Post by leo coleridge. on Oct 29, 2008 13:07:12 GMT -5
LEO SAMUEL COLERIDGE.
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oh, hai there ! i'm kasey and i'm 16 years old. i'm a girl, and i've been roleplay for 5 years. i also play lex monroe, so you might know me from them. and i read the rules. you want proof? out this way, the spin cycle. there, i told you. if you want to contact me, just PM me. now, onto my character n_n[/FONT][/COLOR]
I'M NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND, BABY[/FONT]
I AIN'T YOUR CUTE LITTLE SEX TOY. I AIN'T YOUR LION OR YOUR TIGER[/FONT][/CENTER]
FULL NAME Leonardo Samuel Coleridge
NICKNAMES Leo
AGE twenty; october 29th, 1988
GENDER male.
ETHNICITY mostly british, some russian.
RELIGON atheist.
SEXUALITY bisexual.
STATUS single.
MEMBER GROUP scene.
PLAYED BY chris dakota. [/FONT][/COLOR][/ul]
WON'T BE YOUR NASTY LITTLE BOY.
[/FONT]I'M NOT YOUR NIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR, CAN'T GRANT YOUR EVERY WISH[/FONT][/CENTER][/COLOR]
- chocolate ice cream
- kittens
- anime
- snuggling
- sleeping
- cold weather
- watching charmed
- concerts
- stickam
- stupid movies
CHARACTER NAME DISLIKES
- most blondes
- know-it-all's
- bugs
- dogs
- the word 'chipotle'
- the jonas brothers
- as respectively, hannah montana
- purified water
- religious people
- being sick
GOALS
- purchase a kitteh (:
- reach 100,000 myspace friends
- quit drugs
- quit smoking
FEARS
- fire
- being alone
- lightning
SECRETS
- has a daughter, Reagan
- still plays pokeom :o
- has a crush on ed westwick of gossip girl
WEAKNESSES
- cute boys
- cute girls
- hair products
- baby kitties :D
STRENGHTS
- can make anyone laugh
- conniving as anything
- experienced in love and heartbreak
OVERALL PERSONALITY
agony:
The years have not been kind to Leo. From his wretched childhood into his crumbling teen years, everything has fallen apart. Harbored in his bright amber eyes, Leo stores his hidden anguish, released often late at night after some Zinfandel and a little heroin. Love has not shown any mercy at all, either. With every lover, his heart seems to weaken. He has no one to blame but himself. Therefore, his hidden torture is expressed through a figurative noose around his neck, tied with one hell of a knot. As far as Leo is concerned, there is no way out of his misery, but there are ways to mute it. Exhibit A, heroin and alcohol. Even with this supporting him, Leo broods quietly in thought. Conversations with him are short lived, because he can’t seem to go a minute without thinking of how badly he’s fucked up his life.
stress:
Leo constantly feels pressure from every side. He has people wanting him to be perfect, people wanting him to be imperfect; people who want him to forget, people who want him to remember; people who love him, people who love to hate him. It’s a tangled situation and often results in extremely stressful conditions in which Leo feels the need to drink excessively. Actually, he seems to favor heroin over alcohol, but the fact that it’s a date-rape drug still seems to make him wary of its potential. Though seemingly suicidal, Leo is quite afraid of death. In any case, Leo takes on more stress than he should have to. He is constantly criticizing himself, his actions and thoughts, while dealing with other problems that arise.
shamelessness:
Despite his dreary outlook on life, Leo is quite the bold little thing. It’s amazing how much attitude can be stomached in such a tiny body. Leo is not afraid to speak his mind, and if you talk to him, you’ll understand. More than often he’ll mouth off to people, never bothering to think before he acts. Or speaks, for that matter. Parties, preferably raves, are usually where you’ll find Leo. His motto? “Party harder.” The phrase speaks for itself. Leo is a brazen party boy. While some of the time he’ll be lost in his head, Leo does love to be loud and spontaneous. Really, around him, you never really know what to expect. Don’t be surprised if he breaks out into random singing or dancing, or jumps onto your back for a piggy-back ride. It’s just his way of having fun.
humor:
Leo may come off as a depressed sort of person, but when among people he loves, there’s nothing he loves more than to make people laugh. He also enjoys laughing, himself. Contrary to what most people probably think, Leo laughs, smiles and grins easily. But what makes him the happiest is when he can make other people happy. He has been told that he has a very sarcastic sense of humor; it can force a smile out of nearly anyone. His bitterness is reflected in the wry and mocking attitude he approaches his friends with. It comes quickly and effortlessly to him, and he just blurts out whatever is on the top of his head. Usually it turns out a little bit funny. If not, he redeems herself through anecdotes of his screw ups and clumsiness. It’s like a reality show without the laugh track.
passion and love:
Even having been hurt by so many people, Leo finds himself a passionate person. When the moment strikes, he can be ravenous for love. He, like any girl, wants to be wanted and cherished. Knowing there is a slim to none chance of this happening, Leo has resorted to the life of a, um, whore. Basically, he’ll take any hot guy that she can get. Personality and depth is not important in this case. However, he has a problem of falling in love too fast. He gets easily attached, which seems to be a bad habit of his. But when he’s with ‘that person,’ then everything stops, except his heart. On the one hand, Leo sees love a disgusting emotion in which he tries to avoid, but on the other it’s a desirable feeling that he longs to have again. With love clearly out of the question, Leo likes to have no-strings relationships. In other words, relationships based on sex appeal. Physical attraction is crucial to him, considering that it gives him that fake, loved sort of feeling. If ever there were a more broken hearted, love fucked screw up.
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SO I LEAVE YOU WITH THIS KISS
[/FONT]YOU CAN CATCH ME ON THE SPEED TRAIN, BEEPER IN A THREE WAY[/FONT][/CENTER][/COLOR]
CURRENT RESIDENCE the hamptons, NY
MOTHER'S NAME leah blake
MOTHER'S OCCUPATION n/a
FATHER'S NAME james coleridge
FATHER'S OCCUPATION drug dealer
SIBLINGS none.
OVERALL HISTORY Fifteen-year-old Leah Blake wasn’t supposed to end up pregnant. No, not like her cousin, Natalie. She wasn’t a slut; in fact, she was so innocent that it was hard for anyone to believe that Leah Blake, of all people, was pregnant. As she sat in her bathroom, a third positive pregnancy test in her hand, she wondered what her parents would think. Leah was a pretty little blonde, and every guy in school wanted in her pants. What would her step-mother say when she found out Leah had given in? Even if she pleaded forgiveness and assured Vanessa that it was only once, Leah was as good as dead. And what about telling her boyfriend, James? Well, he wasn’t her boyfriend. He was more of a one-night-stand. The fifteen-year-old rocker was hardly capable of taking care of himself. How could Leah expect him to be a father? Leah snapped the three pregnancy tests in half, and then snapped the halves in half. In anguish, she threw each piece at the wall until they shattered, until the pink plus sign was gone.
James took the news better than Leah had expected. He wasn’t mad at all. In fact, he was thrilled. He had picked Leah up by the waist and swung her around, crying, “I’m going to be a dad!” Leah forced a weak smile in his favor, but something didn’t feel right. Telling Leah’s parents was a difficult task, unlike with James. Leah’s father was the first to combust. He jumped up from his chair, his face purpling, incoherent words shooting from his mouth. Leah burst into tears, but that only made it worse. Vanessa intervened once the sobbing began, and started to scream and criticize Leah along with her husband. Leah tried dozens of times to calm them down, but to no avail. She was so frightened and hurt by their reactions that she ended up vomiting in the bathroom from crying. Get used to it, Vanessa had snarled, and disappeared into the kitchen. Leah called James once she scrambled into her room, but he couldn’t understand her. He wound up climbing through her bedroom window, finding his pregnant lover hysterical on the floor. James did his best to comfort Leah, holding her close and trying to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But he knew it wasn’t going to be.
