I don't know what the fuck Oliver juiced me up with before I fell asleep last night, but holy shit, it worked. Waking up with the ability to breathe again seemed like it'd never come. Holy hell, that sucked. On a more positive not, I felt a hundred percent better. We can chalk that up to a win. However, what I thought was a fever dream happened to be my reality. I finally had a more permanent bedroom here.
Although, it looked like…This. I had a bar on the side of my bed. Like the kind people get when their toddler is transitioning from a crib to a bed. If I didn't know any better, I'd think the dresser was a changing table. My closet was stuffed to the bring with more ruffles and bows in a pastel rainbow than one girl had a right to in a lifetime. I understood that Oliver wanted to give me nice things, but does he understand how old I am? Because I don't think he does.
Regardless, since I'm feeling better, I should probably go find a new job. Someone in town has to be hiring. At least I hope so. A good place to start would probably be the newspaper. Granted, the only people who pick it up nowadays are old people who hang out in fast food restaurants, taking advantage of their free refills on coffee. Still, they could manage to be a wealth of information for me in these trying times. Alright, Amy. Let's do this! I pushed myself out of my weird toddler bed and pulled myself together. Although, I did want to make a quick check of my phone. I know it needed to get on the charger. But I wonder if I got a text back from Allen last night after I went to bed.
Huh…That's weird. I'm almost positive I left my phone on the nightstand before I fell asleep. Because I said good night to Allen and told him what was going on. Then, I put my phone down on the nightstand. If that's t he case, then where the fuck did my phone wander off to? I checked the floor, around the bed, and even in the drawer, but I still came up short. Even in my old bedroom, it was nowhere to be found. That's not good. Maybe my roommate got a little carried away in his cleaning and moved it? That sounded likely.
I walked downstairs still in my pajamas and headed into the kitchen, keeping an eye out for my phone. Still nothing. Oliver wouldn't have taken it, would he? No. Oliver may be a weirdo of different proportions, but I don't suspect him for a klepto. Nevertheless, I sat down at the bar in the kitchen while Oliver was buried in the oven, pulling out a fresh tray of muffins. Damn, those smelled good. Then again, when doesn't Oliver's kitchen ever smell like Christmas morning?
"Morning, Oliver," I figured I'd break the ice this morning. He seemed preoccupied.
"Oh!" Oliver chirped, "Good morning, darling. I didn't hear you come down. How are you feeling?"
"Much, much better," I reported, "But you wouldn't have happened to see my phone, have you?"
"Can't say that I have," he shook his head, getting a muffin for me, "Sorry. Where did you see it last?"
"On the nightstand in my new bedroom," I remembered, "I'm pretty sure that's where I put it."
"Maybe you moved it," Oliver suggested, "But here nor there. Because I have something I'd like to share with you."
"Really?" I wondered, my foot nervously bouncing under the bar, "What's that?"
"I'm hosting a party tonight," he filled me in, "Well…I say a party. It's a small party. A few friends of mine are coming over and I'd like for you to join us."
"I live here," I pointed out, "And I don't really have much for plans today, so sure. I'll come."
"Wonderful!" Oliver draped his arms over me, "I'm so happy to hear you say that. Because I have some friends that I most certainly want you to meet. But tread lightly, love. When I say it's a small party, it's more like a support group. They're not all completely mental, though. Like I said, support group."
"For what?" I asked, "Please tell me you're not hosting the AA meeting tonight. I've lived with one alcoholic, Oliver…Well…Two, but that's here nor there. But I don't think I could handle another one."
"Who was the other one?" he jumped on the defensive.
"My dad," I brushed him off, "But he's also a recovering alcoholic. I digress."
"I'm not hosting AA," Oliver promised, "It's a different kind of support group. But it's not for any sort of addiction. Would you mind helping me set up today?"
"I'd love to!" I always had a knack for party planning. I have no doubt in my mind that Oliver does, too.
"Lovely!" he chimed, catching my excitement, "Go on then. Finish your breakfast and we'll be off. We still need to do some light shopping. A little house cleaning. And you…"
"Me?" I perked up, "What about me?"
"We'll get to that later," Oliver switched tangents, "Shall we then?"
"Ok…" Still not quite sure what that's all about, but I'm sure I'll find out later.
