This story has become quite a project to write. Each of these last few chapters has been about twelve pages long. Needless to say, I like to throw in some details and write more than I should. Chapter 4 is bitter/sweet and in Lilly's POV. There's a phone conversation in here with some background voices, which I put in bold so it's easier to follow who is speaking. (Phone convos are hard without a visual of what the other person is doing!) I ask that you keep the big picture in mind when you read.

Also, (and I hate to say this) Judge Me Tender is actually helping me push to finish this soon than I imagined. We're all scared, I know, but remember: we'll always have WIDLAY, OTTTA, and all the epic episodes. We have our minds and imaginations, too, corrupted or not. (Plus, go read Camy's version. It'll help immensely.)

Is it too much to ask to get a decent night's rest? Apparently it is tonight. Even though I'm wearing Oliver's hoodie, I am left helplessly lying wide awake. It's just not the same. I can't trick myself anymore. My body knows I am alone. Those Oliver senses I have can feel the difference. They know it has been way too long since the real thing was here, and my heart tragically agrees.

I'm antsy; I can't lie still. Every few minutes, I feel the need to change positions. If I'm on my back, I think of Oliver and I lying on the beach, looking at the stars. There's a vacant spot to my right, reminding me someone's missing. A picture of my love singing (the very reason he isn't physically with me at the moment) taunts me on the left. No matter which way I lay or how many times I toss and turn the problem remains: My Ollie-pop isn't here. He can't be here and he won't be back any time soon.

Eyes shut and he appears; an image just begging to raid my dreams.

It starts out different each time. We are at the beach or the skate park. The movies or the mall. We could be any place in the world. As long as Oliver's with me, neither location nor what we do matters. He takes my hand, looks me square in the eye and says: "You know you'll always have me, right?" I look up at him with a serious face and reply: "You'll never leave me?" "I won't..." He hugs me tight for reassurance. "I won't, I won't..."

He's wrong. Painfully wrong. Physically, Oliver left me. In that sense, he did, and I can't stand it. This feeling of empty can't vanish on its own. If Oliver isn't going do anything about it, I will!

My arm stretches over for my cell phone. I'm going to call him. There isn't anything that can change my mind. I feel my hand along the surface of my nightstand and search blindly. Irritation quickly sets in when I can't seem to find what I want. I do, however, come across something, which I hear accidently fall off the nightstand during my raid. Groaning in frustration, I roll over and reach down to retrieve it from the ground.

As soon as it comes in contact with me, I freeze. It's sleek and cool to the touch. Thumbing over the top, I feel the different textures. At first, it's smooth, but I then feel rough, little indents. Must be a piece of my jewelry. A ring? No, it can't be. I keep all of those in a small, wooden box my mother gave me. Plus, I would never leave something of value lying around where this very situation could happen.

I scoop it up curious. The mystery solves itself once the tiniest bit of moonlight peaks past my curtains. It is a ring, alright, but it's not mine. There is an engraving on the inside that I read silently. It's my boyfriend's name. What I'm holding in the palm of my hand belongs to him.

Then, I turn my focus to the front. My finger twitches as I trace what appears just under the deep-blue gem stone.

"2011"

This is Oliver's class ring...

I bite my lower lip and tell myself to keep it together. Don't let eyes water, Lilly. Having Oliver's ring is supposed to help make things a little easier, but it doesn't. Instead, this stupid trinket symbolizes my greatest fear that became a reality today when I started senior year donut-less.... How I wanted to let him know just how broken it made me feel...

I am standing outside the lobby doors of my high school. I can't begin to fathom how many times I have ran in and out of these doors and rooms and up and down halls and stairwells of this old building during the past three years. I only bother to remember the times when I had someone with me; when Oliver's with me. Not today. I am dreading to go inside.

It is as if I trigger an alarm as soon as I enter. Silence; everyone stops. The ones who know who I am stare at me; shocked that I even bothered to show. My summer days were a complete and total waste. No one has seen me since we were all in this exact location one year ago. I think people expected me to stay "missing" like I have been. Well Lillian Truscott is here; so sorry to disappoint everyone. A hollow shell of her is, at least...

