SEVEN

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LEMON BOY

THE NEXT MORNING, Oliver woke up to a headache and the phone from downstairs ringing

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THE NEXT MORNING, Oliver woke up to a headache and the phone from downstairs ringing.

The brunette boy groaned and laid back on his bed, pulling the covers over his head. He hoped his mum would get the phone.

She didn't. The house phone just kept on ringing to the point Oliver couldn't tell if it was actually ringing or if he was just going crazy.

He mumbled something incoherent and finally pulled himself up. Oliver walked downstairs and snatched the phone from the hook.

"What?" The boy snapped, angry at the fact he was woken up by the phone.

"What's up with you dude?" Jake said from the other line.

"What? Why are you calling me, piss off." Oliver was about to slam the phone back on the receiver but heard Jake say something.

"You were acting weird at the rink yesterday."

Oliver sighed, placing the phone back to his ear, "Mate. Angela literally got hit by a roller-"

"Before that!"

"I was acting how I normally do."

Oliver heard Jake sigh from the other end, "you bloody weren't though, you were acting as if you actually felt bad for Jane and her friends."

Oliver opened his mouth to defend himself but he couldn't because he knew Jake was right.

"Don't call this number again."

Oliver slammed the phone back on the hook and made his way back upstairs to continue with his disturbed sleep.




OLIVER AWOKE a few hours later, his headache was gone and he had woken up naturally instead of waking up to the sound of the phone. He was in a better mood from earlier.

He walked downstairs to get a drink and to nobody's surprise his mum wasn't home. Oliver only sighed as he filled a glass with water.

Ever since the boys dad died, his mum had distanced herself away from her son - the only time she'd see him was when she was pissed and could barely walk in a straight line.

Oliver's mother couldn't bare the pain, because every time she looked into his eyes, she only saw her late husband and it was slowly eating away at her. It had caused a hatred to bloom for the boy, she was never physical with him, she was just absent.

In Olivers opinion, that was worse.

Sometimes when he was younger, the boy would cry to himself praying that's she'd acknowledge him - even if she was hitting him.

His mother who had once been a sweet and caring woman turned cold the day Oliver needed her the most. He cried for hours after the funeral of his father, he was always closer with him.

When Oliver turned to look at his mum during the funeral, her face was cold and not a hint of sadness was shown on her face. But Oliver knew she was upset.

He knew she wanted to cry and scream, but she never did. Instead, she turned to alcohol for a quick relief of the pain she felt.

Soon, one bottle became two, two bottles began four and before Oliver knew it, his kitchen was drowning in empty alcohol bottles.

Oliver couldn't stand the smell of alcohol so he actively avoided his mother any chance he could get.

His mum couldn't stand the sight of her son so she actively avoided him any chance she could get.

The two were so similar yet so different. They both brought pain upon one another, whether it was intentional or not.

Oliver's mum, Christine, hated her son.

Oliver just wanted his mum back.

But the old Christine would never come back because she was buried with her late husband.

Six feet under and beside the thousands of other corpses that lay to rest.

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