Boyfriend? Never Heard Of That Website...

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Fast forward three weeks later, and I now have twenty-five Tumblr followers. Amazing. Why do they follow me anyway? Am I that interesting? I've just shared my theory about Oli and nobody has replied. Yet. At present, Oli is out. No idea where, probably at his girlfriend's house. He seems to be disappearing a lot more recently. I go downstairs to get a drink and something to eat. Mmm, skittles. Skittles are awesome. Whoever invented these, I congratulate you. I go back upstairs and am about to write something about Skittles on my blog when I notice that I have a new Tumblr message. Ooh, a message! I wonder who it could be from? The name is not one I recognise, 'quinnissecretlybatman', so I can't help but click on the message to see what they have to say.

quinnissecretlybatman: 'Maybe your brother has worse problems than the mere stress of having a girlfriend. Maybe he has turned to alcohol. Maybe to drugs. Maybe he is even a part of the Mafia, helping to assassinate good citizens!'

This made me laugh, especially the bit about the Mafia, seeing as it was what I had thought of earlier. This person sounded pretty cool. I quickly typed back a reply.

charlieloveswaffles: 'Maybe he has. I'm giving him two and a half more weeks to tell me why he's acting strange, and if he doesn't then I'm going to ask him. I hope he hasn't joined the Mafia though, just the thought of my poor innocent brother killing good citizens is enough to make me weep!'

My reply wasn't brilliant, but it was the best I could come up with.

Fast forward again another week and Oli still hasn't told me. He's got a week and a half left. As for my conversations with that random Tumblr user, they have increased greatly. I feel as if I really know them. I guess I do. We talk about anything and everything, and even more frequently now that I had no more school and Oli was out nearly all the time. Was his girlfriend that important?

Among other things, I had learnt that the random Tumblr user was called Quinn, made slightly obvious by her username, and that she was obsessed with Batman, again made obvious by her username. She was great. We could just talk for hours and hours without stopping. She wasn't really I girly girl, I could tell, because she didn't like to talk about clothes or shopping or anything like that, apart from to criticise all the people that spend hours in a store. I've never done that. Okay maybe I have. Only once though, and it was to find a prom dress.

I also found out that Quinn has an older brother, the same age as Oli. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. In case nobody got that, I mean that Oli has just came back home. I quickly tell Quinn that I have to go and I'll talk to her soon, shut my laptop and run downstairs. I stop dead when I see him.

He doesn't look like the happy, smiling twenty-year-old that I'm used to. His eyes are outlined by heavy black circles, his clothes rumpled and he's beginning to grow a beard. He also looks in dire need of a shower. I rush towards him, throwing my arms around him and letting his body crumple into my arms. He reeks of alcohol. What has he been doing? Where has he been? He begins sniffing, usually a telltale sign of crying. But my shoulder isn't damp. "Oh Oli," I murmur into his chest, before letting go. I look him in the eyes to see his filled with tears, threatening to overflow at any second. "Go, upstairs, have a shower, shave and put on some clean clothes. I'll make you something to eat and then you can sleep for a while," I whisper. Oli nods, bowing his head, probably not wanting me to see the tears. This is extremely surprising. Oli doesn't like to be told what to do. Something is seriously wrong. Why was he drinking? Oli barely ever drinks. Why was he crying? Oli barely ever cries. Where was he? Oli barely ever goes out without telling me where to find him if needs be.

I forget all about the girlfriend theory. No girlfriend could ever do this to Oli. It must be something deeper something more serious, and the thought alone is enough to make me worried sick. I go upstairs, waiting until Oli is in the shower, and enter his room. I haven't been in here in days. The sight is terrible. Bowls and plates left lying on the floor, dirty clothes piled up everywhere. I bring the bowls and plates down to the kitchen, setting them in the sink, and put the clothes in the washing machine. I'll have to wash them later. Right now, Oli is my main priority. I re-enter his room, putting out a clean pair of sweats, a t-shirt, some underwear and a pair of socks. I'm about to leave when I hear something. Creeping closer to the bathroom door, I press and ear up to the wood. My suspicions are confirmed. I slide to the ground, my eyes filling up with tears. Heart-wrenching sobs fill the bathroom, even louder than the sound of running water. Oli's crying so hard that he begins hiccuping, but even this doesn't stop him from sobbing.

The worst thing ever is hearing your brother cry like this, knowing that you have no idea how you can help.