Eventually, I make it to homeroom and grab my schedule. First thing's first; how many mistakes did they make this year? Oddly enough, I see that every class I chose is on the list. Principal Weebie and the airhead secretaries finally get things right my last year. I don't want to jinx anything, however. After all, I can't compare schedules with Oliver.

I decide I better go find my locker. Who knows where it is. By the looks of it, all the seniors have their lockers in alphabetical order near their homerooms. Hmm, Truscott and Oken. T is four letters away from O. Even Oliver's locker is nowhere near me right now.

To make matters worse, I have to fiddle with the stupid combination lock. Oliver says he'll teach me his secret, but he never does. Now I just stand here looking like an idiot as I make a pathetic attempt to open it. Locker Doctor? Paging Locker Doctor. Come to my rescue, oh skilled and handsome one! No one answers my plea. Looks like I'm doing things the old-fashion way. Of course, I get weird glances from those who stop to watch. Amber and Ashley are among the gathers.

"Wow. A senior that can't opener her locker. " Ashley teases.

"Too bad her little whipping boy isn't around." Amber adds, walking close by me on purpose just to say that. Whipping boy...what a jerk. I block all comments (though it takes a lot out of me to do so) and concentrate on the task at hand.

Homeroom isn't exciting. I'm stuck with the same group of kids again. I don't associate them, they don't with me. It's a fair trade. When it's time for the school day to officially start, I feel a nervous knot in my stomach. Usually, I would be a little anxious to head off, but I am only feeling sick. Don't get the wrong impression, Lilly. He's not going to magically appear wanting to hold hands, give a hug, or sneak us off to a janitor's closet.

The halls are crowded with students from every grade. Freshmen stare blankly at their maps of the school as they try to navigate to the right rooms. Sophomores think they are so cool just because they survived a hundred and eighty days in this hostile environment. Juniors don't have any gripe, because they are only in the middle. This year's seniors at Seaview are a mix of rowdy, "fresh-meat"-harassing jocks and those who already have a graduation countdown. As for me, nothing matters. I feel as though this place is a ghost town when really only one person is missing. The one person who is my everything...

History is first; something I have plenty of with Oliver. Sitting by the window, I begin to day dream of moments in the past. I see us at four, sharing those crayons, at ten doing skateboard tricks, and at fifteen throwing popcorn at each other in the movie theater. There's a glimmer of hope when I hear Mr. Corelli announce that Oliver will be in this class when he returns. Then, the bitter/sweet bombshell arrives. Our last beach-blanket make out session comes to mind, and suddenly, I'm flooded with an empty feeling. A smile begs to form to mask things, but the harsh reality of the present won't let it. Mr. Corelli mumbles something about getting books tomorrow and lets the class talk for the last few minutes. I use the time to stare out the window and hope that mine and Oliver's history will indeed repeat itself.

The next few classes put me to sleep. That can't ease my heart ache, though. I already know Oliver isn't on the roster. We both take different languages. I find AP Spanish easy. Oliver hated the class since junior high. Whenever I would say a word or phrase to him, his reply would always be the same: "No Comprendo." Now my Ollie-pop takes French. Everyone says it's the language of love, and there's an abundance of that between us. I think he takes it only because he remembers my embarrassing school girl crush on our French teacher in seventh grade. It's sweet to be serenaded in a foreign language. Plus, with a dork like I have, it is incredibly entertaining as well.

Oliver and I don't even have science together this year. I have to say, I'm not surprised. This is Kunkle's doing. She must have passed along how we behave in class. We love to study each other's biology and have the perfect chemistry to do so (What can I say? Lab partners take on a whole new meaning with us.) Between all this fooling around, we do study and get our work done. I miss Oliver in Physics. I miss Oliver physically. Forget Newton's laws; is there a force I can exhort that can bring my donut home?