This became a routine; every night, James would pay a visit to Leah. He was becoming more and more partial to the girl with every kiss they shared, every hour she spent sleeping on his chest. And as the months progressed, he was starting to notice a slight bulge in her usually slender stomach. The baby, obviously. While Leah slept, James would rest his hand on her abdomen, whispering to the little embryo inside her womb. Many times he would stop and question what the fuck he was doing. But then he would stop mid-analysis and resume his conversation with his potential son/daughter. Sometimes, Leah would stir awake while he was at this, but she pretended to be asleep, touched by James’s latent love for the baby. As Leah’s stomach grew between the months, so did James’s affection for her. The night he told her he loved her, she gasped in surprise, which a later explanation proved that the baby had kicked. “Let’s name it Leo for a boy, Azalea for a girl.” Leah became excited (or rather, obsessed) with baby names. James laughed at the strange names, but Leah only gave a mock scowl. The rest of their days and nights together were simple and beautiful; Leah would fall asleep in James’s arms watching a Reese Witherspoon movie, and he would kiss and touch her stomach, knowing that the birth of his child was only a week or two away. However, the baby had a different plan. During the middle of the night, Leah awoke in a sweat, drenched in a puddle of fluid in her bed: her water had broken. With a scream, James sprung to his feet, and within minutes they were skidding into the Emergency Room at the hospital. Leah was not yet sixteen, so they received many disapproving stares and glares, but James didn’t seem to care. He didn’t see a point in it.
Leah delivered a seven pound, two ounce baby boy at 12:03 AM on December 18th, 1987. James stood beside her all the while, his heart thumping wildly as though it were on crank. But Leah seemed different after she had been cleaned up and the baby was taken for tests. She was tired from the labor, granted, but there was something else. Her pupils were dilating at a rapid rate, and she was beginning to lose color very quickly. Her body started to shake, at first a little, then violently. Blood was seeping from her nose and mouth. A speeding heartbeat brought doctors into the room, where James was shoved out of the way and they immediately rushed her into surgery. James waited anxiously in the lobby, pacing and panicking all the while. Soon, the hospital cleared out, and he was one of the very few visitors left. The surgeon that had taken Leah into the OR arrived in the waiting room, looking a bit pale. James’s heart dropped, but he stepped forward nervously to hear the verdict. “She had unbelievable amounts of cocaine in her system, and it was starting to harm the baby. The combined pressure fractured her nervous system, and she started to bleed internally.” The doctor explained Leah’s condition, and then assured James that the baby was fine. But then there it was. That one line that surgeons always say right before telling a family member that the person they love died. “We did everything we could.” And James fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
James refused to see his son for several weeks. Leah’s parents were so busy with Leah’s funeral that they didn’t even seem to care that their grandson was all alone in the hospital. And James’s parents didn’t give a shit. How was he supposed to raise a child? He was only fifteen. Fifteen! He was still a child himself. Nonetheless, James spent several hours of his day in the waiting room of the hospital, elbows propped on his knees, chin in his hands, quiet and still. The nurses started calling him the ‘gargoyle’ of the hospital. Every day, the staff would find him in the same position. The same chair. Flipping through the same magazine. He was usually in the hospital when he should have been in school, but that didn’t seem to bother the nurses. They always asked at least thirty or forty times each day if he wanted to see his son. When James shook his head feebly, they would remind him that the baby was still nameless and that they were going to have to enter one or else they would choose it themselves. This suddenly awakened something in James. He leapt to his feet, seething with anger. This was Leah’s baby, not theirs! Leah was supposed to name him. Leah was supposed to feed him. Leah was supposed to be the extremely young but beautiful mother, cradling her baby with James at her side. He had thought it through so many times, he almost got himself to believe it was true. But she was dead, and he was alone. Alone, together with a baby that just so happened to be his son.
It was the next month that James finally felt enough closure to see his baby. Actually, he called it ‘Leah’s baby’ more often than his. Leah had given birth to him, not James. He deserved none of the credit. The nurse led a nervous James to the nursery, and told him to wait outside while she fed the baby for a moment. While James was waiting, a doctor approached him with a smile and commented, “Big brother, huh?” James didn’t even bother to look at her, and only replied through gritted teeth. “Father.” The doctor frowned and shook her head, muttering ‘so young’ under her breath as she shuffled away. James watched as the nurse reappeared with a bundle of soft blue, a chubby pale arm reaching out from the inside. He took one look at his son, and it took his breath away. This was Leah’s baby; he looked just like her, except with James’s dark hair. Otherwise, he had Leah’s nose, Leah’s mouth, Leah’s thin and refined face, and, most incredible of all, her previously thought to be unmatchable amber eyes. They were so unique that even eye doctors had assured her they had never seen anything like it. Yet, here was this baby, nearly the spitting image of Leah Blake.
Leo, as James later named the baby, was raised in a fairly tolerable environment. James dropped out of school, and with the help of his parents purchased an apartment in downtown Tribeca, New York City. He later picked up a job as a drug dealer, and that was more than enough to put baby food on the table for little Leo. His childhood was fairly simple, as far as childhoods go. James was a lax and loving father, who loved his son more than life itself. But when Leo would bring up the subject of his mother, James would grow silent and suddenly leave the room, locking himself in the bathroom for a long time until he came out with blood all over his sleeves. Leo didn’t understand why his father did that, but he didn’t ask. He usually kept to himself, yet the question about his mother was pressing at his mind. James had never, ever mentioned Leo’s mother to him at all. Leo grew up not even knowing what a mother was, save for his cheerful grandmother, Vanessa, who always brought him chocolate and cookies and would watch Cinderella with him over and over again until their eyes bled. He had to learn from the kids at his school that mothers actually existed, and that he, in fact, was lacking one. Because James would never tell him, Leo relied on his grandmother’s rare but wonderful visits. He waited a month to ask, and once she opened the door the eight-year-old was all over her, jumping with excitement and anxiety. “Where’s my mother?” He asked immediately before hello’s could even be exchanged. And Vanessa only burst into tears, leaving poor Leo still confused. After Vanessa calmed down, she explained everything to Leo, and he started crying as well. When James came home to find the two of them sobbing, he was furious. The word ‘mother’, ‘mom’ or anything relating to maternity were forbidden from then on.
James became more reserved as Leo stretched into his teen years, and it was common for him to leave without notice and return three days later. Leo wasn’t particularly very good at taking care of himself, but that’s where his best friend Dominic came in. Dominic was adorable to nearly everyone who saw him. He had such an innocent, boyish face that it was hard not to smile upon hooking gazes. And his eyes were a perfect shade of emerald green. Leo always noticed how they sparkled when he got excited or nervous, and how his dark eyeliner would always make them pop. Dominic had the most amazing hair Leo had ever seen. It was jet black, with bleach blonde patches in random places. Long, thick sidebangs swept over one eye and the lengthy back was cut into jagged layers. He always spiked up the back (which was about eight inches long) straight up, so that locks and pieces of hairspray-locked, black and blonde hair could defy gravity. Dominic’s piercings were Leo’s favorite; he had a septum barbell, two snakebites and several on either ear. Despite his incredible fashion sense and dramatic attitude, Dominic was a good housewife. He cooked and cleaned and kept Leo company when the house was quiet. More often than not, he would end up crashing with Leo, side by side on his Pikachu-print bed.
When Leo was fifteen, he stumbled upon a startling discovery. Throughout the course of the next several months, Leo found that he was in love with Dominic. He was in love with every single thing about him, from his outrageous hair right down to his mismatching shoes. Naturally, Leo diagnosed himself as gay, but he didn’t let on until he was absolutely sure. The night he told Dominic his feelings was an unexpected one. It wasn’t really that romantic. Leo had had everything planned out perfectly, but when Dominic was late from work Leo decided he had to take a detour. He jumped into a cab and arrived at Dominic’s job at Starbucks, and scrambled through the doors. The customers all stared in disbelief at the skinny boy in tight pants with eyeliner and hair that required three double-takes. (Dominic had insisted the previous year that they have matching hairstyles.) Dominic looked surprised to see Leo; in fact, he dropped the mocha latte that he was serving all over the floor. Leo marched up to the counter, threw himself half-over it and pulled Dominic into a kiss. And that was that; they were in love. The following two years after that were ones for the record-books. Leo and Dominic couldn’t have been a happier couple. They spent their days out on the town, shopping and cuddling and shoplifting. Their nights were intimate and loving, leaving both boys breathless in each other’s beauty. It was a relationship to die for, or so it seemed.
