Title: Fault Line
Rating: PG-13 -violence
Summary: Oliver -Enter the mind of a psycho
Disclaimer: I don't own anything...
Notes: This is messed up...but, then again, so is Oliver. Heh.
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Under the ocean, way below the surface, there are bubbling masses of molten lava that spill onto the seabed floor. No one knows why they erupt when they do or even how to stop it.
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He opens his eyes and he can see so clearly limbs and skin, and them together. Together like they're not all wrong for each other. The beds are pushed
close and the seam in the middle does not even hinder their progress, nor does the slightly ajar door that looks in on them. Oliver, from his place in the closet
can hear Marissa whisper Ryan's name, watches her hands glide down the planes of his stomach, then disappear in the waistband of his jeans. She bares her
throat and Oliver feels the betrayal like a punch in the gut.
His eyes don't leave her face. He wants to be the one that makes her cry out just like that.
His mind is a jungle of madness. He's wrapped in the crushing vines that pull and tear and conquer it.
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His fingertips cover his face, pull back with drops of wet tears. He licks the salt and finds something coppery and sticky there too.
Blood.
His blue eyes try to focus. He sees Her. But he knows it can't be real.
Not Her.
Just an image. An image that follows him around like crate paper clinging to his shoes from some extravagant party.
No, not crate paper.
Carbon.
Carbon copy.
And he can't find the real her. The one that makes his cock jump and his head go dizzy.
She's gone. And there's blood.
Blood?
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It's truly amazing to him how easy it is to love her. To fall for her. To want her. And she smiles and laughs at his jokes and doesn't make him feel like such a
freak. He's been called that all his life.
The white, white walls of hospitals and the dark, dark place in his mind don't scare him anymore.
Ryan doesn't know. He doesn't get it. He's not like them. He and Marissa were made for each other. They will be together.
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He has to make her understand.
He doesn't want her afraid, but no, she can't leave.
Scaring her? He was scaring her? No, that's not right. They were meant for each other, didn't she see?
Help? He didn't need help. No, he wasn't going to go back to that. No hospitals. No white rooms. No binding jackets and pills. Too many pills.
There's no reason for her to cry.
They'll be together soon.
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His fingers press tighter, tighter.
Little noises. Sounds strangle from the back of her throat.
It could have be easy. If she had just listened.
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Blood.
Sounds from behind him.
Gasps. Screams. Crying.
A hand on his arm. A fist to his jaw.
Questions. Questions. Too many questions.
Seth's voice. "Oliver, what did you do?"
"Where is she?" Ryan.
"Oh, God. Oh, God." Summer? Anna? Both?
Blood.
Marissa?
He rocks back and forth, his hands to his ears. Pounding.
"Oliver?"
His eyes open and close. Open and close. "I don't know. I..."
Sirens. More voices. Blood.
The truth is on his tongue, but all he can taste is blood and regret. His eyes fill with tears and they slide down his cheek like tar, slow and thick, dropping onto his palms. He stares and he doesn't see anything but blood.
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end.