Dragging myself all the way down stairs to the gymnasium is a difficult task. As usual, my classmates are stuck-up preps. I sense another year of being the only one participating. Unlike most girls, I love the various activities. Co-ed Fridays are the absolute best, because boys will actually do something and not stand there like a deer in headlights. Oliver and I shoot hoops sometimes or toss around the old pigskin. We find capture the flag fun, but it is band as a co-ed active, which I guess is all my fault. Once, I accidently (and I do mean accidently) pulled Oliver's shorts down when reaching for his flag. (On plus side, he did have on my favorite boxers; the one with the Kool Aid Man...."Oh yeah!") The part I love the most is being able to see him in a non-classroom environment. Here we can talk, laugh, and sneak a kiss or two in without any major consequences. There is no telling if any of these things will happen just yet. Currently, I have the strongest urge to pelt some innocent and unsuspecting girl square in the gut with a dodgeball. Even that isn't enough to substitute or justify what I'm feeling.

Drama. I have way too much of it on my plate. Had I known my boyfriend would have become an over night musical sensation, I wouldn't have penciled in for this elective. Why am I taking the class again? Oh, that's right, there isn't any other option. Drawing is boring, so that gets rid of Art. Band isn't a choice, because I don't know how to play an instrument. Oliver begs me every year not to take Chorus. He says they don't really teach people how to sing and that I should just let him help with my lack of ability. His methods of instruction seem much more affective, thanks to a little old psych trick called "the reward system."(Lets just say I've been practicing a lot because of it.) I snap out of a day dream when the teacher asks out of nowhere if I have any valuable drama skills. Eyes fill with gloom as I look up at her and reply: "I could burst into tear for you right now..."

The cafeteria is crowded and noisy. Standing in line for meatloaf made from who knows what and cold, rubbery pizza doesn't interest me. My stomach still grumbles, so I take some change out of my pocket and buy a candy bar from the vending machine. (Real healthy lunch, Lilly. Fill up on sugar and chocolate. What would Oliver say?) After two bites, I discard the rest in the trash.

Mine and Oliver's favorite table in the corner is still vacant and unclaimed. Letting my bookbag straps slide off my shoulders, I plop down in the seat, laying my arms folded on the table. I put my forehead face down and stare at the ugly gray granite. A sigh escapes; I feel so sick and lightheaded. Periodically, one of the teachers on duty taps me on the shoulder and either asks me to sit up or if I'm "alright." Even dumb old Todd (who constantly questions me for Oliver's whereabouts since he has the memory of a goldfish) wonders why I am not my usual self. Of course, I lie to all of them and say everything's fine. The truth is no one here to feed chips to and get fed back. No one is secretly holding my hand under the table.

I find myself doing the same activity during study hall. As a rule, no one is allowed to talk or sleep; however since it is the first day, not much is enforced. Truth be told, I'm not that big of a rule breaker, but study hall is good for something other than finishing pesky homework: roaming around on the hall pass. Oliver has this skill down to a science. He always knows when to ask for the pass, a place to meet up, and how to trouble shoot. Believe me, this is the sweetest part of our day. Since it is right after lunch this year, hopefully Oliver and I can quickly pick things up right where we leave them. Today, I seriously do find myself almost drifting to that point mentally. Surprisingly, it only makes matters worse.

English is where I find temporary relief. The teacher has a seating chart made and starts assigning. There is an empty desk in the row beside me, which I am informed belongs to Oliver. We both tend to get some of our best grades in this subject. Since he writes songs and poems with ease, Oliver can instantly deal with a research paper or character analysis. Books are being passed out that are small and light-weight, yet have print no bigger than size ten font. Flipping through the thin pages very cautiously, I discover some of its contents, all of which I guarantee Oliver finds boring. The Iliad and the Odyssey. Macbeth and Hamlet. It is all a snooze fest. I foresee Oliver "forgetting" his book or "leaving it at home" and having to push his desk over to share mine, just to get close. I half read, half let my mind wonder for the rest of the period.

After weighing out the pros and cons, I actually leave class with a smile on my face. Maybe going to school a few weeks without Oliver won't be so bad after all. I don't like the reality of the situation one bit, but I'm surviving. I am ready to rush home so I can call my Ollie-pop, but I can help but feel like I'm forgetting something...

As I am subconsciously making my way towards the main exit, it hits me: The day's not over yet. I still have one class left. It's the worst subject in the world: Math.