"By the way," he started cleaning up the dishes, "How do you like your muffin? I tried a new recipe this morning. Pinterest is such a naughty little thing."
"They're really good," I applauded, "But I don't see you as the type to be taking recipes from Pinterest."
"Why ever not, poppet?"
"It's like cheating for you," I explained, "You're so good at what you do that I thought you could just pull measurements out of your head."
"Oh, bless you," Oliver melted, "I can pull measurements out of my head, but sometimes, it's nice to have them written down for me as well. You should see my recipe box. It's truly a thing of beauty."
"Kind of like my world history notes," I giggled, "I totally get it. There's something in the organization that just makes your brain happy."
"Someone who finally understands!" he got up on the step stool and pulled down his recipe box. Sure enough, this was much more organized than my world history notes. Every recipe was written in a different color meaning something different. On note cards that were all different colors with their own meaning. By the looks of it, they're alphabetized by ethnicity, then by recipe, and separated by cooking method.
"My god, Oliver," I stared over them in complete awe, "And this is just your recipe box?"
"I told you," Oliver beamed with pride, "It's a beautiful recipe box. I can appreciate a well written out index card, too. But the convenience of Pinterest does help once in a while. Finish your breakfast, Amelia. Time is of the essence and we're going to need all we can get today."
"Alright, alright," I finished off my muffin and headed back upstairs. The prospects of a shower sent tingles up my body. Instead of using the guest bathroom, I figured I could use Oliver's. I mean, it's right there next to my closet. I might as well. Once I was all clean, I wrapped myself up in a towel and walked into my room. And my day kept getting weirder. A set of clothes were already laid out on my bed. No explanation, but a pile of pastel blue fabric covered my sheets. Despite how cute they were, I wasn't really feeling it today.
I poked my head back in my closet, still dripping wet from the shower, and looked for something else. In a perfect world, I'd check the closet in the guest room for something, but that would also mean running naked from my bedroom back to the guest room. Streaking was not in the cards for me, so I'd have to make do. Even if that means settling with the Alice in Wonderland looking outfit already on my bed. What the hell? That'll do. I looked myself over in the mirror, curious as to who the fairytale princess was staring back at me.
This sure as fuck wasn't me. Although, I'd be lying if I said I didn't look cute. Too cute. I was down for a pair of cut off shorts and a vintage t-shirt and maybe a jacket I found in a thrift store if things had gotten a little cold out (I was a sucker for a good bomber jacket, if we're being honest). But dainty sundresses like this and more tulle than God knows what to do with? Not for me. Maybe when I get a minute to myself while we're out today, I'll do a little shopping for myself when Oliver's not watching. Because I know damn well he's responsible for this.
I quickly blow dried my hair, not putting any sort of real effort into it, and ran back downstairs, only to find Oliver at the bottom, "Amelia, you look so cute!"
"Thank you," I forced a smile on my face, "But I'm not so sure about it."
"Why not?" he whined, "It suits you so nicely. It's much better than what you used to wear."
"But I like what I used to wear."
"And you don't like this?" Oliver awed, his eyes turning sad. And it broke my heart. I couldn't handle that.
"It's not that," I stumbled over my words, "It's just…It's perfect. Absolutely perfect."
"I thought so, too," his smile returned. Oliver offered me his hand, "Shall we?"
"Yeah," I nodded, graciously accepting.
This was nice. It was a beautiful day outside. We only had to go a couple blocks to get to the store. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to sneak away for that. That's ok, though. He had a point. I looked cuter than hell and I couldn't be mad at that. Or at him. All the while we walked through the grocery store, he wouldn't let go of my hand. I missed this. It's the strangest thing. I didn't realize how much I missed this until I finally had it again. Oliver had given me so much since I showed up on his doorstep that night. And I couldn't possibly begin to thank him for it.
As we stood at the checkout, I figured it'd be a good idea to grab a newspaper. That way, I can see if someone's hiring. In all honesty, though, I kind of didn't want anything to take away from the time I've had off. Being able to get some decent sleep at night without worrying about getting to work on time, doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. It was nice. And spending the extra time with Oliver wasn't too bad either. Regardless, all good things must come to an end.
