"Olly, calm down. Don't do anything you'll-" I quicken my pace as Olly pushes past everyone. I grab hold of his jacket sleeve. This slows him down a little.
"Oscar!" His voice slices an open line through the crowd of people. He follows the stares of frightened eyes to the backyard door.
The wind has turned cold, matching the outcome of what's about to happen. Madeline, Sara, and Logan finally reach us as Olly spots Oscar. He's sitting by the pool with the group of friends Olly had previously mentioned.
Oscar turns around. He had something in his mouth, but he throws it out and stomps on it. He walks toward Olly with no hesitation. I do the same, but Logan grabs me by the waist.
As soon as Olly's fist connects with Oscar's jaw they both hit the ground. I let out what I think is a scream. Sara and Madeline cover their eyes.
A storm of people have already come outside. Oscar gets a couple punches in, but Olly is dominating the fight as he sits on top of his victim. Time goes in slow motion. I have to stop this.
I take advantage of Logan comforting Sara to run towards the chaos.
"Olly, that's enough." I try my best to place a hand on his back, but he keeps punching.
"He gets it!" I pinch the first layer of his clothing. He stops, knowing that if he goes any further he'll just end up hurting me by accident.
"He doesn't," I hear him say as he gets up and walks away. He leaves me here with a cluster of people and some guy on the floor with a bloody nose. He just left.
-
I examine the scrape on my cheek. My parents were asking about it when I got home. I told them I slipped and fell outside of Madeline's house before Logan picked me up. They have no idea what my night really consisted of.
I walk away from the mirror. I'm never going to a party again. I'm tempted to push my pride aside and text Olly, until I realize I never got his number. I'm more worried about him than the guy with the broken nose, or my own health as I sat locked in a room with no repercussions of what had previously taken place.
"Av!" My mom's voice startles me. I gather myself and make my way downstairs.
"Sweetie, eat some breakfast." My mom hands me a plate of pancakes with eggs and bacon. I begin to devour this meal made of perfection.
My mom was diagnosed with depression at the age of 22. As a working mom and wife, she barely ever had time for herself. I remember not being picked up from school because she couldn't bring herself to leave the bed. I usually get paranoid, wondering if I'll grow to have what she has though she never speaks of what triggered it. And so I keep my troubles to myself, which she hates, but I know she has enough to deal with.
My dad and I make it a habit to buy presents for my mom randomly, letting her know we really do appreciate her.
"Did you take your pills?" My dad enters the kitchen as I continue to stuff my mouth.
"Yes, honey. I did." My mom huffs.
"Good." My dad replies as I catch my mom rolling her eyes.
"How was Madeline's? You two haven't hung out in a while?" My mom directs the attention to me, probably hoping I'll open up more.
"It was interesting. Sara and Logan were there, too." I say as I finish off my pancakes.
"Alright sweetie. Are you coming to church with me?" I must have gotten my eye rolling habits from my mom. My dad is overly religious, something both my mother and I can't stand.
"No." I reply, shortly. He finds it fit to guilt trip us for not going.
"Tut, tut, tut. What would God do?" My father takes a sip of his coffee, all black.
"Probably not stand here and listen to you." My mom almost whispers and I can't help but laugh. Hopefully he doesn't take it to heart.
-
Everything I think about revolves around him. Here I lie, staring at my ceiling fan, desperately trying to find some type of remedy. Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. I've searched my mind for what seems like hours. The only thing other than Olly I've found was the guilt of inviting Melissa to the party and never meeting up with her. I texted her, letting her know I felt bad. She hadn't gone anyway.
I wonder if he'll be in trouble. I wonder if he'll even talk to me. To be fair, he got in a fight because of me.
I wish I had his number, or knew where to find him. All I wanted to do was apologize to him. I should've followed him after he left.
I grabbed a coat, slipped on a pair of converse, and opened the front door. I had to be anywhere but here.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Letting You Go
Teen FictionI've heard of being dependent on a person, but never on the feeling a person gives you. Was it his soft and kiss-able skin, or the mysterious walls he had built around himself? Perhaps it was how he managed to spike a certain nervousness in the bott...
