The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

14. rock bottom

THREE MONTHS AND ELEVEN DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

If there's one thing that Oliver has learned in his nineteen years on this mortal coil, it's that things can always get worse. Rock bottom is more like quicksand; loath to let its victims go, and always happy to give way to even deeper pits.

He thinks that this night might be the lowest he can get. And he should know—he's the one holding the goddamn shovel, after all.

The call comes at half past one a.m. Lying sleepless in his bed in Dover, Oliver picks it up after the third ring. From the other end sound the muffled sounds of a party, cheers and the kind of obnoxious British pop song he can only stand thoroughly inebriated.

"Finn?" he asks. His voice is gravelly from disuse, quiet enough not to alarm Nova in the bunk above him.

"Ollie."

Two syllables shouldn't be enough to undo Oliver. And yet.

He closes his eyes and curls his fingers tighter around the phone. "I'll come get you."

***

Oliver's body has a visceral reaction to stepping foot onto James Bailey's property. It looks just as it did when he was here on Halloween two years ago—the only thing that's missing are the Jack O'Lanterns and lacklustre costumes.

Even back then, Oliver felt half-invisible as he sat on that couch studying the crowd around him from behind his glass wall. He was accustomed to being lonely even in the busiest of places. He doesn't know why it feels so different now.

As he winds his way through the living room, side-stepping couples and a group of football players playing Just Dance, a quiet unease settles in the pit of his stomach. Part of him wants to grab his old classmates by the shoulders, to make them realize he's there. He would kill to be one of those boys playing beer pong right now. Hell, he would even join their stupid One Direction choreography. Anything not to feel so see-through.

He's relieved when he finally slips out the backdoor. He knows where to find Finn even before he reaches the garden gate. The sight of him on the curb, arms wrapped around his legs, fills Oliver with a nauseating sense of déjà vu.

"Finn," he says to announce himself.

Finn turns his head slowly. It takes his glazed eyes a few moments to hone in on Oliver, and even longer until the sight elicits a reaction. "You came."

"You called." Despite his better judgment, Oliver takes a careful step closer. "You all right?"

He expects Finn to react the way he always does, with a thin smile and a Yeah, sure. Instead, he gives a slow shake of his head. "I don't think so." He drops his forehead back onto his knees. "I drank. I'm not s'posed to. 'Cause of the Prozac."

"Prozac?" Oliver faintly echoes.

Finn makes a tired gesture that doesn't explain much at all. "Yeah. My meds. Been taking them for three weeks now." He takes a shaky breath in through his nose to steady his stomach. "I only had, like, two beers. It's shot my tolerance to shit."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"Please," Finn manages. "Aarun and Kavi are already gone and I don't want to call my parents."

Oliver nods in understanding. From what he knows about Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell, they would sooner blame Finn's medication than the drinking. "Up you go, then."

He offers Finn his hands. Finn stares at them for a few seconds before he takes them and lets Oliver pull him to his feet. He sways slightly as he stands.