One night, Dominic was late at work again. Leo wasn’t worried at first, considering it was Friday and the New Yorkers liked to get their caffeine fix right about now. But as the night grew darker and the city lights brighter, Leo was fidgeting and pacing. Not wanting to seem clingy, he refrained from calling Dominic for the first half hour or so. But then it was call after call, leaving voicemail after voicemail, and to no avail. Finally, the phone was answered by one of Dominic’s co-workers. He explained that Dominic had left his phone at the shop accidentally, but had told him that he was off on urgent business. Panicking and fearful for Dominic’s life, Leo asked anxiously if Dominic had said where, exactly, he was going. “He said he had to get home, that he was ‘running out of time.’” Leo snapped his phone shut faster than he could even process the information, dashing out the door and heading toward Dominic’s rarely visited house. He had a key, so it was easy to get in. Although, Leo wished he had never walked in. He found two boys in their boxers, one on top of the other, making out like there was no tomorrow. One of them happened to be Dominic. Leo stopped dead in his tracks, feeling hot tears well up in his eyes. Dominic scrambled to his feet, assuring Leo that “it wasn’t what it looked like.” But Leo only sprinted away, out of the house and into the city. He spent that freezing night wandering New York City’s busy streets, emotionless and impassive. His phone was vibrating furiously with calls from Dominic, but he was so distressed that he threw his phone under the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler. As dawn was breaking, he returned home, only to find Dominic sprawled out on his couch, flowers in hand, sound asleep. Less than impressed, Leo worked quietly around his soon-to-be-ex boyfriend. He threw some clothes into a backpack, swiped a few of his father’s credit cards and bank cards, his wallet, and of course, his eyeliner and hairspray. And with a slam of the door, no doubt awakening Dominic, Leo was gone.
Leo had taken the bus down to Manhattan, showing up at his best friend Ashli’s house. Ashli and Leo had dated when they were fourteen, but then she had moved to the Upper East Side when a sudden modeling interest of hers struck gold. And now he was at her doorstep in the pouring rain, looking so pitiful, with a broken heart and no place to go. How could she turn him down? So Leo became a part of Ashli’s life again. They were inseparable after that day. Ashli made Leo feel like he was actually worth something. They often spent their nights curled up on her French-imported bed, watching movies and tossing candy at each other. Leo couldn’t remember when he had been so happy. But Ashli worked at a record labeling company, therefore leaving Leo alone throughout the day. He would kill time meandering around the Upper East Side, marveling at the high-end lifestyle that went on in Manhattan. While wandering, he would come upon random clubs and venues where amazing bands would be playing. That’s when he got, well, ‘famous.’ Everyone suddenly knew his name; he was Leo Coleridge, the boy with the cutting edge hair and a style that could kill. He would get so much publicity out and about in Manhattan; people crowding around him, asking to take their picture with him. And he loved it. But that’s when Leo Coleridge became Leo the Whore.
There was a different boy every other night. As long as there was pixies and Vodka, Leo and Ashli usually had quite the party with their selected victims. But then, along came Nate. Nathaniel Carter, to be exact. He was the ultimate boy, the ultimate lover. Leo was in love all over again. Nate wasn’t just another one night stand. He was the boy Leo wanted to wake up to every morning, with the feel of his warm skin underneath his fingernails. Leo wasted no time telling Nate his feelings. A romantic night at one of Leo’s favorite venues was all he needed to get the words out. And once they were out, so were the boys. They ended up crashing from the cocaine they had ingested earlier in the venue’s bathroom. Not before they fucked, though. Despite both of their insane popularities, Nate was amazing to Leo. He was the only person he saw when they were in the city or in a club. Nothing in the world made him happier than to see Nate smiling, laughing in his arms. They were soon so much in love that Leo was contemplating marriage. He wanted to marry this boy. He wanted to be with him forever. But when Leo proposed, Nate shattered his heart with a blunt, “No.” Leo was crushed. And Nate suddenly wasn’t Nate anymore. He was this monster, this animal that didn’t give a damn about Leo’s feelings at all. And when Nate broke up with Leo on Leo’s birthday, that was it. He was now chronically afraid of love.
Ashli suggested to her heartbroken best friend that he get out of that miserable state of New York. It had caused him nothing but grief ever since. So Leo took her advice, and moved to New Jersey where he could heal in silence. But it was there that his substance abuse only got worse; he started candy flipping, using Ketamine, Meth and Acid all at once. He was admitted to the hospital at least two times each week, with blackened lungs and a damaged heart—literally. In order to escape the hospital’s judgments against his drugs, Leo called up Ashli. Ashli had moved to the Hamptons when her contracting company moved; Leo pleaded some help, so Ashli agreed to let him live with her again in the Hamptons. Leo is so fucked, though, that Ashli isn’t quite sure how long he’ll last.
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SHININ' WITH THE GLEAM CHAIN
[/FONT]AND YOUR HONEY GIVIN' ME BRAIN, YOU CAN CATCH ME WATCHIN' AI[/FONT][/CENTER][/COLOR]
Easy blackness; that’s all he saw. It was cool against his eyes—were they even his eyes?—and it felt good against his skin. No light, no color. Just black. Oliver curled his fingers into a fist, liking the feeling of the darkness under his fingernails. This was, sick as it seemed, his paradise. What he’d wanted ever since he pulled that trigger. But as hard as he tried, Oli couldn’t seem to remember that feeling. The feeling of his head hitting the floor, the feeling of life slipping away from him so sadly. He couldn’t even remember anything. But even though he liked this blackness, something was missing. Something that would complete his paradise and then some. It was a boy… what was his name? His face appeared in the dark, his boyish nose crinkling over the little freckles. What was his name? What was his name? Oliver knew that he knew. He knew that this face was important to him. But he couldn’t quite grasp the concept of faces yet.
Time was nonexistent in this mysterious black plane, but Oli recognized the hours as they significantly passed. He tried to curl himself up, to make himself comfortable. But he didn’t feel anything. Only the numbness. But out of the darkness, a sound clamored. It was small and soft, like a pin dropping on tiled floors. Nonetheless, it was there. “Hello?” Oli called out, noticing how strange his own voice sounded. “Is anyone there?” Was this even his voice? He could’ve had another voice. One that was sweet and mellow, one that made his bones shiver. But wait. Could that voice have belonged to someone else? That voice that he could so vaguely recall? Was it that boy’s? The one with the dark hair and the crooked smile? The one with hazel eyes that made his blood run cold?
The noise. It echoed again, this time louder. “Hello!” Oli demanded, stepping forward once, then rocking back on his heels. A figure had appeared before him. Dressed in a striped hoodie, an unidentified band tee, and the tightest jeans he’d ever seen. Ohmygod, thought Oli, I know him. Oliver stumbled toward the boy, straining his eyes to see in the dark. “Who—who are you?” Oli questioned, warily leaning his body forth. The figure turned around, a bright smile lighting up on his face. The blackness disappeared suddenly, leaving only greyness to take over. “Are you serious, Oli? You don’t recognize me? C’mon, that’s bullshit.” Oli blinked once and shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything.” The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, taking his hands out of his hoodie pockets. He ran one of them through his sidebangs. “Oli, it’s me, Brendan.”
Oliver’s heart began to beat a little faster. Brendan? Suddenly, his brain was being filled with memories. Kissing. Touching. Grabbing. Laughter. He shut his eyes as the aching in his head heightened, giving him more pictures to see. Smiling, this time. Brendan’s smile. And another smile he didn’t quite recognize—a sweet smile that was set under a pair of hazel eyes that weren’t Brendan’s. But it disappeared too quickly for him to analyze it. “Brendan?” He whispered, stepping closer. “You’re. Dead.” He remembered the bloody, mangled body of his lover on the street. There was no pulse—so Brendan was dead. How was he here, then?
“Yes, I am. And so are you. Kind of.” Brendan grinned. Oliver’s eyes widened and he sucked in a breath of air that he couldn’t seem to breathe. “What do you mean?” Brendan shrugged, shifting his weight. “You overdosed on heroin again. Remember?” Oli shook his head. Brendan sighed again, tsking under his tongue. “Oli, Oli. You know what this does to you. How could you put Seth in this kind of position? What’s the matter with you?”
Seth.
Oli’s Seth?
Seth. Seth. Seth.
The name rung in his ears a hundred times over. “You… do remember Seth, don’t you?” Oliver stood still for a long time, giving Brendan time to groan and slap his hand to his face. “Good lord. More work for me, I guess. Follow me.” Before Brendan could go anywhere, Oli reached out and grabbed his arm. “Tell me the truth. Am I dead?” He whispered, trembling. Brendan’s eyes saddened considerably. He looked nervously to the ground. “You’re inbetween life and death, Oli. You’re not dead. But you’re not alive, either.”
Now that was a hard pill to swallow. Oliver gulped, his eyes ballooning into pupils the size of a pie plate. “Seth,” He murmured, not sure why, exactly, his mouth chose that name to speak. Brendan furrowed his brow, sliding his hand down Oliver’s arm. “Come on, we have work to do.” And they vanished.