I come to my senses and dash up the stairs. Panting out of breath, I arrive at the classroom and prop my arm on the door way for support. Being late on the first day shouldn't count against me, right? Wrong. Every single student turns around, their chairs making a horrible creaking sound that goes through me like needles. Even the teacher, who I do not know, sends an impatient glare from under her glasses. She simply points to the only empty seat in the back corner. I swallow loudly and slowly take my walk of shame; holes are being burnt in the back of my head from all those eyes.

Math always makes me like a failure, where as it comes natural to Oliver. He's in Calculus. I'm lucky enough I made it to Algebra III. For being the daughter of an accountant, one would think I would excel, but that's not the case. When it all boils down, I'm a lame duck in this class; a fish out of water. I need my tutor to return from this little vacation of his and just come home where he belongs!

The period gets worse and worse as the seconds keep ticking. The teacher writes some problems on the board (ones that she deems are "easy" and are "just to see how much we know.") She might as well be teaching Chinese. I can't fully comprehend what's on the board. (Not having numbers as a friend is bad enough. Why do people have to go along and pair letters with them?!)

One by one, each kid is called up to solve a line of an equation. I pray this lady has short term memory loss and doesn't remember I'm here.

"Late girl." Her voice is commanding. So much for being invisible. "Start equation three."

Here I go again. The walk to the front of the room feels like a mile. I find a small piece of white chalk and cautiously pick it up from the ledge. My heart starts to race as I look up at the mixture of symbols written. What do I do? I haven't the slightest idea where to start. This problem doesn't look like anything I have ever seen or done in previous years. Suddenly, the temperature in the room skyrockets. I'm sweating and turn beat red.

"Lillian?" So the old bat does know my name. She just chose to offend me the first time. I turn around just enough so she can see me. "Sometime today, please. We're waiting."

I don't respond; just bring my attention back to the board. I can't stand here like a statue. That is only going make this worse. Oliver would want me to at least try, so that is what I do. With squeaky chalk in hand, I carefully write down what I think step one is. As I go, I hear whispers from my classmates. They think I'm wrong and I know am I. None of these people know how hard this is for me, though. No one knows the added stress this causes. I place the writing utensil down and turn all the way around to face the class, signaling I am finished and ready for humiliation to commence.

"I'm afraid that's not right." The teacher tells me. She takes a second look at the problem. "That's not even close."

I hear giggling and bite my lip. Whatever happens, I can't cry in class. I just can't. Ignore the burning.

"Try again." I'm instructed. I sigh audibly and pick up the eraser.

"She'll never figure it out 'cause her boyfriend's not here to do it for her!" Some random girl feels the need to comment.

My hold on the eraser tightens. Do I cry or do I beat that brat senseless? My brain doesn't know what to tell my body. I wait for a rebuttal from Mrs."Whatsername", but don't receive one. How can she let that outburst fly under the radar!? Clearly, this lady plays favorites.

"While the rest of us our waiting, I'll pass out your assignment."

It takes another few minutes before I manage to write anything. Attempt number two is no better than my first. Before the teacher can open her mouth for another smart remark, I hear the final bell ring. Other than Oliver's voice, there is no sweeter sound.

The room clears out in a matter of seconds. I drop the chalk on the ledge, not caring that it broke in two, and go to gather my belongings. I try to escape without eye contact, but I am caught anyway.

"I expect you to finish the problem on the board in class tomorrow as well." The teacher looks stern as she hands me a double-sided work sheet with more of the impossible problems on it.

I duck out without saying a word. She isn't worth my breath or a second longer of my time. Now I trudge my way through the halls with the heard of obnoxious teenagers. It's completely congested everywhere I turn. Everyone rushes out the main exist to the buses and parking lot. I hang a left out the side door. No one is waiting to walk with me or drive me home.

I have the option of sprinting though the short cut or taking the scenic route to my house. Odd as it may seem, I choose the long way. I want this time to think. I don't need to suffer anymore, but it may end up helping by making my next conversation with Oliver much more satisfying.

Still on school grounds, I pass happy couples going on their journey hand-in- hand. I hear them tell each other about the school day and how much one missed the other. At first, I become sick to my stomach. How dare these people! A school day is only six and half hours. Try being apart from the one you love for six whole months! The nerve them!

