It Doesn't Even Matter

Preview chapter of Oliver spin off

It's one am and one of those long nights where the sun just doesn't seem to rise. This party has been lasting for hours, and if I didn't have to be here I would have already left. I'm out of stuff to sell but I promised him I'd keep an eye on things tonight while they talked stuff through in the back room.

"You're the man aren't you?" A college student with glazed eyes and unsteady steps wanders over to lean against the wall next to me. I ignore him. He's not who's actually asking, it's his friend across the room sitting in the leather chair. So my eyes stay focused on him. "Hey, I asked,"

"What does he want?" I don't bother beating around the bush.

"Who?" I chuckle, it's dry and unimpressed. It's been too long a night to go back and forth with him over someone stupid who thinks they're more important than they are.

"I don't have time for this, you've mistaken me for someone else I think." He's taught me to be confident, no, arrogant. You have to project it. Be bigger than you are. Especially because I'm me. A kid in a world of men, most of whom have guns.

"Look I-"

"Arson, he needs you." I finally look away from the man sitting in the corner as Burt approaches me with that stupid nickname.

"It's safer not to be known, and I picked it because it's who you are."

"Right, well I don't set things on fire to hurt people."

"What, you don't like it? I thought you'd like it." I recall the conversation we had when he first offered me the job.

I nod moving around the drunken idiot still trying to get my attention and over to him. "There's a man over there, in the leather chair. He shouldn't be here, ask him to leave." I make eye contact with Burt and he gives a short nod moving in that direction as I continue down the hallway. Everyone knocks when they enter a room with him in it, I don't. I don't need to. "You wanted me."

"There he is, come, have a seat." He kicks out the leg of a chair next to him at the head of the table. I slide into it, eyes making quick work of the people in the room. Memorizing faces and details. Trying to piece together who's here and why. Exits, windows, the number of guns, who I know, and who I don't. "I have a question for you." He waits and I turn to look at his face trying to tell its emotion.

"Ok."

"How many nights this week has Chandler been selling for us?" My skin crawls when he says it like that. Us. It's not pride or a compliment, it's shame wrapped in comfort. I don't want to be doing this anymore, I don't want to be this person. But he's expecting it from me and most of the time it feels like he's all I've got. He cares about me in a way my mom hasn't been able to since Dad died. When he looks at me, I feel seen by someone in my life. More than seen, understood. I don't know how I can both hate who I've become and love the person that's made me into it, but I do.

"Five nights. Monday through Wednesday and then all weekend."

"That's what I thought." He grins at me patting my head and my stomach warms. I think there's something seriously wrong with me. That I lost it a long time ago. His praise does something to my guts that makes them feel stabilized. He's different here. I have to remind myself of that sometimes, that this isn't really who he is so I can stomach it. He has his reasons for doing this too and when we aren't working, when it's just the two of us he remembers what things are important to me. He lets me talk openly about my emotions. I'm seen. "So would you say then that if he sold out," he snarls. "Of all his products, five thousand dollars sounds like the right amount he should have made off of it?" Shit. Chandler's in trouble. He's been skimming money again, a lot this time, or maybe the drugs too. Worse now I've been brought in to put down the verdict. I'm not involved in this part, ever. He lets me stay away. I'm just told to watch the- fuck. I'm in trouble too. I was meant to watch the dealers. Chandler's my responsibility. But Max was out of his mind this week and Mom forgot my birthday and- "well, what's the verdict. Guilty or not guilty?" Guilty, we're both guilty and maybe him having me do this is my punishment or maybe it will come later. All I know is that I feel sick.