Unraveled

SYLVIA

"If it hadn't been for serendipity, would we still be the same?"
...

Sylvia parked her bike in the basement, shoving the stand down with a frustrated kick. As she turned to head home, her gaze caught on another car beside Mrs. Green's worn-down minivan. Her eyes narrowed, recognizing the sleek lines and unmistakable grille of a Jeep Grand Cherokee.

She marched toward the car and stopped beside the driver's window. Sure enough, there was Oliver, seated behind the wheel, oblivious to the volcano of rage just outside. She rapped sharply on the glass, and Oliver turned and gave a bright smile when he saw her.

"What's up?" he asked, rolling down his window.

Sylvia turned away and strutted to the other door, getting into the car. "What's up?! What's up is that you beat the shit out of Erick and thought I wouldn't know!" she said, anger bubbling over.

Oliver let out a long sigh and leaned back in the seat. "Let's go for a drive?" he asked meekly.

Sylvia stared at him. "A dri—? A DRIVE? No, Oliver! I would very much like to stay where we are and settle this—!"

"What's there to settle exactly?!" he demanded, his voice rising, hands clenching the steering wheel. "He hurt you, Sylvie!"

Sylvia's eyes flashed with frustration. "He gave me a bloody nose! You, on the other hand, left him with fractured limbs, bruised ribs, and stitches across the forehead!" she shot back.
"Do you honestly think solving things with your fists makes you a hero? It just makes you look like a bully."

Oliver's expression shifted, a mixture of guilt and defiance. "I was just trying to protect you! You don't understand what he's capable of!"

"Protect me?" Sylvia scoffed, her heart racing. "Is that what you were doing? What happens next? You go after every person who looks at me the wrong way? This isn't how you handle things!" She knew he meant well, but his need to protect her was starting to feel more suffocating than safe.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the weight of her words hung in the air. The silence felt suffocating, both of them aware of the line that had been crossed

"Maybe I don't know how to handle things," Oliver admitted, his voice softer now. "But I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt. When..." he hesitated, "When your dad died, I had never seen you more hurt... After that day, I promised myself I would never let you be that hurt again. Ever."

Sylvia shook her head, her anger shifting to a wave of sadness. "You can't protect me from everything, Oliver. But it's fine, I can take care of myself. You doing all of this just adds to the mess."

"I just want to look out for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white.

Sylvia touched his hand gently. "There are other ways to do that," she said.

Oliver's grip relaxed as he leaned back in the seat. A brief silence passed before he spoke again. "What do you suggest I do?" he asked softly.

Sylvia gave him a small smile. "You can start by being my friend and not my bodyguard," she said, rolling her eyes to ease the tension.

Oliver chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Meeting her gaze, his mouth twitched into a grin. "Alright, I promise. Now can we grab some pizza? I'm starving."

Sylvia felt her mouth curve into a smile. There had been so much more she wanted to say—well, yell—but she couldn't stay mad at him for long. He was trying to lighten the mood, and honestly, she wanted that too.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice softer, the tension easing between them.
"But seriously, this whole protective act is so cliché. What's next? A dramatic showdown with every guy I don't like?"

Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. "That sounds exhausting. I'd need a break just to prepare!"

"Exactly! This is already feeling like a bad teen movie," she teased.

"Hey, at least we can laugh about it," he replied with a grin. "Clichés may be annoying, but they can be funny."

"True," she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. "Just remember: friend, not bodyguard."

"Deal," he said, his expression lightening.
...

Oliver, mid-bite, noticed Sylvia's dubious look. "What?" he mumbled through a mouthful of pizza.

"Swallow before you talk," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm just imagining the town's reaction once they hear what you did to Erick."

He raised an eyebrow, incredulous that she even had to ask.

"What?" she asked, perplexed.

"I'm the mayor's son..." he said, stating the obvious.

"Right," she replied with a tight smile. Of course, "The mayor's son", everything would be covered up. She didn't know how to feel about it.
...

"What's this?" Sylvia asked, pulling out a cover from the glove compartment.

Oliver glanced at it from the driver's seat as he stopped in front of her apartment. "Oh, that..." he grabbed the cover and took out a box, handing it to her. "That's for you," he said.

"For me?" she asked, surprised. "What's it for?" She opened the box to find a toy phone inside.

"It's to make up," he said.

"You pre-planned everything, huh? But, what is this?" she asked.

"A Barbie phone," he said matter-of-factly. "If you press it, it even plays the music."

She laughed, shaking her head at his absurdity. "What should I do with it?" she asked, a playful smirk forming on her lips as the tensions of the day began to dissipate.

At that moment, she decided to give Oliver the benefit of the doubt. His overprotectiveness, while sometimes suffocating, came from a place of care, and she appreciated that he wanted to look out for her. Holding the toy phone, she felt a warmth spreading through her—a reminder of the bond they shared.

Maybe clichés weren't so bad after all.

Sylvia shot him a lopsided grin as she got out of the car.

"Thanks, loser."