That was the thing about the local newspaper, though. Every time I looked at the cover, it was always something depressing. Even now, the headline reads: Local missing man found dead. Cheery shit, right? I don't know why I expected today to be any different. They know that print media is dying, yet they still carry on. I respect their tenacity, but they need to know when to throw in the towel. Let's just see what happened to the local missing man.
Twenty-five year old Reid…Logan…
Wait a minute…No. There's no way that's the same…It's a different Reid Logan, I'm sure.
…was found at the bottom of the East River, six miles from town, still buckled into his car's seatbelt. Police found several bottles of assorted alcohol in the backseat and signs of blunt force trauma to his head. At the time of printing, the coroner's report has not been released to the press.
No…As much as I didn't want them to, tears began to well up in my eyes and my voice broke, "Dammit, Reid…"
"Amelia?" Oliver turned around, "Everything alright, love?"
"Do we really need to throw that party tonight?" I shook, the paper rattling in my hands, "I'm not in the mood."
"What's the matter, darling?" he caught the tears rolling down my cheeks, "Talk to me. Where are all the tears coming from?"
"It's Reid…" I wept, "He…he died."
"Oh…" Oliver immediately grabbed our bags, keeping a hold of my hand. Good. Because if he wasn't holding on, my knees would probably have given out and buckled under me, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Amelia…Come on. Let's go home."
"Ok." Reid, you fucking dumbass. You promised me you were going sober. I told you that once you did, you could come back to me and we could start with a clean slate. All I asked was that you got some help. I saw it coming. I knew this was how it would end for him. If only he would've listened. If only I would've been more adamant about it. But I left him. I left him when he needed me most. When we got home, Oliver sat me down on the couch and brought out some tea. It smelled like chamomile. But I didn't want tea. I wanted this guilty feeling to go away. Why did I have a feeling I've been in this position before?
"Do you know how it happened?" Oliver asked, treading lightly.
"He got a little too drunk," I took a heavy sip from my tea, "Drove his car into the river. I don't know why I'm surprised. It was only a matter of time before his stupidity got him killed. Wallowing over it isn't going to bring him back. But if that's the case, why do I feel like I'm holding the smoking gun?"
"No, no, no, sweetheart," he moved over to my side of the couch, wrapping his arms around me, "You didn't tell him to start drinking. You certainly didn't tell him to drive himself home."
"I didn't even know he was missing," I curled into his shoulder, "But there must have been something I could've done."
"You've been doing for so long, Amelia," Oliver cradled me, "But it's a shame he never noticed how much you were doing. Are you going to be ok?"
"Don't get me wrong," I confessed, "Toward the end of our relationship, I really was starting to hate him. But there was a little part of me that held onto hope. I really thought me leaving him was going to be the wake-up call he needed to clean himself up. I thought he would've stopped for at least that. But I guess I wasn't that important to him. That doesn't mean I wanted him dead, though."
"You shouldn't be left alone tonight," Oliver decided, "Come with me. We still need to get you ready for tonight."
"Oliver…" I let out a heavy, tired sigh, "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but I don't think I'm in the place to be meeting new people."
"I already told you, Amelia," he pointed out, "It's not exactly a party. It's a support group. And the last place you need to be right now is holed up in your room. You're not alone. I promise."
"Fine," I didn't have it in me to meet new people tonight. But even more so, I didn't have it in me to fight Oliver. I didn't even remember going from the living room to Oliver's bathroom. In a way, I was completely vacant. Nothing but an empty shell. News of Reid's death hit me harder than I expected it to. I figured that if Reid were to die in an accident like this, then it would've been like finding out my first grade teacher died. Yeah, it sucks, but I'm not exactly going to lose sleep over it. This was different, though. I'm sure I could be seen and not heard tonight. At least I hope so.
By the time Oliver was done, I caught a glimpse of what I looked like. My messy short hair was gently tamed into soft little ringlet curls slightly pushed back by a thick, white headband. My eyes were framed by long, thick eyelashes that I'm almost certain weren't my natural ones. The glow in my cheeks hid the splotchy redness crying put on my face. And my lips were swollen enough to give the light pink gloss its spot to shine. This wasn't right. This wasn't me.
"Oliver…" I winced, "I don't think you understand. I'm not the fairytale princess you want me to be."