Oli found himself in a familiar place. An apartment, no less, with ratty rugs and a vintage refrigerator. He recognized it. Definitely. “Your apartment?” He questioned, raising a thick eyebrow. Brendon shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching back on his heels. He shrugged. “Yeah. I miss it. Even though it’s a little… shabby? I miss it.” “I do, too.” “Yeah, I thought you might. Oh, wait. Here. Watch this.” Brendan paused and pointed to the treshold of the door, where the French white wood opened to reveal Brendan, carrying Oli in his delicate arms. Oli had his lips pressed to Brendan’s cheek, which was spread out with the biggest smile he’d ever seen. Oliver felt tears pressing at his eyes as he watched. “Can they see us?” He asked, watching Brendan spin Oli around. Oli squealed happily. Brendan shook his head and jumped up on the counter, swinging his legs around like the little kid he should’ve been. “Oh, please don’t make me watch this.” Oli begged as the two others disappeared onto the couch. “You have to. It’s part of the—process.” Oliver scrunched up his lips in confusion, but followed Brendan to the couch nonetheless. It was there that the two teenagers were making out, ruffling their fingers through each other’s hair and slipping hands down each other’s jeans. Brendan smiled sadly. “Your Pikachu jammies…” He started, then trailed off when he realized he’d struck a nerve. Oli had taken to the corner of the room, where he stood stiff and aloof. “Why are you doing this to me?” He asked Brendan, the tears maturing in his eyes. “Why are you making me hurt?” Brendan shuffled closer to Oli, reaching out so that his fingertips were just centimeters from Oli’s face. Oli turned his cheek away, feeling it glisten with wet tears. “So you know that you can hurt, Oli.”
“Wh-where are we?” Oli’s teeth were chattering in the coldness of the street. A street he well recognized, but he asked anyway. Brendan looked gravely toward Oli, then back at where a queue of people had gathered. Oli recognized himself at once, knelt over a splayed body on the sidewalk. The next thing he recognized was Brendan’s limp carriage, no longer able to draw in breath. Oliver buckled over forward with an enormous sob, burying his face in his hands. The body had been shot straight through with large bullets, gauging holes in Brendan’s pretty pale skin. “Oh my god,” Oli screeched, turning away immediately. He stared down the infinite blackness of the opposite side of the street, listening with wavering sniffles to his own wails in the background. Brendan was disturbingly silent, to a point where Oliver could take it no more. He reached out for Brendan’s hand, gasping for breath and refusing to look at the bloody remains of his dead boyfriend. “Please don’t do this to me,” He begged, falling to his shaky knees at the end of his sentence. “Please…” Brendan wrenched his hand away to wipe a tear from his own bright blue eye. He seemed almost upset with Oli for being this way. For being this… dead. “Let’s go,” He insisted, guiding Oli with his fingertips pressing to his back. A cool breeze passed through Oliver’s body, and within moments the world had changed from an unreadable blur to the setting of a quiet apartment room, one Oli realized as his own. It was a bit rugged, but somewhat homey, in a way. “Why are we here?” Oli asked abstractedly, beginning to wander around the room. He traced his hands lightly over the walls and tables and furniture as he walked. The sight of a newspaper on the couch caught his eye. He picked it up, his eyes searching for the date. October 18, 2007. The blue of his eyes suddenly swallowed his pupils, and he staggered back and dropped the paper. He shot an astonished look to Brendan, who leaned casually against one of the white walls. “You brought me… here? Today?” Oli whispered. Brendan nodded and closed his eyes. “Not one of my favorite days.” Oli dropped his head, knowing very well what was going to happen today.
“We have to get out of here,” Oli begged Brendan, gasping for air. “You know what happens today. We have to get—” Brendan shushed him softly, nudging his chin toward the door. At that exact moment, the white threshold was bared by the hands of none other than Oliver himself. Oli looked a good deal younger and significantly more depressed than he ever had been. Oli paused to watch himself reach for the couch and then began to panic. He grabbed Brendan’s jacketed arm and pulled forward. “Brendan! No!” Oli screamed, tossing his frightened eyes over his shoulder. There was nineteen year old Oliver, cocking a gun. Oliver’s screams became lessened as he continued to watch the scene unfold before him. Past Oliver was sobbing, similarly to the present Oliver. Oli watched as his past self pushed the gun up to his heart, feeling his nails digging beds into his palms. Brendan turned away as the shot fired and blood erupted from the wound, leaving past Oli unconscious and tangled on the floor.
The next locale was a familiar one. It was a crowded mall filled to the very brim with people. Oli shied away as someone nearly passed right through him. “Why—” “—are we here? Oli, you keep asking me that same question.” Oli sighed. “I know, but why would you bring me to a mall? I mean, honestly. Nothing ever happened to me at a mall. Not that I remember, anyway.” Brendan rolled his eyes, clearly agitated with the amnesiac boy. “What do you mean ‘nothing happened’? Are you fucking kidding me? This is the place that you—nevermind. You’ll find out for yourself.” Oliver cocked his head, a puzzled look surfacing onto his face. But as Brendan began to walk toward the more deserted part of the mall, Oliver followed without question. Brendan paused at one of the doors, looking back to make sure Oli was still behind him.
There was a long silence as the two boys hovered by the door, each looking hesitant to open it. After what felt like half an hour, Brendan tossed a glance in Oli’s way, heaving a troubled sigh and motioning Oli forward. Oli resisted, unsure of what it looked like Brendan was about to do: pass through the door. They leveled eyes, each boy’s pupils arguing against each other in a silent battle. Several minutes passed where this went on, until Oliver was defeated by the other boy. Brendan took Oli’s hand into his own and ducked through the wall. Oliver held his breath instinctively, feeling a cool breeze kissing his cheeks as they stepped into a small room. In it sat two boys in two different chairs next to each other in front of a cheap-looking desk. They were both dark-haired and fair-skinned, one with tiny freckles and the other with stunning blue eyes. The blue-eyed one, Oliver recognized as himself.
“I don’t—I don’t remember this,” He admitted, quite upset with his shitty memory at the moment. His eyes drifted down to his cuffed hands. Brendan took to leaning against the desk, narrowing his eyes at the other boy and then dropping his head as though he’d lost some tournament. In a way, he had. “You will,” Brendan reassured him, and looked away. Confused, Oli led himself behind the desk. He didn’t sit in the chair—he was afraid his translucent body might fall through it. With a careful eye he looked over the two boys in front of him, taking his time with each one. They both had their heads tucked to their chests and their brows furrowed in deep thought. It was quiet. That is, it was quiet until Oliver saw himself raise his head from its thoughtful position and turn it toward the other boy. His other self was now studying the other boy in the same manner as he himself had just done. The other boy blinked up at Oli in his chair, and in that instant, a ripple caressed the air. It was unseen, apparently, by the two in the chairs, but it was very clear that he and Brendan had seen it. “What was that?” Oli whispered, worried he might disturb the silence if he spoke too loudly. Brendan turned away. “That was…love.”
Love?
That very second, a tidal wave of memories crashed down on Oliver. They flashed in his head over and over in a fast-forwarded movie clip until it slowed to more distinct ones. He and the boy locking lips in one of the chairs. He and the boy dashing through the food court. He and the boy crouching in bushes and making out like two teenagers. He and the boy… in his bed. Then he saw the most touching sight of all—Oli was naked and propping himself up by his arms on either side of this boy, and the look in their eyes was purely magical. There was no other way to describe it. It gave him butterflies, now that he thought about it. The rush suddenly began again, and Oliver emerged in the blackness again, Brendan at his side. “Seth!” He gasped. Everything had made it back to him. And now all he had to do was find Seth again.
“Brendan!” Oli called Brendan’s name incessantly, but no reply came. Oli was stuck in the blackness. Feeling overwhelmed, Oliver lowered himself warily to the floor and drew his knees to his chin. He closed his eyes—not that it would’ve mattered, anyway. It was too black for him to even discern open eyes from closed. Aside from the eternal darkness, the only other thing on Oli’s mind was Seth. And oh, how Seth was destroying his mind. He was taking every sinewy fiber and cutting it in complete half. All Oliver could think about was Seth’s smile, his gentle eyes and his alluring touch. A sad smile pricked at his lips as he recalled the memory of the two in the mall. It had been the most fun Oli had ever had in one single day. It had also been the most Oli had ever felt in a single day as well. Love had never been on his side from the start, but now he had something good. And he had to go fuck it all up, as per usual.
Voices. Oliver heard voices emerging from the darkness, all by themselves. “Hey Oli Bear, they said you would probably be asleep for a long time ‘cause they weren’t sure when you’d wake up, hell, they said you might not even wake up.” He knew that voice. That husky, boyish tone was so familiar as it vibrated in his chest. “Seth,” He whispered, looking up from the ground. But what he saw was not the cool blackness that he had become so used to. It was a quiet hospital room with pale, flowered wallpaper and eggshell curtains. His eyes drifted over to the boy in the hospital bed, which he recognized immediately as his sleeping self. Draped over him was the tiny figure of Seth, speaking softly to the dormant Oli. He hung back in the corner and listened, knowing still that he would be invisible to the naked eye.