And then they have to kiss; making sure I see, of course. They are just so thrilled to be together again. My heart hollows itself. I am not used to being on the other side. I can't handle watching this without an empty soul and a bit of jealousy. Everyone else gets what I want. Why am I punished for my boyfriend's success? It is now that I realize I really need to clear the air with Oliver. We need to talk about how his time away is affecting me. As much as I love him, he has to be willing to hear me out on this.

I swing open my bedroom door and let it bang against the wall. Home at last. My bookbag gets tossed across the room. There's plenty of time left to finish my reading for English and make up some random answers for that math sheet. I have mixed emotions running through me right now and have suffered long enough. I quickly yank my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans. It's check in time.

I flip open the phone and smile at the dorky background picture of us. It is a recent change from a nice shirtless shot of Oliver, because my mother sometimes uses my phone (and as much as she likes Oliver, I don't think she'd be too happy seeing that along with the banner that reads "Lilly's Greek God.") I get his number from speed dial and flop down on my bed, resting my head on the pillow. While I am waiting for him to pick up, I stick my hand in my other pocket and pull out Oliver's shinny class ring he left for me one night, weeks before he even knew he was leaving. I didn't have it out in school for fear of losing it, though I wanted to take the ring along so that I had a part of Oliver with me. I slip the jewelry on my finger. It is massive and slides all the way up to my knuckle.

Three rings go by, but I think nothing of it. A forth ring sounds for only half of a second.

"Hello?" I hear Oliver pant into the phone.

"Hey Ollie-pop." I greet softly. All I can hear is heavy breathing in return. I raise an eyebrow. "Are, uh...are you ok?"

"Jumped off stage...sprinted to find phone!" He explains in broken English and rapid breaths. "One of the guys...said phone was ringing and didn't want...couldn't miss...your call!"

"Aww, well, catch your breath, babe." I instruct sweetly "I wanna hear your voice, not you hyperventilating in my ear drum."

"Sorry." I hear one last deep exhale. "Just a little excited, that's all. I'm usually the one calling you."

"Surprised?"

"Pleasantly." He responds. "I only wish I could show you how happy I am right now in person."

"So do I..." I slouch back in my bed with my eyes closed. We send each other thought waves of the endless possibilities of what would take place if we were face-to-face at this very moment.

"I've got that big dorky smile on that you love so much." Oliver admits to his cheesy ways. "I know if I turn around, I'll see the guys mocking me and making kissy faces."

"Then don't."

He sighs. "Too late..."

"Why do you always look?" I ask, smacking my hand lightly against my forehead. My man is a brilliant musician who writes these amazing songs, yet lacks a single drop of common sense. I guess that's what I provide in this relationship.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm hoping that one time you'll be behind me instead..."


"Hey lover boy! You got five minutes!" A gruff voice shouts in the distance. The acoustics of the room give it a weird echo through my phone.

"Who was that?"

"The sound tech. You called just as we were about to run through a song. Told him I had to answer, though."

"You're doing sound check already? The show's usual time, isn't it?"

"We're just getting this done now, because I have a lot left to do." He says. "So what's going on? How's your day been?"

"School started..."I trail off quietly.

"Seniors! Oh yeah!" Why did he have to say 'oh yeah'? This is supposed to be a serious conversation. Now I have a desire to jump through the phone and pin him against the wall. However, it's not a strong enough force this time, and sadly fades when Oliver tacks on the question: "And how was that?"

I take a long pause and tightly shut my eyes. The liquid burns against my eyelids. Crying at school isn't an option, but who says I can't let it all out in own house?

"Lilly-pop? You there?"

"H-Horrible..." My voice cracks.

"All first days are bad." That is the reply I receive. It isn't what I'm looking for; it's not comforting.

"Oliver, you don't understand. Nothing went right. I felt sick and alone all day. I nearly died of embarrassment thanks to my stupid witch of a math teacher!"

"Should've seen that one coming. You know math gives your trouble."

"You know what the worst part was?" Blinking burns, but I must do it a few times before I continue. "Everyone knew! They knew I'd be unstable, so they taunted and teased me about it. Couples acted all 'couplely' around me just to break me down!"

"Ignore 'em, sweetheart. You're stronger than that."

"No, Oliver, I'm not!" Eyes pop open and I jolt up in bed. Why isn't he feeling my pain? "I thought I was, but I'm really not!"

