Thirteen – Calvin

Part II

"all good things…"

I coast into the driveway, trying to make as little noise as possible. It's almost 1 AM so I doubt my parents are still waiting. I grab the bag from my car and sneak back into the house. It's no use avoiding the security cameras, it's probably better if they have evidence of me coming home completely sober and fine.

Once I'm inside, I peek around to make sure my parents are asleep. Luckily for me, there's no grumpy faces waiting for me in the living room and there's no lights on upstairs, so I'm safe for now. I shove the food from the bag away and sneak around in the kitchen for something to do, eat, drink. I know I shouldn't, but I grab some premixed alcohol and sit by myself, sipping alone in the dark.

I'm not disappointed in what happened tonight. I'll admit certain areas may be more disappointed than others, but I was more than happy to wrap up our date to make sure Oliver got home safe. And besides, we have a whole day tomorrow. I finish my drink almost too quickly and grab another one without even thinking. I finished that one too. Old habits die hard and I guess he knows about those now. I don't know if it will make any difference in how he sees me but god its embarrassing! Back then, I thought I was really doing something. I giggle to myself for a second before catching my breath shooting my gaze towards the stairs. Nothing. Good. I crack another drink.

I stop after I feel the heat of the alcohol heavy in my cheeks. It will probably be better if I don't have a headache tomorrow. I relive tonight over and over again in my head. My mind drifts over everything we did, every touch, every whisper, every word, every thought, every unsaid promise. It's not long before my mind wanders beyond that, touching on everything that didn't happen, imagining what we could've done.

Even if I'm alone, I feel way to uncomfortable thinking like that in the kitchen, so

I make my way to my room and try to get ready for bed but I can't help but be distracted by Oliver. Everything about him was so perfect tonight. I wanted him bad and I still do, that much is obvious. I manage to change and collapse into bed.

The soft gazes and lingering touches. I want to feel his burning touch against my skin again. The way he bit his lip and kissed my neck. How he was so confident, ready to give himself over to me. Rethinking it all makes me feel the hot excitement again. Even when he's not around, just the thought of him can ruin me, and it's fucking me around now more than ever. I can't stop my mind from wandering and my desires quickly take over. I slip my waistband down and the rest comes about mindlessly, controlled by the thought of him.

Once morning comes around, I can barely think about anything other than Oliver. I stay in bed until 8 AM, knowing that I won't be able to meet him until ten. That's the plan, whenever we don't organise a specific time to meet over the weekend, but we know we could meet up, we go to the library at 10 AM. If no one shows up by 11:30 PM, we try again the next day. So I must be patient.

I slip out of my bed shirt and look around for something fresher to wear. As I do so there's a knock at the door and the door swings open slightly. It startles me initially and I swing around, just barely catching a blonde-haired head pulling back to hide behind the door.

"Sorry! Sorry!" the house-aid apologies.

Kayleigh is the youngest out of the three people who help out around our house, she mainly does simple cleaning and runs errands. She only works on weekends, since she has another job, so I see her around a lot if I'm home. She's around 24, and still looks noticeably young. I like to tease her about it, but my parents tell me off. Even in Upper-class there is a lot of bias around who is entitled to the label and who isn't. House aids and cleaners aren't even on the starting line so god forbid I get along with anyone in that respect.

"At least I wasn't naked." I admit, finding a shirt and putting it on to save her from any more embarrassment.

Kayleigh pokes her head around and relaxes when she sees I have a shirt on, resuming her house-aid act. "Breakfast is ready. I've cooked pancakes. Your parents won't be eating with you, they are currently out at a meeting."

"Thank you," I say, and she goes to dismiss herself. "Wait, Kayleigh."

"Yes, Calvin?"

"Have you heard anything from my parents? Have they been talking about me?"

She simply smiles, "Not that I've heard, Calvin. I will come to you if they do." Then she leaves.

I eat breakfast by myself, scrolling through my phone, the only source of company I have around here. I distract myself thinking what I could do with Oliver, again, his promise still sharp on my mind. We could go back to the secluded side of the park, but I don't know what it's like in the day. There are other places I know as well, and we could always just drive around. I'll leave what he's comfortable with up to him.

Once breakfast is finished and I'm ready for the day, I grab the bag from last night and chuck a few snacks in it, just in case. Then, I leave the house, slide into the Mercedes and turn on the ignition. The car hums to life and I make my way to the Middle.

I drive through the gate and speed off down a stretch of road surrounded by empty land. There's a lot of open, grassy land to cover before you reach the Middle. It's like whoever designed the layout of the city thought the Middle would be much bigger than it is. When I finally reach the outskirts of the city, I turn down the streets I've come to know so well. I weave my way to the library, passing strangers that are all living in their own little world, labelled by class and money. Maybe someday they will find their exception too.