“They’re just being irrational. Of course you’re going to wake up... Right?” Oliver held his breath, a long pause ensuing Seth’s words. Only the heart monitor dared to make a noise, bleating feebly with Oli’s weak heartbeat. “Seth,” Oli breathed, but quickly pursed his lips together. What was he doing? Seth couldn’t hear him. Oliver sunk further into the corner. “They also said that you probably couldn’t hear me if I talked to you, but it can’t hurt, can it? I’m sorry I didn’t wake up when you did, maybe if I had you wouldn’t be here and we’d still be in bed.” Oliver felt a sob squeeze through his ribcage. He buried his face in his translucent hands, crying for his limp body on the bed and for the boy beside him. He was even crying for little kids in Africa. Just a teensy bit.
“It’s not your fault,” Oli admitted softly, shuffling closer to Seth. He moved to get closer, but a voice in the background halted him. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” Oli snapped his head to the right, his eyes taunting him with the image of Brendan. Brendan was leaning in his notorious stance against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrow and mellow. “Brendan,” He murmured. “how long have you been here?” Brendan shrugged. “Longer than you have.” Oli’s eyes widened considerably for a split second. “Brendan—am I… dying?” Brendan’s throat tightened. He looked from Oliver’s body to Oliver and back again. “A little.” Another sob took a blow at Oli. Without another thought, Oli leaped forward onto Seth’s body, feeling weightless and nonexistent. He couldn’t quite feel the warmth of his lover’s body, but he imagined it so well that he very well could’ve.
“I’m sorry you had to do it because of me; I thought I was making you happy. I don’t want to do anything but make you happy, and it probably sounds cliché but it’s all true. You mean the world to me, baby.” Oliver’s grip around Seth tightened, though part of his arm was slipping through Seth’s body in a ghostly way. He propped his chin up by Seth’s ear, softening his bear hug. “It wasn’t your fault, Seth. It was mine. It was all me. It was my stupid fucking head that got me—us—into this,” Oli whispered and tried to kiss Seth’s neck. But his lips fell right through. His hold suddenly became even tighter. As the doctor opened the door, Oli felt Seth look up, but he himself didn’t bother to. He took to murmuring his apologies some more. “I’m so sorry, Seth. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than a low-class druggie.” A sob pushed through his lips. He heard Brendan shift uncomfortably behind him. Oli raised his hand and rested it on top of Seth’s head, wanting so badly just to hold him. “I know you can’t feel me, but I’m right here. I’m just not quite… there.” Oli’s eyes darted to his sleeping body on the hospital bed, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind if he’d ever wake up.
As the doctor took his leave, Seth moved from under Oli’s spiritual form. Oli fell forward as his only means of support curled up beside his real body up on the bed. He tried to move forward, but decided against it. He should just leave Seth alone. He’d done enough damage already. “Oh Oli, I hate this.” Oli blinked quietly from his place at the foot of the bed. He brought his legs up to his chin, then crossed them Indian-style and watched the perfect pair before him. An aching awoke in his body—an aching to be alive again. The two were quiet for a long time, during which Oliver exchanged several glances with Brendan. In a way, he felt sorry for Brendan, having to stand there and watch his past love connecting with another new one. But he also had Brendan to thank, of course, for allowing him to accept the marriage proposal that had changed his life forever.
Oliver watched as Seth reached for something in his pocket. There was a faraway glow in his eyes—what could it be? Surely nothing he deserved, of course. Oli was no longer worthy of the love Seth kept giving. He had lost that privilege the moment he lost consciousness. Oliver’s eyes widened as the object was produced from Seth’s delicate hand. It was a small black box, tinged with blue in the fluorescent hospital light. Oli’s eyes widened considerably. He heard Brendan snort sarcastically behind him. “What?” He breathed, unable to control his thoughts for a moment. Is that what he thought it was? Seth opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring which glinted in the stream of white light and smiled up at Oliver cheekily. Oliver pressed his hand to his chest, his cheeks now streaked with tears that he couldn’t feel.
“Oli, I don’t deserve you, I’m just some kid from the wrong side of the city. But you know what? I don’t care. I fucking love you more than anything else in the whole wide world.” Oliver coughed up a sob. How had he gotten so lucky? How could anyone in the world have gotten so lucky? He sniffled as Seth nuzzled at his body, touching the very spot on his own translucent self and pretending to feel it. “When we get married I’m going to get us a cute little house with a white picket fence and everything. We can get a dog and go for walks in the park and we’ll hold hands and kiss and cuddle and do cute things together and people can stare but we won’t give a damn.” Another cough, another sob. Oli was nearly choking with tears at this point, but he didn’t care. Seth was so sweet and definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him. Oli’s nails dug into his chest the more he thought about how much he loved this boy. When Seth leaned forward to secure a kiss to Oli’s lips, Oli cried out with pain. How could Brendan do this to him? Letting him watch as his entire life slipped away at his fingertips, that he couldn’t do a damn thing about? He crumpled weakly into a ball on the bed, feeling himself getting more transparent by the second.
“We’re going to get through this Oliver, I promise. No matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you.” Oliver saw Brendan’s face twist with agony out of the corner of his eye. He shivered hopelessly, at which the heart monitor blipped a beat shorter than the rest. His eyes widened; he threw a look at Brendan. “Wha—?” He stammered, incredulous. “How did that happen?” He wondered aloud, still looking at Brendan for an answer. Brendan shifted his weight and shrugged nonchalantly. “I dunno. Guess there’s a ghost in the machine,” He smirked at his little joke, which Oli found far from amusing. Scowling, Oli whipped his head back to his body, brushing his fingertips along Seth’s calf. “I love you, kitten.”
The door suddenly yanked itself open, revealing a slender trespasser. Oliver growled under his breath, but softened as he realized that Seth recognized this boy. A faraway wilt began in his heart as Seth gave a last kiss to Oli’s lips and teetered out of the hospital bed. There was a moment of stunned silence before the boy, evidently called ‘Wil’, whispered an odd nickname. Seth then stumbled toward the boy like a leggy colt, throwing his arms about Wil’s neck. “B-but how’d you know? Why aren’t you in Colorado? Wher–” “Chill out Sethy, none of that’s important right now.” Oliver watched with jealous eyes as Seth clung to this mysterious boy, though Brendan seemed a lot cheekier than usual. Oli coughed abruptly in shock as one of Seth’s fingers ended up on Wil’s lips. “No,” Oli hissed, tensing. His heart monitor blipped again.
“C’mere Bum-bum, you need to talk…Now.” As Wil and Seth proceeded to talk, Oli turned to Brendan. Brendan was smiling, proud as a peacock from where he stood. Oli’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Looks like someone’s got a few skeletons in the closet,” Brendan sang, flitting over to Oli’s side. He grinned, but Oliver could only look down in defeat. “Who is he? Why didn’t I ever get a memo that he existed?” Oli’s body wrenched the more the other two touched. Brendan hooked an arm around Oli’s shoulders, looking quite smug. “Maybe he didn’t want you to know he existed.” Oliver leapt from Brendan’s arm, springing to his feet on the floor. He glared malevolently in Brendan’s direction, exhaling hard to emphasize his anger. “No! Seth would never—” Brendan cut Oli off by pressing one of his fingers to his lips, nodding towards where the two boys were talking. “Listen,”
“You don’t fucking understand, Wil! I never loved Aiden half as much as I love him, and that so called ‘fucking ring’ on his finger is mine!” Oliver’s eyebrows raised high into his smooth forehead. He looked curiously to Brendan, who looked significantly crestfallen at this justification of Sethiver’s love. “Bum-bum, you’ve known him for a day how coul–– wait, what the fuck did you just say? I could have sworn you just said that was your ring. But that can’t be right, can it? The Seth Matthews I knew got hurt ––bad–– not even four months ago, and was scared to fucking death of falling in love with anyone else because some stupid mother fucking asshole raped him.” Seth’s cry of pain made Oliver twitch with nostalgia. If only he could wake up and kick this kid in the fucking ass…
“Seth, I really don’t give a flying fuck if it hurts or not; suck it up and quit whining like a bitch! I don’t want you to have your whole world fall down around you again just because some stupid boy got your hopes up that he was going to settle down with you and then fucking blow you off! That’s going to hurt a whole hell of a lot worse than anything I’m fucking doing to you!” Oliver roared in rage. He jumped at Wil, only stopping himself halfway and remembering that neither of them would be able to feel anything he did to them. He shook his head, trembling with fury as Brendan pulled him into a warm bear-hug. “You fucking bitch!” Oli screamed, over and over until Brendan quieted him with lulling shushes. “Easy, baby. Easy. That’s it, calm down,” The way Brendan was looking at him gave Oli the darkest of feelings deep in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t know why.
