I will never get used to waking up in this room. The sickening amount of pink and the flowery bullshit in here was too much. Really and truly, I needed to find a Sharpie and give it some other flavor in here. More pressing matters for today's itinerary. Find my phone. When I do that, I'll go find a job. And I'll do that until it's time for me to go to class. There. Simple as that.

"You have it all wrong!" Wait…That was coming from downstairs. I only heard Oliver viciously angry like this once. Color me curious. I sat in the doorway of Oliver's bedroom and listened.

"You can't keep her like a pet, Oliver." Oh…You're different. You sound like Oliver, but if Oliver were more salt than sweet.

"I'm not keeping anyone," Oliver argued.

"Yes, you are!" Salty snapped, "And it's only a matter of time before she realizes that."

"You know…" Oliver got quiet. Scary quiet, "Even those in the shadows crave the warmth of the sun."

"Not like this…"

"I know this may be difficult for you to understand," Oliver stood his ground, "But she came to me. She's staying entirely of her own volition. I'm not forcing it."

"Well…" I heard footsteps coming from the living room toward the stairs. Maybe I should get a look at this guy. And when I did…Holy shit.

This guy even looked like Oliver, too. It's scary. He's a dead ringer for Oliver. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were twins. If this guy wasn't covered in layers of neutral tweed, he'd be Oliver. Did Oliver have a brother I didn't know about? Maybe it's like Francois and his twin brother. Nevertheless, they were coming toward me and I needed to stay out of sight.

"Well, nothing," Oliver brushed him off, "It was lovely seeing you again, but I'd appreciate a fair bit of warning next time you show up. That way, I could have something prepared. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to. Good morning."

"Oliver, please…"

"I've already said what needed to be said," Oliver snapped, "Please leave before you wake her."

Shit. I should probably get back to my room before Oliver comes up here. I crawled back into my bed, not quite falling back to sleep. Just as I thought, Oliver soon appeared in my doorway. He's been through enough this morning. Instead of giving him grief, I gave him a little smile, hoping to ease the tension in the room, "Good morning, Oliver."

"Good morning, darling," he sat at the edge of my bed, pushing my hair out of my face, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," I moved a bit closer to him, "But can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Oliver allowed, "What is it?"

"Who was that downstairs?"

His face went completely blank. But just as I was expecting him to blow me off, Oliver actually gave me an answer, "He's a bad man, Amelia. I want you to stay away from him. Did you see his face?"

"No," I lied through my teeth, looking at that very same face, "I just heard the yelling downstairs."

"I'm sorry, love," Oliver pulled me into his lap and cradled me in his arms. Whoever that guy was, he really got to Oliver. I've never seen him so freaked. But as quickly as I noticed, he shook it off, "What should we do today, Amelia? We have a whole day to do whatever our hearts desire, just the two of us."

"Well," I pointed out, "I still have to find my phone. Unemployment doesn't suit me. But I have a class tonight, so if we could take care of both those things beforehand, that'd be great."

"Do you really have to go to class tonight?" he whined, "Or find a new job?"

"Oliver," I laid my head on his shoulder, "Don't get me wrong. This has been great and I can't begin to thank you for everything you've done for me. It's just that…I need to do things for myself, too."

"But Amelia," Oliver traced his fingers down my spine. If he's not careful, I may end up falling back to sleep, "Things are so good just the way they are."

"I know…"

"So, we shouldn't ruin them," he cut me off, quickly changing the subject, "Why don't we get you dressed?"

"Ok." Looks like I pushed a little too hard. I'm not getting any more out of him.

"Go wait in the bathroom," Oliver got up from my bed, "I'll find something for you."

"Ok." On my way to the bathroom, curiosity got the best of me. I knew what was in my nightstand drawer. What would someone like Oliver Kirkland keep in his nightstand? I doubt that I'll find any porn or shit like that. Although, when I opened the drawer, I didn't expect to check something off my to-do list so soon. What the hell was my phone doing in here? As much as I wanted to grab it, I left it in the drawer. I know where it is and I can score it later. If Oliver finds it on me, he'll know I was poking around somewhere I wasn't supposed to. I'll be back for you, my friend. Before Oliver knew a thing, I ran into the bathroom.

"We should go out today, Amelia," Oliver suggested, "If you were going so stir crazy, all you had to do was tell me. Anywhere you'd like to go in particular?"

"Anywhere?" I perked up. Something tells me if I mention job hunting, he'll just bitch at me. And I'd rather not deal with that.

"Anywhere you'd like."

"Let's go to the thrift store!" I squeaked, ready to jump out of my skin. Oliver said anywhere I wanted. And anytime he's decided the two of us were going shopping, he's always picked where we go. I'd never go into most of the places he's dragged me to, so why not bring myself back to Earth? Besides, I needed to get out of my head for a while.

"A thrift store?" Oliver winced, "Really? You don't want to go somewhere a little…cleaner?"

