She asks you to tell her the truth.
It's late, extremely so, and she asks you to be honest.
You can hear the beach outside of her window, the push-pull of the waves crashing against the sand. You swallow hard, the words she wants getting caught in your throat. Any other night, you would say that you love her, tell her goodnight, go back to your house on the other side of the beach. But, tonight, she's asking for everything that you can't give her.
"Oliver, just tell me. Please, just..."
You've spent all night taking turns drinking from a bottle of Jack that you bought with you fake ID, her voice is slurred and you know that she won't remember this in the morning.
"Don't tell me. Don't. I already know... I already know." She says, shaking her head, tears leaking out at the corners of her eyes. She falls back on her bed, her arms splayed out above her. You want to say something, something reassuring, but that would just be another lie. And she doesn't want lies tonight.
You take a breath, your hand resting on the door knob.
"Why have you done this to me, Oliver, why couldn't you just tell me? From the beginning. Why couldn't you just say it? Now, look at us, look where we are."
She wipes her eyes, laughs sadly. And, yeah, you're a complete asshole. You were stupid and scared, and now everyone gets hurt.
"I shouldn't really blame you, though. I knew it just as well as you did. I always knew. I could always see it in your eyes... always. And, she didn't know, though, she didn't. She's gone, Oliver, and she still doesn't know."
You let out a shaky breath, staring at the mess you've caused. All because you were just too scared. It feels like your feet have left the ground, weightlessness, and you're sure it's not only from the alcohol. It's feels good, too good, because it should feel bad, but you're not really sure what good is so it could be a better form of bad - and, wait, where was that sentence going? Oh, right. It feels good, because finally, finally, this is all out in the open, even if it's a few months too late. Even if it hurts a whole hell of a lot.
"Oliver, how could you do it? How could you live with something like that. Something like unre- unrequited? That's the word, isn't it? Yeah, unrequited love."
She doesn't wait for your answer, and it's not like you would've said anything, anyway.
"It just seems like it would've been easier to tell her, if you ask me. But, your not asking me, so I don't guess it matters..."
She sighs, pulling the covers around her.
"This hurts, Oliver, it really hurts, but I can only imagine the way you must be feeling. She's gone, and you're... you're still here and you still love her."
Her eyes close and you know she's asleep, and tomorrow, she'll wake up with a massive headache and no recollection on this midnight confession. But, you'll still remember, you know this, you can't forget something like this. No matter how much you want to.
You close her door and begin your trek down the stairs, a horn beeps outside (you called a cab service ten minutes ago, ten minutes before the end of the world). You walk a little faster, and you hold on to the door for stability.
You stumble outside, making sure to lock the door, and you fall into the cab.
The driver asks for your address and you mumble it out, he nods his head and the car is in motion. You take deep swallows of air, reminding yourself that she won't remember, forget forget forget. The ride takes only about five minutes, you throw a ten at the cabbie (keep the change) and pull yourself out. You collapse in the hammock on your back poarch, not even attempting to unlock your door.
She's gone and you're still here and you still love her...
The sounds of Malibu lull you to sleep, and you dream of golden locks and unrequited love.
Author Note - This took me like 10 minutes, and it's kind of sloppy and stupid. Lily/Oliver... wtf? (I was listening to Mitchel's new song 'the in crowd', and i started thinking about Oliver... and this is the product.) REVIEW(: