.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
That summer in Saltburn would be something Oliver would think back on for years to come, the rest of his life in fact. The house was their trump card there greatest treasure and their summer had been something out of Fitzgerald's wet dreams.
Days spent in Saltburn seemed to fly by in a haze of smoke scented evenings and simply hedonistic days as their group of two girls and three guys could be found at the lake, lying languidly under the sun as the days hazed by memory of the summer sun sun that slowly grew warmer hung over that house each passing moment.
Apart from the occasional, half-hearted game of tennis (oversaw by Lexi who kept a not so careful count of each point as she lifted some ancient goblet filled with her drink of the day to her lips) they never did anything very athletic; something about the place inspired a magnificent laziness Oliver hadn't known since childhood.
And yet, almost daily he was tortured by the sight of Alexandra Catton.
He found, over those weeks spent almost constantly in one another presence, that there was a certain wildness that flashed in her eyes that he seemed to be addicted to. It was as though he himself was made of clay and iron and she of fire and the sweet breeze that encircled them.
Whether it be sitting near silent in the library, flashing looks at one another over their books or during a jump scare during a movie night where instead of jumping into her brothers side for protection, she hid her face in his shoulder.
His.
Oliver felt as though he was constantly absorbed in contemplation of her, how very pretty she seemed to be when reading, laughing, sleeping, always. From the base of her neck to the arch of her eyelids, her beauty made him a slave to him.
At times, he'd watch her through the crack of her doorway, waiting for her to fall asleep before slipping in through he shadows and making it to her bedside. Alexandra tended to fall asleep with a book in hand or headphones still latched onto her ears and playing music as she dozed.
Oliver hoped she never questioned how her page would be marked and left carefully on her bedside table, her candle put out and music put away. He would sit beside her for what felt like hours, talking to her as he brushed her hair away from her face and hoping his voice would make it into her dreams the way hers had in his.
I'm quite choked with tenderness for you, he would whisper, caressing her soft pale cheek in the glow of the moon through her window, it makes me quite pathetic to love you so much.
He was sure that that's what it was. Love. He knew what love was, obsession with undertones of tormentation and god knows every moment her saw a glimpse of her smooth collarbone or unblemished hip he was tormented. His trousers straining at just the sound of her voice.
Oliver reached for her, like a prayer. Like a prayer for which no words exist.
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
"Poor V, the boy's just run a mile." Elspbeth said, pouring herself a glass of Champagne as she kept company with Oliver under the setting sun. No one else had yet appeared for that evening's dining other than the mother and guest.
"Why?" He asked, knowing how very much Elspbeth enjoyed a natter.
"Well she gives it away for free, she's sexually incontinent." She said, scoffing lightly. "I don't even know if Lexi is, I mean, at least if she is she has the self respect to hide it. I mean, she also hides other horrible things."