"I do wash my finds, Oliver," I assured him, "Eighty percent of my wardrobe came from a thrift store."

"I knew I didn't like it for a reason," he mumbled to himself.

"It's so much fun!" I begged, "Please?"

"Well," Oliver unfurled the cute, white sundress he had picked out for me, "I suppose since you asked so nicely…"

"Yay!" I chirped, taking my dress, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower and get a little less gross and then, we can take off."

"Do you need any help, love?" he offered.

"I think I got it handled." I know it wouldn't be the first time he's seen me naked, but those were also times when I didn't have much of a say in the matter. Regardless, I kicked Oliver out of the bathroom and did exactly as I told him. I was a big girl and managed a whole shower all by myself. How ever did I do it? I get it. Oliver wants to be helpful in any way he can, but he needs to understand that I can do things on my own, too. I'm a functioning adult, dammit!

When I got out and my hair was a sopping wet mess, I gave it a quick towel drying and looked myself over. Some of the natural curl was poking through. Dammit, I can be so fucking adorable. But alas, I knew Oliver would bitch about my wet hair. It wouldn't be the first time. It was short enough to where it'd take me no time to dry, but Oliver swore by old wives' tales. Going out when my hair was still slightly damp would not kill me, nor would it make me sick. When it came down to it, either getting bitched at or spending the extra few minutes with a blow dryer, I'll take the latter. Besides, Oliver's already outside his comfort zone for my sake anyway.

It was only a few extra minutes. If I do it, that means Oliver doesn't feel the need to do it for me. Kind of like when he picks out my clothes for me. Or when he makes me eat breakfast even when I don't want to eat. Or when he got me off caffeine and I felt like shit for a few days. Or when he shows me off to his buddies only to (I'm assuming) talk to them about me when I'm out of the room. Something tells me if I were to tell him about how warm and loving Ivan's hug was (and, if we're being honest here, sorely needed), he'd lose his fucking mind.

But I digress. Because now, I could finally get back to feeling like me again. I skipped down the stairs and met Oliver at the bottom, "I'm ready."

"Why, yes, you are," Oliver melted, much like every other time when he sees me. He took my hand and led me down the last couple steps, "Adorable as ever, poppet. Now, are you sure you want to go to the thrift store? There are so many better places we could go today. The park, the art museum, the library…"

"I'm sure," I nodded, "I love the thrift store! It's one of my favorite places in town. They know me by name there. At least I think they do."

"Alright," he let it go. Oliver got his hand sanitizer out of his pocket. Oh, yeah. Oliver's dreading this. But he's doing it anyway. It's Hot Topic all over again. He's just being dramatic.

By the time we got there, Oliver had somewhat calmed down. I could tell, though. Oliver was still uneasy about all this. Not as bad as Hot Topic, but I knew if he had his way, we'd be out of here already. I had to do something. His skin's going to start peeling off if I'm not careful. I just needed to put this in Oliver terms. Something that would be easier digestible to him. Something to make this a less hellish experience for him.

"Oliver," I approached him gently, "Are you doing ok?"

"Me?" Oliver perked up, "Yes. Quite fine. Why?"

"Are you sure about that?" I saw through the bullshit, "Because it's fine if you want to leave."

"And take away something that makes you so happy?" he shot me down, "No. I couldn't do that to you, Amelia. It wouldn't be right."

"Think of it this way," I wrapped myself around his arm, "This is just like going antiquing. The only difference is that instead of it being, say, an eighteenth century tea set you find in here, it's a horrible sweater that no one in their right mind would buy in today's day and age, yet there's something special about it and you buy it on impulse."

"I'm glad that you have something you feel so strongly about, darling," Oliver pulled me closer, "And if you can see the good in it, I can try to see the good in it, too. It's not my ideal way to spend an afternoon, but that's what makes it an adventure, isn't it?"

"That's the spirit!" I sang, "And the best part about this particular thrift store is that you never know what you're going to find. I remember one time I came in here. I found a giant promotional figure of a pickle for a farm somewhere and because I had the extra forty dollars in my pocket that day, I brought him back to my apartment. My god…That was before I started seeing Reid. I wonder whatever happened to that pickle. My old roommate and I used to dress it up on Halloween. Nine times out of ten, he'd be wearing a cowboy hat covered in sequins. Why? I don't know."

"You lived a strange past, Amelia," Oliver giggled a bit, "Who knows? Maybe I'll find something in here myself."

"You just need to find your pickle figure," I insisted, "In fact, they do have a section full of figurines. But that's not even the best part. The novelty collector glasses are usually pretty good, too."

"Show me."

Did I make a believer out of Oliver on the idea of thrift stores? I'm not quite sure. I did get him to look, though, so I'll call that a win. Not to mention, it managed to help me find my center again. Before I met Oliver…Hell, even before I met Reid…It was nothing for this to be a weekly thing. Every Saturday, I'd come into this thrift store and peruse the wares. Sometimes, I'd get something. Sometimes, I wouldn't. But I didn't care either way. Because everything in this store had a story behind it. A few marks here and there could give more clues as to where it came from. Yet it found itself in here, waiting for someone to take it home. And it was a great spot to look for some really weird shit. I loved it so much.