"What do you mean?" Oliver wiped his hands off, finishing his top buttons on his shirt, "Of course you are. And you look great. You have nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried," I clarified, "I'm…artificial. And it's not right."
"Amelia," he took a few deep breaths as if he was holding something back, "I need you to behave yourself this evening. I shouldn't have to worry. I understand you're going through some difficult times, but there's no sense in wasting your time worrying about someone who wouldn't dare do the same for you. Now, everyone is downstairs waiting. We shouldn't keep them any longer."
As much as I wanted to stay upstairs and make myself look normal again, I didn't have much of a choice. Pitching an absolute shit fit sounded like a plan, but Oliver already seemed like he was a timebomb. Instead of making more trouble for myself, I stayed quiet. I'm not exactly happy about coming downstairs, but I'd suffer in silence. Damn, we had quite the group here. These guys looked like they had served prison time and weren't afraid to go back.
There were three of them. One looked like he didn't just serve prison time, but he was nobody's bitch. He looked like a gang leader, but not small time. Another looked like he was half asleep. I bet he was a pickpocket. And he could possibly work for the first one. The third one seemed out of place. He seemed more like Oliver. Like sunshine only wrapped in a big scarf instead of pastels. He sat quietly by himself with a little smile on his face.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Oliver sat me down on the couch and looked toward the pickpocket, "Xiao…Xiao…? Can someone check him for a pulse please?"
"I got it," Gang Leader stepped in, putting his fingers on the pickpocket's neck, "He's alive. How unfortunate."
"Kuro," Oliver settled him, "That's not nice."
"And?" Gang Leader rolled his eyes, yelling at the pickpocket, "Xiao!"
"Shénme?" the pickpocket grumbled, opening his bloodshot eyes a little more.
"Wakey wakey," Gang Leader gave him a kick to the shin, "Oliver's pissed."
"Kuro," Oliver put a jar with assorted bills in it in front of him. I bet that ten in there is recent, "And Xiao, look at me."
"What do you want, Oliver?" the pickpocket could hardly keep his eyes open and his head up. I've seen that a time or two before. Oliver pulled a little pen sized flashlight out of his pocket and shined it in the pickpocket's eyes, making him wince, "Oh, what the hell, man? What did I ever do to you?"
"What have I told you about showing up to these meetings high?" Oliver rolled his eyes, "What is it this time? Cocaine?"
"Opium," Pickpocket told him while Oliver rolled up his sleeve, showing off the track marks on his arm, "It's fun stuff. Let me cope. What are you getting so bitchy about it for anyway? You didn't have a problem when Fran…"
"Enough!" Oliver snapped, immediately calming himself down in the next breath. Then, he caught a glimpse of Sunshine sitting across from me, studying my face closely, but with subtlety, "Ivan? What are you doing here? Where's Viktor?"
"Hello, Oliver!" he smiled, giving him a wave, "Viktor said he'd rather polish nuke than come to this meeting, so he sent me instead. Although, I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about going to his weapons storage since his cable bill was over fifty-seven thousand rubles and there were a lot of x's on that statement."
"Thank you, Ivan," Oliver cringed, letting this Viktor guy's porn problem go unchecked. And he said this wasn't a group for addicts. So far, we got one guy who sent a proxy just so he could stay home and beat off and another guy who's currently strung out on opium. Hell of a mix, "You might as well stay. You'd be as good as any as a replacement Viktor. Is this really everyone?"
"We could send stand-ins?" Pickpocket came to again, "Aww! That's not fair, Viktor!"
"Focus, Xiao," Oliver ordered, "I know that's difficult for you right now, but we still have business to attend to. Kuro?"
"Nani?" Gang Leader…or should I call him a yakuza boss? Because I got the feeling that's what Kuro is.
"Have you heard anything from Luciano or Lutz today?"
"No," he shook his head, "I don't keep tabs on those two. And before you ask, I don't know where Flavio is either. That's probably for the best. Annoying little brat. I thought Luciano was bad…"
"Oliver?" the sweet one, Ivan chimed in, "Who's your friend?"
"Yeah," Pickpocket, or Xiao lifted his head, looking me over, "She's cute."
"She's why we're all here this evening," Oliver explained, "This is Amelia. I found the last one, gentlemen. It's time."
