Page 64 of Oliver

Fuckers.

I don’t really know what to do with the information Matt spewed while acting like a psycho, beyond that it only brings more questions with no answers.

Later, I’m dozing on the couch, images flitting over my eyes when I stir and sit up, looking around.

“Unh,” I groan, rubbing my aching temples. Sleep comes so infrequently these days that I mourn the loss of my respite as I stand.

Maybe after a glass of water, I’ll fall back to sleep?

I’m halfway to the kitchen when I pause and glance up the stairs. Where did the shining light come from?

I haven’t been up there since my uncle left earlier when it was still light out. Did I turn it on?

With my hand on the banister, I slowly creep up the stairs. I turned it on like an idiot or forgot to turn it off last night. No biggie.

But when I reach the top, I stutter to a stop and say, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fuck! You scared the shit out of me,” Oren shrieks like a little bitch and I raise a brow.

“What are you doing in my house, Oren?”

Oren looks from Dixie’s padlocked door to me and back before he summons a smarmy smile that sends a chill straight down my spine.

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh?” Cocking my head to the side, I take a single step back. But I forgot I was standing at the edge of the stairs and as I windmill my arms, the last thing I see before I tumble down is Oren’s wide-eyed stare.

Thankfully I manage to grab the banister but not before I slam my skull into the wall and slide on my ass the rest of the way down.

At the bottom, I roll over with a groan. I think I hit every square inch of skin and bone on the way making it hard to determine where one ache begins and another ends.

I’m still trying to catch my breath when Oren skids to a stop beside me but we both pause when Oliver roars, “What the fuck is going on here?”

How the hell did he…either of them get in my house? I locked the fucking door. I know I did.

Oren falls back on his ass and scuttles backwards as Oliver stalks forward. Bemused, I move to sit up and whimper. My head fucking hurts.

Crouching beside me, Oliver glares at Oren before saying to me, “Are you okay, little one?”

“Y-yeah,” I whisper, but I’m not and tears fill my eyes. Between Matt’s aggression and this, I’m fucking tired. Sue me.

“Don’t fucking move,” Oliver barks and Oren nods profusely as Oliver turns to me.

“What hurts?” he asks and it’s the unusual display of tenderness that brings me to my proverbial knees.

“Everything,” I sob, and his pretty eyes soften.

After picking me up and depositing me on the sofa, he runs his hands over my limbs, asking me questions in his gruff manner. Does this hurt? Can you bend that?

Once he’s satisfied nothing is broken, he searches out pain meds and hands me a glass of water. All the while, Oren sits beside me with his head in his hands.

“Okay,” Oliver says, exhaling. “What the fuck is going on.”

Since I technically have no idea, I turn to Oren who looks around and whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

Waving him off, I say, “What are you doing here?”

“I…” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he glances at Oliver. “I was looking for something.”

---