twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around them to light the way. Oliver swallowed and turned back, though, and headed upstairs instead.
He was in the middle of sorting through a display case full of broaches and medallions and matchbooks and rings when his phone alarm went off, making him jump violently. His heart practically leaped out of his chest and he hurriedly fished his phone out of his pocket and turned off the alarm. Chest heaving, he looked around, wondering if the noise would alert whoever ran the store that he was here. No one popped out from behind the shelf of creepy masks, so Oliver allowed himself a second to calm down, placing a hand over his chest as he tried to control his breathing.
Embarrassed, he began to make his way to the exit and was soon leaving the building, glad to be outside in the fresh air. The store had been pretty musty, but all in all very interesting. He made a mental note to go back there again at some point. After he mustered up the courage to go down into the basement, of course. Oliver had an overactive imagination, to put it lightly. Rationality practically flew out the window when he was confronted with something even mildly creepy. Horror movies were definitely not his favorite, and he could never bring himself to even watch someone else play one of those horror games that are so popular now.
Maybe I could drag Tamra along with me when she visits soon so I can see what's down there, he thought to himself, smirking as he imagined how freaked out Tamra would be. She was an even bigger scaredy-cat than he was.
Thoughts of the antique store left his mind as he reached the laundromat and pulled the door open, humid air smelling of detergent and dryer sheets encasing him as he walked inside. His clothes were soon changed over to a dryer and Oliver made his way outside and to his car. Now that he had an hour to spare, he would finally feed his growling stomach. Shoving the keys into the ignition, Oliver turned his car on and pulled away from the sidewalk, making his way to the other side of town. There were more cars than earlier parked in front of the diner when he arrived, but he still easily found a parking space and locked up his car before making his way over to the double doors, pulling one open.
Just like the retro exterior, the inside of Graham's Diner was everything you would expect. Black and white checkered tiles lined the floor, the walls white with red trim and covered with records and framed pictures of old Hollywood stars and starlets. A classic jukebox was playing music quietly, filling the diner with the sound of Paul Anka's smooth voice singing Put Your Head on My Shoulder. White tables and red chairs dotted the room and a line of shiny stools with red cushions sat in front of a counter, behind which Mrs. Graham, herself, was bustling around with a hot pot of coffee. When the bell above the door jingled as Oliver entered, she looked up, warm brown eyes twinkling at the sight of him.
"Hey sugar! Come on over and I'll get some food in ya in just a second!" she said cheerily as she placed a delicious looking burger in front of a tired-looking man who was gulping down a cup of coffee. Oliver smiled a little, just a little, and walked over to the counter, taking a seat and looking at the milkshake machine behind the counter longingly. He definitely would admit that Mrs. Graham made the most delicious chocolate milkshakes to ever have graced his tastebuds. He tore his eyes away from the machine and saw Mr. Graham through the kitchen window working the grill, a smile on his face as he slung burgers like a pro. Generally, Oliver had something negative to say about everything, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to. He may have told himself earlier that this place was average, but he really had come to enjoy it since moving here. Someone would have a tough time hating on Mr. and Mrs. Graham's energy and love for the place that they've been running for who knows how long now.
Oliver picked up a menu from the counter and flipped through it, his mouth watering as he scanned everything. Deciding to get something he hadn't tried yet, he placed the menu back down and watched as Mrs. Graham practically danced over, her gray curls bouncing. "How have you been, honey? I've missed your sweet face the past couple of days," she cooed, leaning against the counter in front of him. Oliver blushed and cleared his throat, his hand absentmindedly tugging at the hem of his shirt.
"I've just been tired lately. I'm doing my laundry right now, though, so I thought I'd get something to eat while it's in the dryer," he said quietly. She smiled, tilting her head at him in endearment. Oliver silently wondered how this woman always managed to get him to share things that definitely weren't necessary sharing.
"Well, let's get ya something to eat! I can practically hear your tummy growlin' from here," she winked at him and took out her notepad and pen. "What'll it be today? The usual chocolate milkshake, hon'?"