After I reach the library, I climb out of my car and got to wander straight in but I stop. Glued to the ground, hesitation and guilt struggle to take control of my movements, my stomach opening into a deep pit. I have no idea if he is even going to be here. Oliver didn't tell me why he had to go home, I can only guess it has to do with his Mum. I push through the door and stalk through the shelves, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of Oliver. The further I get into the shelves, the guilt settles deeper in my body. I try to keep my hopes high, waiting for him to jump out from behind a corner. But he doesn't and when I round the last shelf, I see that our little hideout is empty.

I settled down into a beanbag. His books are still in a messy pile in the corner and there's no sign of him. I don't know how I wasn't worried, I slept perfectly fine last night, even relaxed in bed without a single question if he was okay crossing my mind. He was so hesitant to sneak out as well and I was the one who pushed him to. Oliver hasn't told me a lot, but I still know enough to guess. I know his Mum doesn't like that he's gay and he's had a history of sneaking out. I stop myself. There's no point psyching myself out, he could still turn up.

I pull out my phone to take my mind off it, frequently looking up to see if I can catch him walking through the shelves. Thirty minutes goes by. Classic move for him to be late, right?

I start getting anxious, but I'm sure I can convince myself he's just late. He was late by a whole hour once, but I waited. Regrettably, I've exhausted everything on my phone that would've kept my attention on anything but the fact that Oliver isn't sitting in front of me. I force myself to get up, slinking through the shelves. It's cloudy today, blocking the usual ambient light from drenching the shelves, instead the artificial lights burn on overhead. I run my fingers over the mismatched spines and pages, desperately looking for anything that takes my interest. The monster in my stomach feels like its ripping me apart.

As I come to the shelves closer to the front of the library, I peek out into the sitting area. No Oliver. I even look out, past the windows, past the car park, but there's still no sign of him. I force myself to continue along the shelf. My finger stumbles across a black and red hard book spine. I recognise it as the one Oliver ranted about when we first met, almost three months ago.

Someone behind me calls my name, "Calvin."

I immediately swing around... almost falling over with relief but it's just Baylee. "Oh, hi. Sorry I didn't see you there."

She looks at me like she doesn't believe me, standing there with a dangerously overloaded cart, wearing a red apron. Then she smiles, "Looking for anything?" Baylee hums sweetly.

"Just waiting for Oliver... thank you."

Somehow her smile grows wider. "Don't drive yourself crazy." she jokes, nudging my side and quickly moving to the next aisle. Trust me Baylee, I'm trying not to.

I pluck the flashy red book off the shelf and retire to the dark corner. I don't let my hopes get the better of me. Oliver isn't there. It's been another thirty minutes. I sit in my usual spot and sink into the beanbag, distracting myself with the first pages of the book.

By the time I check my phone next, it's 11:30 PM. An hour and a half has passed and there's still no sign of Oliver. 11:30 PM is when we call it quits, when we know that the other can't make it. I don't want to leave. I need to know he's okay.

I try to keep reading my book, but I can't focus. Nothing can stop my mind from racing at this point.

Oliver said he learnt to duck and weave, but I don't think he could this time.

Frustrated with myself, I get up from the beanbag and rush out of the library, avoiding everyone's eye. Then I get to my car.

The Mercedes hums to life once again and I drive through the streets with no hurry to get home. Maybe if I linger around the streets enough, I might catch a hopeful glimpse of him. Maybe I'll see him coming from the station, rushing down the street. Maybe I'll be able to pick him up and drive off to somewhere secluded where we don't have to worry anymore. But I don't see it. Not a single inch of freckled skin, fluffy brown hair or a clean white sweater to be seen. It tears me to pieces. I try to wrestle my mind for some liable excuse, he's probably just busy... or tired. He could've slept in today, I mean, I did keep him up pretty late, and he had had a busy day. I'll just come back at the usual time tomorrow and he'll be there.

My parents are back by the time I get home. They give me questioning looks when I get home earlier than usual, and I ignore them. They still don't know what I do. They still don't even know Oliver exists. For all they know, I could be doing anything out there in the Middle. Although, I don't think they would look as worried as they do if it was just some random pastime. It's definitely more along the lines of partying, drugs and alcohol to them. I couldn't imagine myself going back there though.

I collapse in my room, exhausted.

- - -

The next day is a lot harder to wait for. I wake up, do my morning routine, avoid my parents, and rush out the front door, sliding into my car once again to journey to the library. I basically speed half the way there even if I'm half an hour early. I can barely focus on my driving, not even a cop could snap my mind back into place right now. Everything bad is consuming me. Where is Oliver? What did I do.