Half an hour passed where Oli lay in the arms of another boy while Seth did the same, perhaps less comfortably, though. There were dozens of times that Oli tried to jerk himself free to save his Seth, but Brendan wouldn’t let him each time. When Seth finally rose to his feet, Oliver let out a sigh of relief. But the look of mounting pain on Seth’s face erased that relief just as quickly as it had arrived. “I love you kitten, I love you so fucking much. Please, just be okay.” And Seth fell asleep, and Oliver turned into Brendan’s chest with a sob.
“Send me back,” Oli whimpered, struggling against Brendan’s arms. “Send me back, you son of a bitch!” He breathed, hoarse from crying so much. Brendan, however, refused to let go. And he wasn’t caving easily. “Oli, Oli,” Brendan crooned, using one hand to feverishly stroke through Oli’s hair. “Oli, calm down baby. Calm down.” Oliver shook his head suddenly. “Don’t you dare call me ‘baby’, Brendan. Don’t you dare—call me that.” He choked, finally scrambling free of Brendan’s grip. He staggered at first, but then turned around to face the spirit before him. “Brendan, you goddamn bastard, send me back now,” Oli demanded, his dark eyebrows furrowed together into an angry line. Brendan’s eyes widened with hurt. Oli softened then. “Brendan, I can’t stand to see him like this. Please,” Oli whispered, now begging.
“Oli, I—I can’t. I can’t send you back.” Brendan closed his eyes gently, meanwhile Oliver’s eyes stretched across with panic. “You what?” He cried, giving a cursory glance to Seth’s sleeping body. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t send you back’?! Brendan, stop bullshitting me! I know you can. I know you can fix this, Brendan. Wha—” Oli stopped himself as Brendan seemed to grow more and more timid. He sucked in a deep breath, attempting with renewed patience to calm himself down. “Why, Brendan? Why can’t you send me back? Why can’t you give me back the one thing I love most, huh? Why?” Oli took a seat beside Brendan, planting his hands on either knee. He’d need support for the answer that was about to come.
Time was nonexistent in this mysterious black plane, but Oli recognized the hours as they significantly passed. He tried to curl himself up, to make himself comfortable. But he didn’t feel anything. Only the numbness. But out of the darkness, a sound clamored. It was small and soft, like a pin dropping on tiled floors. Nonetheless, it was there. “Hello?” Oli called out, noticing how strange his own voice sounded. “Is anyone there?” Was this even his voice? He could’ve had another voice. One that was sweet and mellow, one that made his bones shiver. But wait. Could that voice have belonged to someone else? That voice that he could so vaguely recall? Was it that boy’s? The one with the dark hair and the crooked smile? The one with hazel eyes that made his blood run cold?
The noise. It echoed again, this time louder. “Hello!” Oli demanded, stepping forward once, then rocking back on his heels. A figure had appeared before him. Dressed in a striped hoodie, an unidentified band tee, and the tightest jeans he’d ever seen. Ohmygod, thought Oli, I know him. Oliver stumbled toward the boy, straining his eyes to see in the dark. “Who—who are you?” Oli questioned, warily leaning his body forth. The figure turned around, a bright smile lighting up on his face. The blackness disappeared suddenly, leaving only greyness to take over. “Are you serious, Oli? You don’t recognize me? C’mon, that’s bullshit.” Oli blinked once and shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything.” The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, taking his hands out of his hoodie pockets. He ran one of them through his sidebangs. “Oli, it’s me, Brendan.”
Oliver’s heart began to beat a little faster. Brendan? Suddenly, his brain was being filled with memories. Kissing. Touching. Grabbing. Laughter. He shut his eyes as the aching in his head heightened, giving him more pictures to see. Smiling, this time. Brendan’s smile. And another smile he didn’t quite recognize—a sweet smile that was set under a pair of hazel eyes that weren’t Brendan’s. But it disappeared too quickly for him to analyze it. “Brendan?” He whispered, stepping closer. “You’re. Dead.” He remembered the bloody, mangled body of his lover on the street. There was no pulse—so Brendan was dead. How was he here, then?
“Yes, I am. And so are you. Kind of.” Brendan grinned. Oliver’s eyes widened and he sucked in a breath of air that he couldn’t seem to breathe. “What do you mean?” Brendan shrugged, shifting his weight. “You overdosed on heroin again. Remember?” Oli shook his head. Brendan sighed again, tsking under his tongue. “Oli, Oli. You know what this does to you. How could you put Seth in this kind of position? What’s the matter with you?”
Seth.
Oli’s Seth?
Seth. Seth. Seth.
The name rung in his ears a hundred times over. “You… do remember Seth, don’t you?” Oliver stood still for a long time, giving Brendan time to groan and slap his hand to his face. “Good lord. More work for me, I guess. Follow me.” Before Brendan could go anywhere, Oli reached out and grabbed his arm. “Tell me the truth. Am I dead?” He whispered, trembling. Brendan’s eyes saddened considerably. He looked nervously to the ground. “You’re inbetween life and death, Oli. You’re not dead. But you’re not alive, either.”
Now that was a hard pill to swallow. Oliver gulped, his eyes ballooning into pupils the size of a pie plate. “Seth,” He murmured, not sure why, exactly, his mouth chose that name to speak. Brendan furrowed his brow, sliding his hand down Oliver’s arm. “Come on, we have work to do.” And they vanished.
Oli found himself in a familiar place. An apartment, no less, with ratty rugs and a vintage refrigerator. He recognized it. Definitely. “Your apartment?” He questioned, raising a thick eyebrow. Brendon shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching back on his heels. He shrugged. “Yeah. I miss it. Even though it’s a little… shabby? I miss it.” “I do, too.” “Yeah, I thought you might. Oh, wait. Here. Watch this.” Brendan paused and pointed to the treshold of the door, where the French white wood opened to reveal Brendan, carrying Oli in his delicate arms. Oli had his lips pressed to Brendan’s cheek, which was spread out with the biggest smile he’d ever seen. Oliver felt tears pressing at his eyes as he watched. “Can they see us?” He asked, watching Brendan spin Oli around. Oli squealed happily. Brendan shook his head and jumped up on the counter, swinging his legs around like the little kid he should’ve been. “Oh, please don’t make me watch this.” Oli begged as the two others disappeared onto the couch. “You have to. It’s part of the—process.” Oliver scrunched up his lips in confusion, but followed Brendan to the couch nonetheless. It was there that the two teenagers were making out, ruffling their fingers through each other’s hair and slipping hands down each other’s jeans. Brendan smiled sadly. “Your Pikachu jammies…” He started, then trailed off when he realized he’d struck a nerve. Oli had taken to the corner of the room, where he stood stiff and aloof. “Why are you doing this to me?” He asked Brendan, the tears maturing in his eyes. “Why are you making me hurt?” Brendan shuffled closer to Oli, reaching out so that his fingertips were just centimeters from Oli’s face. Oli turned his cheek away, feeling it glisten with wet tears. “So you know that you can hurt, Oli.”
“Wh-where are we?” Oli’s teeth were chattering in the coldness of the street. A street he well recognized, but he asked anyway. Brendan looked gravely toward Oli, then back at where a queue of people had gathered. Oli recognized himself at once, knelt over a splayed body on the sidewalk. The next thing he recognized was Brendan’s limp carriage, no longer able to draw in breath. Oliver buckled over forward with an enormous sob, burying his face in his hands. The body had been shot straight through with large bullets, gauging holes in Brendan’s pretty pale skin. “Oh my god,” Oli screeched, turning away immediately. He stared down the infinite blackness of the opposite side of the street, listening with wavering sniffles to his own wails in the background. Brendan was disturbingly silent, to a point where Oliver could take it no more. He reached out for Brendan’s hand, gasping for breath and refusing to look at the bloody remains of his dead boyfriend. “Please don’t do this to me,” He begged, falling to his shaky knees at the end of his sentence. “Please…” Brendan wrenched his hand away to wipe a tear from his own bright blue eye. He seemed almost upset with Oli for being this way. For being this… dead. “Let’s go,” He insisted, guiding Oli with his fingertips pressing to his back. A cool breeze passed through Oliver’s body, and within moments the world had changed from an unreadable blur to the setting of a quiet apartment room, one Oli realized as his own. It was a bit rugged, but somewhat homey, in a way. “Why are we here?” Oli asked abstractedly, beginning to wander around the room. He traced his hands lightly over the walls and tables and furniture as he walked. The sight of a newspaper on the couch caught his eye. He picked it up, his eyes searching for the date. October 18, 2007. The blue of his eyes suddenly swallowed his pupils, and he staggered back and dropped the paper. He shot an astonished look to Brendan, who leaned casually against one of the white walls. “You brought me… here? Today?” Oli whispered. Brendan nodded and closed his eyes. “Not one of my favorite days.” Oli dropped his head, knowing very well what was going to happen today.