"Lilly..."

"Sure, we'll have some classes like History and English together, but it's not gonna help me right now!"

Oliver sighs into the receiver. "Where's my class ring?"

With glossy eyes, I looking down at my hand and twist and turn the object. "On my finger."

"And why is it there?"

"To..." I stop for a shaky inhale and to sniffle. "To let me know that you'll always be there."

"And I will, honey..." His voice is soft and gives me chills. "Keep it there and pull yourself together for me."

"It doesn't substitute for having you here." I state blatantly.

"Well, soon it won't matter."

"Soon isn't cutting it for me anymore..." A tear or two beg to break surface tension. They are bond to fall at any given moment. I cry out dryly for the time being. "I need you, Ollie-pop! I need you here and now!"

"Lilly, you-"

"You're wasting valuable time, Oken!" I hear the sound guy yell at us.

"Can't you leave the room or something!? This guy's getting pretty annoying, and I don't really like the fact that every person in that building right now can hear this personal conversation."

"There's nowhere else to go!" Oliver exclaims, just as irritated. "And you think I don't want the same!? You know how I feel about you!"

"Then show me!" I beg.

"How am I supposed to do that over the phone!?"

I wince, pull my cell phone back, and hold it away at arms length. "For starters, you can stop screaming at me."

"You started screaming first!"

"Must we always argue like this!?" If Oliver is going break a respectable decibel level, then so am I.

"We bicker! It's what we do!"

"Why is that!?"

"I don't know. Is it a turn on for you or something?"

"That's ridiculous!" I can't believe Oliver would even think that...but he may have a point. We do nit pick with each other a lot. Maybe it really is some crazy, messed up way to show affection. "You sound like such a doofus right now!"

"But am I your doofus?" My boyfriend's low, deep voice wraps around me like velvet. I can't stay mad.

"Oliver-"

"Am I?"

"...You should know the answer to that..." Miles away, Oliver still has the power to make my blush.

"Oh I do, I just wanna hear ya say it." (And he calls me a tease!)

"Tick, tock!" We are once again warned by this extremely impatient man with zero sympathy.

"Look, Ollie, neither of us want to fight." I carefully lean back in my bed to make my plea. "I just want you home, baby. That's all."

"It's just not possible, Lilly. I'm sorry."

"Yes it is." I defend the previous statement. "You can stop anytime you want."

"I'm not the boss here, I'm the newbie. You know, contrary to what you believe, my head's on the chopping block every night. If I don't put on a good show and please the right people, I could get canned. Then all of this hard work would have been for nothing. Is that what you want?"

"I'm not telling you to screw up. I'm trying to tell you how I feel." I roll over on my side and reach for small picture frame with his photo in it. Leaving the frame where it belongs, I simply run my hand over the glass, wiping off a few random dust particles. I stare at that face as if I am talking directly to my boyfriend. "I miss you, Oliver. Emotionally and physically. I'm wasting away over here."

"You lasted all this time perfectly fine with phone calls and messages every night. What's so different now? Why the sudden change? You had one rough day in school and suddenly you turn to this defenseless, damsel-in-distress kind of girl."

Oliver waits for a reply, but I deny him of one. There is no other reason for that than I can't think of something to say. I haven't changed...have I?

"That's not you. That's not my Lilly-pop. She used to slap me so hard for every little stupid thing I would do, and when I was weak, she'd say 'Enough already! Have some pride!' What happened to her? Where's my girlfriend?"

An uncontrollable ball of emotions hit me. Oliver won't get an answer to his question. I start to sob, because I am just so distraught, confused, and lonely. "Just quit playing rock star and come home..."

"Thirty seconds!"

"I know, I know! Chill!" Oliver holds his hand over the receiver, but I can still hear the fight. "Lilly, I'm really sorry, but I can't talk about this anymore right now."

"We gotta finish this!"

"I don't have the time right now, baby! Now lets end this call on a happy note, for both of our sakes."

"Oliver, please!" I whine. "Hear me out!"

"I really need to do this sound check before things get ugly."

"Ten!"

"Dude, have a heart and shut up, will ya!?" Oliver snaps at the technician. "I'll be right there!"

I am almost too scared to speak up...almost. "Oliver, I'm-"

"Listen." His volume lowers to a whisper. "If I get finished with everything and still have time before the concert, I'll call you back."

"And what if you don't?"

"Then you'll get a special text. Either way, you'll hear from me. I told you that you always would. A promise is a promise. "

"I mean it, Oliver! Get off now!"

"A promise is a promise..." He repeats in reassurance.

"Ok..." My lip quivers in sadness. Defeated. "I love-"

Before I can complete my sentence, (before I can say those three little words I felt for him all my life, yet took years to gather the guts to say) I hear a static buzz , then everything falls silent. Oliver was forced to hang up; our call was cut short.

Ages seem to go by as I lie still (when it is really only a minute or two.) What just happened? Is this real, or am I dreaming? I just called my boyfriend to tell him how much I miss and need him, and instead got into a quarrel that took up so much of the allotted time that we couldn't even exchange "I love you's." Can someone tell me how I should feel, because I honestly don't know.

The answer arrives within seconds. Immediately, I sit up, yank the over-sized ring from my finger, and slam it down on my nightstand. I don't watch it rattle, just burry my head in my hands. My eyes fill back up to capacity, and I don't try to stop them from overflowing. Frustrated. I feel strung out and frustrated.

Physically, I must shake myself from remembering the event from hours ago. I can't be angry, at least not at Oliver, right? It's the stupid crew's fault! They change things on my Ollie too much and we both suffer. He's just a kid. We're just kids; young lovers going through all these firsts. Give us a chance to get used to things.

So this is why the ring is out of place. Cleary, I am too much of a mental mess to remember five hours ago. I clutch it in my hand and squeeze so much that my fingers hurt. Why I do this, I'm not sure. It can't bring him back. It won't make the phone ring.

I still haven't found that electronic contraption either. When I put Oliver's class ring back in its "wrongful place", my phone appears in my peripheral vision. That stupid thing vanishes on me then reappears more times that I can count. It must like playing mind games with me, too.

Nervously, I flip it open, hoping to see something more than the main screen. No miss call. No new text message. I sigh heavily. Let down again...

I close the phone and debate on tossing it; not really caring where it lands. A promise is a promise, huh? Normally, I believe every word Oliver says. Tonight, although, I wonder why he is lying to me. If he is not, then it sure seems that way. Is he still upset that I crave more attention and affection than he can give in these conditions? Am I too clingy? I fear that could be a possibility. My brain is too fried to think rationally. Instead, I jump to a few conclusions.

Instead of chucking my cell, (and possible breaking a window in the process) I decide to just place it on the bed. I curl up on my side next to it, propping up my head with my hand. I'm really going to do this. I'm going to sit and stare at a cell phone screen all night, worried sick. How pathetic...or is it dedication? Pathetically dedicated?

Something tells me I'll hear from him. Deep inside, I honestly do have faith in Oliver. No matter what he does (or doesn't do), I love him. My feelings can't turn on and off like a light switch. With me, it's not that easy. He's the first one to have my heart and the last one who I want ever receive it.

Fighting back a yawn, I recall four lines to a song about a man and woman going through a slightly similar rough period that Oliver sings to me on occasion. The song has a happy ending, of course. Oliver and I, we haven't gotten there in ours yet. We are lost in the song of life, stuck somewhere between the chorus and bridge.

My eyes slowly start to shut; likely building more tears as I find myself mumbling the lyrics:

"Please let me know everything's alright
Thinking about you, though you're out of sight
Every night, when I'm turning in, my tears find me.
Please hurry, dear, come back and rescue me..."

Don't hate me for the absence of fluff this time. For a story to be a well-rounded, it has to have other parts than a nice bed scene (but if you know me, there'll be more of that to come.) The reason I went took a paragraph for each of Lilly's classes was to throw in little goodies about her and Oliver to balance out that fact that she's alone. Once the setting comes back to Oliver, the reason for this "short" phone call will make more sense. That's coming soon. Leave me your thoughts.

Oh, and the lyrics featured at the bottom are from the song Flag in the Ground by Sonata Arctica. I don't own them, but I HAVE met the band, and I'm going to see them for a third time on the 13th :)

-Marissa