Shortly after we left, though (with a foxy grandma glass and a little music box), the weather decided to take a turn. Despite the blue skies and the sunshine when we left, rain poured down over us. Fortunately, it was only a sprinkle when we left. However, by the time we reached the front porch, it was practically a monsoon. Not that it was a bad thing. I loved thunderstorms. And when I go to class tonight, I'll really be able to appreciate it. The building my history class was in happened to have a tin roof. Even though there was a floor above us, I'd still be able to hear it.

"Why don't you go change out of your wet clothes, Amelia?" Oliver sent me upstairs, "I wouldn't want you getting sick again."

"Ok." One man's cautionary tale is another man's golden opportunity. I knew I wasn't going to find anything in my closet that remotely felt like me, so I could leave my fashion choices on the back burner for now. I seem to remember a certain cellular device in Oliver's nightstand drawer that did not belong to him. Granted, the time without it has felt rather liberating, but it's time for me to get it back now. Chances are, it's deader than shit, but it's a good thing it charges quickly.

But when I got my hands on it again, the screen lit up. My lock screen was unchanged. Everything was still in its place. Out of instinct, I checked all of my messages. My voicemails were quiet, my emails were nothing but the usual junk, and my texts…My text messages were where it all went wrong. Because by the looks of it, I was still getting texts. And still sending them while my phone was missing.

Allen:

Are you busy tonight?

You:

Yes.

Allen:

Ok.

What about tomorrow night?

You:

I don't want to do anything with you, Allen.

Please delete my number.

What the hell? I never told him that.

Allen:

What do you mean?

Amy, talk to me.

Please.

What did I do?

You:

I don't need your negative influence in my life anymore.

Allen:

Are you ok?

You don't sound like you.

You:

This is her father.

You are not to contact her any further.

Excuse me? I haven't seen my dad since Oliver and I went to dinner at my parents' house. I'm pretty sure he didn't have my phone.

Allen:

Really?

Why don't I believe you?

You:

That's not my problem.

Leave her alone.

Allen:

Oliver?

You:

So…

You figured it out, didn't you, Allen?

You always were rather clever.

Allen:

Where's Amy?

You:

Honestly…

Didn't I raise you better than that?

Allen:

I'll ask again.

Where…

The fuck…

Is Amy?

You:

Always with the mouth, Allen…

Amelia is fine.

She doesn't need you tampering her mind.

You're to never contact her again.

Allen:

She's her own person.

And I can talk to her if I goddamn well please!

You:

You know…

It'd be nice if you came around again, Allen.

I do miss you.

Allen:

Not a fucking chance.

You don't miss me.

You miss having me under your thumb.

Fuck off.

You:

Please, Allen…?

Just once?

Or twice?

I miss both you and Matthieu.

Allen:

The mere thought of you gives me a panic attack.

Matt can barely keep from killing someone.

You left Francois a drooling mess.

Fuck.

Off.

Oliver.

Oh my god…He was right. Allen was right all along. Francois was right. This was who Oliver truly was. The question is why was he hiding it from me? I needed to find out. I changed out of my white dress into a mint green one and grabbed my bag. My legs felt like they were going to give out on me, but I had to keep moving. Despite how badly I wanted to, I could not let Oliver see me cry. Hold it together, Amy. Hold it the fuck together.

"Amelia?" Oliver came out of the kitchen, "Where are you going, darling?"

"I…" I could hardly talk. Shake it off, Amy. We talked about this, "I have to get to class."

"No…" he wrapped his arms around me, "You can't go."

"I have to," I slid out of his embrace.

"But Amelia…" Oliver whined, holding onto my hand, "I'll miss you."

Someone else misses me, too. If you had your way, I'd never see him again. But that's not happening. I held it together and slapped a fake smile on my face, "I'll be back later, Oliver. I promise."

"Well," Oliver sighed out, "Alright. Don't be out too late. I'm making a nice dinner and I'd hate for it to go to waste."

"Ok…" And just like that, I ran out the door. Fortunately, the rain slowed down enough to where I wouldn't be soaked to the bone once I got there. Right now, I didn't care about my history class or how pristine I kept my notes. I just needed one thing. And I hope to God that Oliver didn't fuck that up beyond repair for me.

"Amy…?" Allen's voice shook me to my very core. Without a further thought, I threw myself into his arms and bawled my eyes out, "Uh…This is weird…I'm not used to a girl crying on me. Shit…There, there…I'm sorry, Amy. I'm going to need some context if I'm going to help you. Talk to me, doll. I'm right here."

"You were right," I sobbed, drenching Allen's shoulder.

"What was I right about?" he worried.

I didn't want to admit it, but it was true, "Everything…"