love came calling, twice // olly murs

7.

Adam didn't answer before turning to walk up the stairs to Tom's old room. Olly leaned against the counter for a moment, pressing both of his hands on his face before rubbing his eyes tiredly. When he felt more composed, he looked at the two remaining men in the room. Jeff was crouched down by the now huge puddle of beer and was picking Shannon's picture off of it. Jason was staring at Olly.

"I can't believe it," Jeff said quietly, shaking the droplets of beer off the photograph. "I can't believe all this time...he didn't...he didn't seem like the type."

Jason cleared his throat, his gaze still fixed on Olly. "I can't believe you knew this whole time."

Olly narrowed his eyes at him before walking over to the fridge and slinging open the door. He grabbed a beer of the shelf and slammed the lid on the counter's edge, snapping it off. He took a long drink before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Don't start, Jase."

Jason glared, running a hand through his hair. "No, I can't possibly believe that you could allow this to go on for so long. You were going to let them get married."

Olly took another drink. "You would do the same thing. Don't deny it."

Jason straightened. "I don't know if I would, Olly," he said hotly.

"Jason," Jeff said, his tone warning, but Jason lifted his hand, stopping the man's words.

"No, Jeff," he said, cutting him off, "This has gone on forever between you and Amelia. Are you really that petty that you'd allow her to be that hurt, to live in a marriage that messed up? I loved Tom, he was like a brother to me, but what he did wasn't right, it was fucked up." He furrowed his eyebrows. "Why do you hate her so much?"

Olly downed the last of his beer before setting the bottle down on the counter softly. Opening the fridge door again, he pulled out the remaining four bottles and cradled them in his arms before beginning to exit the room. He paused when he got to the edge of the stairs, looking at his two friends.

"I have never once," he rearranged the bottles in his arms, "said that I hate Amelia."

---

Amelia woke several hours later, the hole no longer in just her chest, but in her entire body. The ache was unbearable, the pain excruciating. How could he do this to her? He said he loved her each and everyday he was with her. Was every word a lie? It had to have been; there was no way he could have kept up an affair for over a year and really have loved her.

"Oh, Tom," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her self as she sat up in bed. She rocked back and forth, trying to find some semblance of comfort. "Why did you do this to me? How could you have proposed when you were sleeping with that...that woman? How could you?"

She remembered the look on Olly's face as he revealed all of her dead fiancee's secrets. The way he had constantly pressed his hands over his face, the way he ran his hands through his hair. The way he mumbled when he got to the details that were too harsh. The way he had apologized.

Feeling her eyes fill with fresh tears, she clutched at the sheets. She was angry at Olly, but he wasn't the one who had hurt her. Not intentionally at least. Why couldn't she get that look out of her head, the one that had cast over his features when she slapped him? She was haunted by the man she loved and the man she hated.

She stood up and felt fury inject in her veins. This was so fucking unfair. All she wanted was to heal, all she had wanted was someone to love her. Coming here was a mistake. If she hadn't come here, she would have never known about Tom's infidelity. She would have never known and she could have healed and maybe one day learned to live again. Learn to love again. Now the pain of losing Tom was so much worse. He was never hers to lose.

She smacked her hand across the shelf over Tom's bed, sending the baseballs flying. Fuck Tom, she thought. She swung her legs over the bed and overturned his mattress, ripping the sheets off and tearing the pillow till feathers filled the air. Fuck Olly and his stupid look. Fuck Adam and his inability to see Tom for what he was, for always trying to remain the peacemaker.

She staggered over the closet and wretched it open, taking the photographs of Shannon and ripping them, tearing them into tiny pieces of confetti. Fuck this woman, fuck Shannon for ruining her life. Fuck Los Angeles. She took each of the framed photos off the wall and smashing them to the ground, the shards of glass glittering as they pierced the wood and one hit her shin, drawing dark blood. She winced in pain, but kept going.

She yanked books off the top shelf in the closest and tore out the pages, broke their spines. Fuck everything. Fuck this house, fuck these people. She wanted out. She needed out.

She stopped suddenly, her fingers stinging and bloody from the paper-cuts that traced her fingers from her destruction. Where was she to go? She couldn't go back to her house; it was up for sale and even if it wasn't, the whole thing was built on lies and deception. Everything was just a memory of how stupid she had been. She couldn't stay here, she just couldn't.

Feeling her being break once and for all, she stumbled over to the middle of the room and collapsed, drawing her legs up to her chest and crying, her shoulder's shaking with her sobs. She yearned for sleep, but it did not come and she would not chase it.

Unbeknownst to Amelia, outside her door stood one Olly Murs; his forehead pressed to the wood and his palm resting beside it, the other hand wrapped around a bottle of beer. He heard her sobs from inside the room and shuddered before sliding down the surface of the door and turning around.

Sitting against the floor, he brought his knees up and rested his elbows on them. He took one last drink before setting the bottle on the ground beside him. Holding his head in his hands, he sat there, listening to her pain.

This was how he spent the night.

----

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