As I'm driving through the Middle, I keep my eyes peeled yet again. I wait for any flash of anything familiar. At this rate, I'm probably going to run over someone I'm that distracted. I manage to avoid that, narrowly. I roll into a park out the front of the library and jump out, almost forgetting to turn the car off. I don't bother waiting around the front to say good morning to Baylee or even get a coffee, which I definitely need after my shitty excuse for sleep last night, instead I go straight to the hideout.

It's hard to catch the drop of my heart when I round the corner and find it's empty. He's still not here. I try to convince myself that it's because it's not even 10 AM yet. He's still on the train... at the station even. The pit in my stomach says otherwise. Something is wrong, and it's going to tear me apart.

Sitting down with my book, I try to distract myself from the eternal reign of intrusive thoughts and emotions. Not even the dark themes of this psycho-romantic book can keep my attention for longer than two minutes, always looking up and away to hopefully see Oliver sneaking through the shelves, but even after ten, no one shows.

Then my mind goes to the place where I knew it would. I was the one who told him to sneak out. He was the one who didn't want to. This happened because I was too selfish. Even though I know I shouldn't entertain the thoughts, they aren't wrong. I felt bad that I missed his birthday and to make myself feel better, I forced him to do something he probably shouldn't have. I could've waited one day, barely even twenty-four hours, and this wouldn't have happened. I don't even know what happened. Has he been grounded? Was he hurt? Did someone find out? Are cops involved? I don't know when I'll find out what happened, or if I ever will. A letter for court could show up on my doorstep any second, or police at that. What if he's actually missing, I don't even know if he made it home. The thoughts drown me and stop making sense. God some sense would be so helpful right now!

The thoughts are too much. I can feel the guilt burning away at my body, at my energy. I put the book down and scroll through my phone, hoping that the mind-numbing effect it has will take over and save me from this moment. I rotate between reading, scrolling and Netflix just to stop my mind from wandering, to stop my eyes from looking up and seeing that he's not there. I hate the feeling. The library is so quiet, but it's not the good, comfortable quiet like it usually is, it's a threatening, suffocating quiet. There are so many things unsaid, so many... 'sorry, I was so selfish' ...but I don't have anyone to say them to.

It's 12 PM and Oliver still isn't here. I mark my page and put it on Oliver's little stack of half-read novels. It's so strange being here alone. It's like I'm the only person in the world, and I hate it. With my mind hazy and my eyes tired from reading, I get up from my beanbag and walk away. I go back through the shelves, through the sitting area. I don't bother checking, I know he isn't there.

Baylee catches me on the way out, "No Oliver today?"

I try to scrape up some sort of explanation for Oliver's absence. "Uh, yeah. He's just been busy."

"That's not good, let's hope he can make it back soon," she replies with an apologetic smile.

I wave a goodbye at her and continue out the door.

I got home somehow, slumping away to my room. There's nothing that I want to do, not even the pile of homework I was meant to complete this weekend. Holding back my impending breakdown is already too much of an effort so there's no way I can put myself to something else. Maybe a shower will help.

I head into my ensuite and strip off my clothes, turning the shower on. I wait until I can see the slight trials of steam flowing from the shower before I step under the flood of hot water. The water streams down my face and slips across my skin. I drop my shoulders and let my body relax, taking deep breaths of steamy air. But my breath catches. Why is he gone? I've let these thoughts indulge me before but what if it's serious? He never told me what this dad said to him on the phone, but his face was almost scared, like he was dreading his reality. The world sinks… or I sink. I need to know the reality, but I can't bring myself to find out because I know I'm responsible.

My emotions suddenly change from a trickle to something more uncontrollable. Thoughts I never wanted to think drown my mind and I can't save myself. I lean against the tiled wall, unsteady, as tears join the streams of water that pour down my face. I just want to see him again and know he's okay. I just need him like I've needed him almost every day...

I don't know how much time passes and I don't want to know, I just want to stay in the shower. Everything else seems too far right now. Everything else seems too hard to get to. I just need some time, some energy to fake it again. The nice thoughts of him are the only thing that keeps me afloat. His pale, delicate skin, the soft curls he never bothers to push away from his eyes. His tiny waist and how light he is when I pick him up. I remember the way he makes me feel when he's around, how he always makes me smile and well how he understands me. And how I get caught up in the thought of him like a film that won't stop playing in my mind. A film I need to relive so badly.

I pick myself up from my cradled heap on the floor and promise myself that I'm okay and that Oliver is okay as well. Then, I finish my shower and get dressed into a simple, plain white t-shirt and navy track pants. I fall onto my bed and try to give in to sleep, while I try and not let all the darkness bother me.