“We have to get out of here,” Oli begged Brendan, gasping for air. “You know what happens today. We have to get—” Brendan shushed him softly, nudging his chin toward the door. At that exact moment, the white threshold was bared by the hands of none other than Oliver himself. Oli looked a good deal younger and significantly more depressed than he ever had been. Oli paused to watch himself reach for the couch and then began to panic. He grabbed Brendan’s jacketed arm and pulled forward. “Brendan! No!” Oli screamed, tossing his frightened eyes over his shoulder. There was nineteen year old Oliver, cocking a gun. Oliver’s screams became lessened as he continued to watch the scene unfold before him. Past Oliver was sobbing, similarly to the present Oliver. Oli watched as his past self pushed the gun up to his heart, feeling his nails digging beds into his palms. Brendan turned away as the shot fired and blood erupted from the wound, leaving past Oli unconscious and tangled on the floor.
The next locale was a familiar one. It was a crowded mall filled to the very brim with people. Oli shied away as someone nearly passed right through him. “Why—” “—are we here? Oli, you keep asking me that same question.” Oli sighed. “I know, but why would you bring me to a mall? I mean, honestly. Nothing ever happened to me at a mall. Not that I remember, anyway.” Brendan rolled his eyes, clearly agitated with the amnesiac boy. “What do you mean ‘nothing happened’? Are you fucking kidding me? This is the place that you—nevermind. You’ll find out for yourself.” Oliver cocked his head, a puzzled look surfacing onto his face. But as Brendan began to walk toward the more deserted part of the mall, Oliver followed without question. Brendan paused at one of the doors, looking back to make sure Oli was still behind him.
There was a long silence as the two boys hovered by the door, each looking hesitant to open it. After what felt like half an hour, Brendan tossed a glance in Oli’s way, heaving a troubled sigh and motioning Oli forward. Oli resisted, unsure of what it looked like Brendan was about to do: pass through the door. They leveled eyes, each boy’s pupils arguing against each other in a silent battle. Several minutes passed where this went on, until Oliver was defeated by the other boy. Brendan took Oli’s hand into his own and ducked through the wall. Oliver held his breath instinctively, feeling a cool breeze kissing his cheeks as they stepped into a small room. In it sat two boys in two different chairs next to each other in front of a cheap-looking desk. They were both dark-haired and fair-skinned, one with tiny freckles and the other with stunning blue eyes. The blue-eyed one, Oliver recognized as himself.
“I don’t—I don’t remember this,” He admitted, quite upset with his shitty memory at the moment. His eyes drifted down to his cuffed hands. Brendan took to leaning against the desk, narrowing his eyes at the other boy and then dropping his head as though he’d lost some tournament. In a way, he had. “You will,” Brendan reassured him, and looked away. Confused, Oli led himself behind the desk. He didn’t sit in the chair—he was afraid his translucent body might fall through it. With a careful eye he looked over the two boys in front of him, taking his time with each one. They both had their heads tucked to their chests and their brows furrowed in deep thought. It was quiet. That is, it was quiet until Oliver saw himself raise his head from its thoughtful position and turn it toward the other boy. His other self was now studying the other boy in the same manner as he himself had just done. The other boy blinked up at Oli in his chair, and in that instant, a ripple caressed the air. It was unseen, apparently, by the two in the chairs, but it was very clear that he and Brendan had seen it. “What was that?” Oli whispered, worried he might disturb the silence if he spoke too loudly. Brendan turned away. “That was…love.”
Love?
That very second, a tidal wave of memories crashed down on Oliver. They flashed in his head over and over in a fast-forwarded movie clip until it slowed to more distinct ones. He and the boy locking lips in one of the chairs. He and the boy dashing through the food court. He and the boy crouching in bushes and making out like two teenagers. He and the boy… in his bed. Then he saw the most touching sight of all—Oli was naked and propping himself up by his arms on either side of this boy, and the look in their eyes was purely magical. There was no other way to describe it. It gave him butterflies, now that he thought about it. The rush suddenly began again, and Oliver emerged in the blackness again, Brendan at his side. “Seth!” He gasped. Everything had made it back to him. And now all he had to do was find Seth again.
“Brendan!” Oli called Brendan’s name incessantly, but no reply came. Oli was stuck in the blackness. Feeling overwhelmed, Oliver lowered himself warily to the floor and drew his knees to his chin. He closed his eyes—not that it would’ve mattered, anyway. It was too black for him to even discern open eyes from closed. Aside from the eternal darkness, the only other thing on Oli’s mind was Seth. And oh, how Seth was destroying his mind. He was taking every sinewy fiber and cutting it in complete half. All Oliver could think about was Seth’s smile, his gentle eyes and his alluring touch. A sad smile pricked at his lips as he recalled the memory of the two in the mall. It had been the most fun Oli had ever had in one single day. It had also been the most Oli had ever felt in a single day as well. Love had never been on his side from the start, but now he had something good. And he had to go fuck it all up, as per usual.
Voices. Oliver heard voices emerging from the darkness, all by themselves. “Hey Oli Bear, they said you would probably be asleep for a long time ‘cause they weren’t sure when you’d wake up, hell, they said you might not even wake up.” He knew that voice. That husky, boyish tone was so familiar as it vibrated in his chest. “Seth,” He whispered, looking up from the ground. But what he saw was not the cool blackness that he had become so used to. It was a quiet hospital room with pale, flowered wallpaper and eggshell curtains. His eyes drifted over to the boy in the hospital bed, which he recognized immediately as his sleeping self. Draped over him was the tiny figure of Seth, speaking softly to the dormant Oli. He hung back in the corner and listened, knowing still that he would be invisible to the naked eye.
“They’re just being irrational. Of course you’re going to wake up... Right?” Oliver held his breath, a long pause ensuing Seth’s words. Only the heart monitor dared to make a noise, bleating feebly with Oli’s weak heartbeat. “Seth,” Oli breathed, but quickly pursed his lips together. What was he doing? Seth couldn’t hear him. Oliver sunk further into the corner. “They also said that you probably couldn’t hear me if I talked to you, but it can’t hurt, can it? I’m sorry I didn’t wake up when you did, maybe if I had you wouldn’t be here and we’d still be in bed.” Oliver felt a sob squeeze through his ribcage. He buried his face in his translucent hands, crying for his limp body on the bed and for the boy beside him. He was even crying for little kids in Africa. Just a teensy bit.
“It’s not your fault,” Oli admitted softly, shuffling closer to Seth. He moved to get closer, but a voice in the background halted him. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” Oli snapped his head to the right, his eyes taunting him with the image of Brendan. Brendan was leaning in his notorious stance against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrow and mellow. “Brendan,” He murmured. “how long have you been here?” Brendan shrugged. “Longer than you have.” Oli’s eyes widened considerably for a split second. “Brendan—am I… dying?” Brendan’s throat tightened. He looked from Oliver’s body to Oliver and back again. “A little.” Another sob took a blow at Oli. Without another thought, Oli leaped forward onto Seth’s body, feeling weightless and nonexistent. He couldn’t quite feel the warmth of his lover’s body, but he imagined it so well that he very well could’ve.
“I’m sorry you had to do it because of me; I thought I was making you happy. I don’t want to do anything but make you happy, and it probably sounds cliché but it’s all true. You mean the world to me, baby.” Oliver’s grip around Seth tightened, though part of his arm was slipping through Seth’s body in a ghostly way. He propped his chin up by Seth’s ear, softening his bear hug. “It wasn’t your fault, Seth. It was mine. It was all me. It was my stupid fucking head that got me—us—into this,” Oli whispered and tried to kiss Seth’s neck. But his lips fell right through. His hold suddenly became even tighter. As the doctor opened the door, Oli felt Seth look up, but he himself didn’t bother to. He took to murmuring his apologies some more. “I’m so sorry, Seth. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than a low-class druggie.” A sob pushed through his lips. He heard Brendan shift uncomfortably behind him. Oli raised his hand and rested it on top of Seth’s head, wanting so badly just to hold him. “I know you can’t feel me, but I’m right here. I’m just not quite… there.” Oli’s eyes darted to his sleeping body on the hospital bed, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind if he’d ever wake up.
