Can you Feel my heart?

Avalanche {Oliver}

I woke with a numb mind. The space that surrounded me seemed to be glowing, soft white light swallowing me. I looked to my side to see I was laying in a mass of white pillows. The puffy duvet was pooled around my waist and the pristine sheets glowed in the morning sun. I was wearing a blue, faded track t shirt and black boxers that were on backwards. I pushed myself up on my elbows and my head spun, loopy. I blinked hard a few times and groaned as I rolled over, my side nagging. I put my feet on the floor and slowly pushed myself up. My stomach felt like iron and my head like a balloon. I was hung over and very sore, from what I couldn't recall. I wasn't in my room, my house even. Where I was alluded me. Last night was a smudge in my memory. I pushed open the door and stared down a lavishly decorated, cavernous hall. I shuffled down the plush hallway, to an open door. I peered around the frame and my heart somersaulted. Laying there, sprawled out on the too small couch was Austin. His chest fell softly with each breath he took, and he looked peaceful. My eyes followed his figure, catching every small detail about him. He had freckles on his face, and he had a resting smirk on his lips. He adjusted, and flopped around until his back was to me. The blanket slide down and I could see the slightest hint of his bare shoulder. I felt wrong encroaching on him, so I turned away. I went back to his room. I sat on the edge of the bed and peered around to all of his things. He had posters strung up all around, and there were piles of CD's all over his dresser. There was considerably large flat screened TV sitting on a thick desk, shelves lined with iconic movies. Even with a King sized bed his room was massive. He had shelves on the walls, holding little sun plants and crystal rocks. There were also pictures mixed between them. Pictures of a woman who looked to be in her early 40's. She had dark hair and the same piercing brown eyes as him. There were ones of her holding him when he was younger, and one of him mushing his cheek into hers, beaming brightly. 

"She's beautiful, I know." 

He snapped me out of the stupor and I looked at him my cheeks flushed. He was standing in the door way, wearing nothing but flimsy green boxers. I tired to mask my expression, to not seem so indulged in him. He picked up a pair of sweats from the floor and slid them on. 

"Did you sleep ok?" 

My eyes followed him as he went to his dresser and picked out a shirt, sliding it over his shoulders and chest. 

"Somewhat." 

He looked at me and his eyes seemed cautious. 

"Did I run into anything last night, because I feel like I was run over." 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, near me, but far enough away that he couldn't touch me. He wore a pallid face and he twisted his hands, nervous. I looked at him, curiously as to what was barring him from returning my gaze. He looked at me after a moment, and his eyes were a wallow of pity and anger. 

"Do you not remember?" 

He asked softly. I gulped a breath, and my mind raced. 

"Am I supposed to remember something?" 

He stood and came in front of me. He held out his hand. 

"Come on." 

I put my hand in his and he pulled me up. With two short strides he was in his bathroom, flipping on the lights. I followed him in, puzzled. He leaned his hip on the counter and me motioned for me to come closer. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. 

"Tell me if this hurts." 

I nodded and my breath hitched as his fingers came to my side. He gave it a slight squeeze and I darted back from his touch, my eyes watering. He sighed.