DOESN'T REMIND ME
lining up the soldiers

DISCLAIMER: Yes, it's true. Time to face it. I own absolutely nothing. Not Oliver, not Anna. Josh is lucky enough to own them. And I don't own the title song either. Audioslave owns.

- - -

I like studying faces in parking lots
'Cause it doesn't remind me of anything

Oliver always needed someone to just be there. He didn't care how that someone was being there for him, just as long as that person was just there. Is it true, that Oliver truly wanted the kind of friendship that you'd read about in books, find in romantic comedies. He'd lay in his bed, inhaling and exhaling, trying to wash away the pain of the day. He was used to pain. He was used to loneliness too, now that he actually thought about it. Oliver was just used to it all. To people not believing in him, to people not wanting anything to do with him. Somewhere between life at his previous school and life at Harbour changed that. Changed it all. Or maybe he just blamed the change on Marissa.

Yes, he was bold enough to say blamed. It wasn't as if he hadn't been screwed up before Marissa, but he blamed her for the fact that he could have died. It was easier to blame someone else rather to make himself believe it was all his fault to begin with. He hadn't wanted to blame himself again. He knew couldn't have begun to blame himself anymore. Oliver wasn't going to make himself any worse. He was going to get better. He was going to...

God.

He had no idea how he was going to cope with remembering something like that. He didn't want to remember anymore. Did that make him selfish? That he wanted to forget something like this because it caused him pain? That he was completely disregarding any pain anyone else could feel about something like that? That he was completely disregarding anything that could have still plagued Marissa? Oliver rolled onto his stomach, burying his head into his pillow, breathing in the scent of sweet smelling laundry detergent. 'It's been two years, Oliver,' he thought. 'You know she doesn't even think about you even more. Especially after Trey,'

It was true. Oliver had read it in newspapers, watched it on TV. 'Seventeen-Year-Old Shoots Man' The headlines, each sentence of the newsstory sucking him in, stealing his breath from him at the period. Each word spoken from the newsbroadcaser catching his attention. For the past two years, Oliver had hoped that she still thought of him. Had hoped she still...

So, it was true. He was completely out of his mind.

Oliver rolled out of bed, quickly dressed himself, before venturing out into his new home. After everyone had forgetten about him, Oliver ran back to his parents, like a puppy with his tail between his legs, whimpering hopelessly, and begging them to take him back, promising he'd do everything right. Promises are often broken. And so they moved. Far, far away from Newport.

It was...for the best.

But where could they have possibly moved? The answer was simple. Simpler than a simple thing. They packed their bags and moved to Pennsylvania. But where? Pittsburgh. It wasn't the best place, but it was better than Newport. At least he was allowed to actually go out again, without people staring at him with fire, clicking their tongues. No one knew him in Pittsburgh.

Oliver tightened his jacket around him, shivering lightly in the cold. One thing he hated about Pittsburgh. The cold. He hated cold weather, but he could sacrifice his warmth for a semi-normal life again. Yes, semi. Semi-normal was about as normal as it was gonna get. He still needed help. Oliver was never going to get any better. He knew it. But at least he wasn't still denying it.

Thinking about denying it only brought him back to what brought him into the cold in the first place. "God, Marissa. I would have still been in Newport. I would have still been with you. Maybe you would have...I don't know," he muttered, biting his lip and casting his gaze to the ground. No sooner than he had done so, Oliver bumped into someone. His head snapped up, black hair moving lightly in the wind.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said suddenly, peering at her. She looked somewhat familiar. Pixie cut blonde hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, serious expression. He couldn't remember talking to her...just seeing her.

"That's okay," she said, shrugging. The girl noticed that he looked familiar as well. Black hair, unintentional smirk (almost like it was painted onto his face with markers, unable to be wiped off very easily). He just looked...familiar.

"So, you're okay?" he asked, making sure. Oliver licked his lips lightly before speaking again. "Oliver," he said, extending a hand.

The blonde's eye widened, but she took his hand generously. "Trask?" she asked as her eyebrow raised and her hand let go from his.

Oliver's face fell suddenly. "Um, yes," he said, biting his lip.

The girl sighed. "Anna Stern," she said, nodding. "Seth's ex-girlfriend.."

Oliver blinked. "Seth?" he asked, straining to remember.

"Ryan," Anna said bluntly.

Oliver's jaw clenched. "Ryan's friend, right?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding once more, this time more uncomfortably. "What brings you here?" Anna asked, looking around.

"Well, my parents moved here after...you know,"

"Oh. Nice place, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's okay. Apart from the constant winter,"

"Apart from that," Anna said. "Are you okay? I mean, that was a bit of a stunt you pulled two years ago. With the...gun and all," she said.

"Don't remind me," Oliver snapped. "Sorry, I just...I'm fine. I just don't want to bring that up,"

"I understand," Anna said. "I wouldn't want to bring it up either. I apologize,"

"Don't. It's only normal for you to ask,"

"I suppose you're right," Anna said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"So, Anna. I guess since I, you know, can't really apologize to Ryan for...freaking out, or whatever. And I can't apologize to Seth or Marissa either so..maybe I can apologize to you? You weren't there, but you still had to deal with it. I don't like having you have to deal with it," Oliver shook his head.

Anna opened her mouth, about to decline, but something stopped her and she simply closed it again. 'You can say no, Anna. He'll just leave and you won't have to think about it. But...I'll feel bad...maybe just this once. Tomorrow ends and we can stop seeing each other,'

"I'd like that." Anna ended up saying. "That'd be nice, Oliver," she said.

"Great! So, I'll pick you up? Number?"

Anna took out a pen, writing her number on his hand. "There you go. I can't wait," Anna lied. She really would have liked to stay home on a Saturday, rather than deal with a psycho from the past. 'But...maybe he's changed,' she thought.

"Me neither,"

And with Oliver's final words, they each went their seperate ways, never to speak again until the dawning of Saturday. The dawning of tomorrow. Oliver figured that he needed to sleep as much as possible before his, what he liked to call, date. Maybe something good would come out of it...