Oliver nodded his head, and asked for the chicken fried steak and gravy with a side of fries to dip his milkshake in. Mrs. Graham winked at him as she pushed off the counter and went to pin his order to the rotating rack at the window. He watched her head to the milkshake machine to start his delicious milkshake before letting his eyes roam around the room, taking in the other patrons enjoying themselves and laughing together at the booths and tables. All of them looked so happy, with the exception of the man a couple of stools down from him. I probably don't look too overjoyed either, to be honest, he thought. He realized he had been tensed on the stool without even realizing it, and slowly relaxed and brought his hands up on the counter.
Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself be happy for just a few minutes. Mrs. Graham was a sweet older woman and it would take more energy to be grumpy in her presence than to just smile. She had been so nice to him when he first moved here. There weren't very many options in terms of vacancies in this town and she rented out one of the two apartments above the diner to him at a much lower cost than she could have. She and her husband lived in the other apartment above the diner, their kids long grown up and moved out, so there wasn't a need for them to have a large house anymore, according to her. They were a very humble and generous couple, and Oliver almost envied the love they shared. Mrs. Graham would always peck Mr. Graham's cheek as she passed by him and he smiled at her with so much love in his eyes that Oliver felt like throwing up at how sweet it was, but a small part of him also clenched at the cuteness. He would never say so out loud, but he wanted that someday. It didn't matter how cheesy it was. Oliver liked a heaping helping of cheese on most things he ate, anyway.
Mrs. Graham swept over to him and placed down a classic chocolate milkshake, whipped cream dolloped on top and garnished with a ruby red cherry. She placed the steel mixing cup with the rest of the shake down beside it and chuckled as Oliver took a sip and closed his eyes in bliss.
"You know, sweetie pie, you're the only one that gets this excited over milkshakes." Oliver smiled up at her and just continued to sip at the deliciousness. He would survive off of these alone if he could. Mrs. Graham just shook her head and smiled a sweet smile as she puttered away, topping off the coffee cup of the other man and going up to the window as a bell was dinged. When Oliver saw his food, his stomach growled again. The plate was placed in front of him, piping hot and ready to be devoured. "Enjoy, honey," she sang before leaving him alone with his meal.
Oliver dug in right away, almost moaning at how good it was. Please Mr. Postman by the Marvelettes drifted out of the jukebox and Oliver would not have wanted to be anywhere else but there in that moment. All of the bitterness drained out of his body and what was left was just a young man that couldn't be more content.
Soon his plate was empty and his milkshake completely drained, the only sign there ever being one the glass, itself, and the cherry stem at the bottom of the cup. Oliver paid for his meal and waved a goodbye to Mrs. Graham before heading out to his car. The ride to the laundromat was short, and not long after, he was driving home with a clean hamper of clothes in the trunk of his car. He couldn't help but feel a little hollow as he walked up the stairs to his empty apartment. The energy was sapped out of him once he wasn't around Mrs. Graham and the happy atmosphere of the diner. Oftentimes, Oliver felt conflicted when it came to being around people. It was exhilarating yet anxiety-inducing in public settings, sometimes, and when he was by himself again, crippling loneliness plagued him and he became aware of how much it took out of him to socialize with people.
He absentmindedly began to put away his clothes, thinking back on the day and feeling a smile tug at his lips. He got things done today. He wasn't a lump on the couch today, and that was something to be happy about. He didn't have to let what he left behind in California poison the rest of his life. He could live in this quaint town with happy people and perhaps one day, he would be just as happy as them without even thinking about it.
The rest of the day, Oliver cleaned his apartment and made himself a modest chicken stir fry dinner in the evening. The motivation that was driving him throughout the day petered out afterward, so he allowed himself to sink into his soft couch and watch The Office on Netflix, laughing so hard he cried at certain points in the episodes. Soon, his eyes were drifting closed of their own accord, and he fell asleep. Soft snores were the only thing to be heard in the apartment, the television screen stuck on Are you still watching? before it, too, turned off to sleep the night away.
A/N
Hey! I am uploading this a day later than I would have liked, but I wanted to make sure it was good enough to post. I was so happy writing this chapter and I hoped you liked it. I'll be posting a third chapter hopefully within the next couple of days.
-Morbid