As the doctor took his leave, Seth moved from under Oli’s spiritual form. Oli fell forward as his only means of support curled up beside his real body up on the bed. He tried to move forward, but decided against it. He should just leave Seth alone. He’d done enough damage already. “Oh Oli, I hate this.” Oli blinked quietly from his place at the foot of the bed. He brought his legs up to his chin, then crossed them Indian-style and watched the perfect pair before him. An aching awoke in his body—an aching to be alive again. The two were quiet for a long time, during which Oliver exchanged several glances with Brendan. In a way, he felt sorry for Brendan, having to stand there and watch his past love connecting with another new one. But he also had Brendan to thank, of course, for allowing him to accept the marriage proposal that had changed his life forever.
Oliver watched as Seth reached for something in his pocket. There was a faraway glow in his eyes—what could it be? Surely nothing he deserved, of course. Oli was no longer worthy of the love Seth kept giving. He had lost that privilege the moment he lost consciousness. Oliver’s eyes widened as the object was produced from Seth’s delicate hand. It was a small black box, tinged with blue in the fluorescent hospital light. Oli’s eyes widened considerably. He heard Brendan snort sarcastically behind him. “What?” He breathed, unable to control his thoughts for a moment. Is that what he thought it was? Seth opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring which glinted in the stream of white light and smiled up at Oliver cheekily. Oliver pressed his hand to his chest, his cheeks now streaked with tears that he couldn’t feel.
“Oli, I don’t deserve you, I’m just some kid from the wrong side of the city. But you know what? I don’t care. I fucking love you more than anything else in the whole wide world.” Oliver coughed up a sob. How had he gotten so lucky? How could anyone in the world have gotten so lucky? He sniffled as Seth nuzzled at his body, touching the very spot on his own translucent self and pretending to feel it. “When we get married I’m going to get us a cute little house with a white picket fence and everything. We can get a dog and go for walks in the park and we’ll hold hands and kiss and cuddle and do cute things together and people can stare but we won’t give a damn.” Another cough, another sob. Oli was nearly choking with tears at this point, but he didn’t care. Seth was so sweet and definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him. Oli’s nails dug into his chest the more he thought about how much he loved this boy. When Seth leaned forward to secure a kiss to Oli’s lips, Oli cried out with pain. How could Brendan do this to him? Letting him watch as his entire life slipped away at his fingertips, that he couldn’t do a damn thing about? He crumpled weakly into a ball on the bed, feeling himself getting more transparent by the second.
“We’re going to get through this Oliver, I promise. No matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you.” Oliver saw Brendan’s face twist with agony out of the corner of his eye. He shivered hopelessly, at which the heart monitor blipped a beat shorter than the rest. His eyes widened; he threw a look at Brendan. “Wha—?” He stammered, incredulous. “How did that happen?” He wondered aloud, still looking at Brendan for an answer. Brendan shifted his weight and shrugged nonchalantly. “I dunno. Guess there’s a ghost in the machine,” He smirked at his little joke, which Oli found far from amusing. Scowling, Oli whipped his head back to his body, brushing his fingertips along Seth’s calf. “I love you, kitten.”
The door suddenly yanked itself open, revealing a slender trespasser. Oliver growled under his breath, but softened as he realized that Seth recognized this boy. A faraway wilt began in his heart as Seth gave a last kiss to Oli’s lips and teetered out of the hospital bed. There was a moment of stunned silence before the boy, evidently called ‘Wil’, whispered an odd nickname. Seth then stumbled toward the boy like a leggy colt, throwing his arms about Wil’s neck. “B-but how’d you know? Why aren’t you in Colorado? Wher–” “Chill out Sethy, none of that’s important right now.” Oliver watched with jealous eyes as Seth clung to this mysterious boy, though Brendan seemed a lot cheekier than usual. Oli coughed abruptly in shock as one of Seth’s fingers ended up on Wil’s lips. “No,” Oli hissed, tensing. His heart monitor blipped again.
“C’mere Bum-bum, you need to talk…Now.” As Wil and Seth proceeded to talk, Oli turned to Brendan. Brendan was smiling, proud as a peacock from where he stood. Oli’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Looks like someone’s got a few skeletons in the closet,” Brendan sang, flitting over to Oli’s side. He grinned, but Oliver could only look down in defeat. “Who is he? Why didn’t I ever get a memo that he existed?” Oli’s body wrenched the more the other two touched. Brendan hooked an arm around Oli’s shoulders, looking quite smug. “Maybe he didn’t want you to know he existed.” Oliver leapt from Brendan’s arm, springing to his feet on the floor. He glared malevolently in Brendan’s direction, exhaling hard to emphasize his anger. “No! Seth would never—” Brendan cut Oli off by pressing one of his fingers to his lips, nodding towards where the two boys were talking. “Listen,”
“You don’t fucking understand, Wil! I never loved Aiden half as much as I love him, and that so called ‘fucking ring’ on his finger is mine!” Oliver’s eyebrows raised high into his smooth forehead. He looked curiously to Brendan, who looked significantly crestfallen at this justification of Sethiver’s love. “Bum-bum, you’ve known him for a day how coul–– wait, what the fuck did you just say? I could have sworn you just said that was your ring. But that can’t be right, can it? The Seth Matthews I knew got hurt ––bad–– not even four months ago, and was scared to fucking death of falling in love with anyone else because some stupid mother fucking asshole raped him.” Seth’s cry of pain made Oliver twitch with nostalgia. If only he could wake up and kick this kid in the fucking ass…
“Seth, I really don’t give a flying fuck if it hurts or not; suck it up and quit whining like a bitch! I don’t want you to have your whole world fall down around you again just because some stupid boy got your hopes up that he was going to settle down with you and then fucking blow you off! That’s going to hurt a whole hell of a lot worse than anything I’m fucking doing to you!” Oliver roared in rage. He jumped at Wil, only stopping himself halfway and remembering that neither of them would be able to feel anything he did to them. He shook his head, trembling with fury as Brendan pulled him into a warm bear-hug. “You fucking bitch!” Oli screamed, over and over until Brendan quieted him with lulling shushes. “Easy, baby. Easy. That’s it, calm down,” The way Brendan was looking at him gave Oli the darkest of feelings deep in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t know why.
Half an hour passed where Oli lay in the arms of another boy while Seth did the same, perhaps less comfortably, though. There were dozens of times that Oli tried to jerk himself free to save his Seth, but Brendan wouldn’t let him each time. When Seth finally rose to his feet, Oliver let out a sigh of relief. But the look of mounting pain on Seth’s face erased that relief just as quickly as it had arrived. “I love you kitten, I love you so fucking much. Please, just be okay.” And Seth fell asleep, and Oliver turned into Brendan’s chest with a sob.
“Send me back,” Oli whimpered, struggling against Brendan’s arms. “Send me back, you son of a bitch!” He breathed, hoarse from crying so much. Brendan, however, refused to let go. And he wasn’t caving easily. “Oli, Oli,” Brendan crooned, using one hand to feverishly stroke through Oli’s hair. “Oli, calm down baby. Calm down.” Oliver shook his head suddenly. “Don’t you dare call me ‘baby’, Brendan. Don’t you dare—call me that.” He choked, finally scrambling free of Brendan’s grip. He staggered at first, but then turned around to face the spirit before him. “Brendan, you goddamn bastard, send me back now,” Oli demanded, his dark eyebrows furrowed together into an angry line. Brendan’s eyes widened with hurt. Oli softened then. “Brendan, I can’t stand to see him like this. Please,” Oli whispered, now begging.
“Oli, I—I can’t. I can’t send you back.” Brendan closed his eyes gently, meanwhile Oliver’s eyes stretched across with panic. “You what?” He cried, giving a cursory glance to Seth’s sleeping body. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t send you back’?! Brendan, stop bullshitting me! I know you can. I know you can fix this, Brendan. Wha—” Oli stopped himself as Brendan seemed to grow more and more timid. He sucked in a deep breath, attempting with renewed patience to calm himself down. “Why, Brendan? Why can’t you send me back? Why can’t you give me back the one thing I love most, huh? Why?” Oli took a seat beside Brendan, planting his hands on either knee. He’d need support for the answer that was about to come.
