Follow The Rules

Not a girlfriend

What the f**k was he doing here?

He ran a hand through his hair and took another swig of the vodka that had seriously taken effect on him by now. Oliver was surprised that he had even managed to make it to Daisy's house without falling down. Now, he sat on the steps to her front porch, wondering why the alcohol hadn't given him the guts to knock on the door yet. He could hear that they were inside. When he got there he could hear the familiar sound of the three of them sitting down to dinner, and now the T.V. was playing some comedy sitcom because he often heard them laughing with the canned laughter on the T.V. at something the actors had done. He thought back to the last time he sat down and watched T.V. with his parents and couldn't really remember. He used to sit and watch cartoons as a kid but he was often alone, or his mother would be passing in out, doing something he couldn't remember or his father would be on the couch, going through some important papers for work and looking stressed. He couldn't remember ever sitting down and watching a show as a family. But he wasn't really a part of a family, was he? Especially not now. Not after what had happened. How could anyone love him now? He was used, broken, destroyed. No one wants that. Not a parent. Not a friend. Not a girlfriend.

Oliver was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't register the sound of the front door opening and the alcohol had numbed his emotions and nerves so much so, that he didn't even jump when a voice spoke.

"Ollie?" It was Daisy in her usual cheerful way, yet the surprise still certainly showed. She was carrying a large, full garbage bag, but Oliver didn't even bother to turn around and face her. Instead he kept staring at nothing, somewhere out on the street.

"What are you-," But she cut herself off when she noticed the bottle of vodka, gripped tightly in her friends hands. It looked to be only about a third full but Oliver hadn't really paid attention to how much was in the bottle or more importantly, how much he had drunk.

Daisy looked back into the house before she placed the garbage bag far off to the side and took a seat next to Oliver, hugging her legs to her chest slightly to shield her from the cold. Oliver still hadn't said anything or even looked at her.

"You okay?" She asked gently and Oliver almost laughed. In fact, he did laugh, but the alcohol was making it difficult to differentiate between what was real and what wasn't. It was a ridiculous question. He was sitting on the porch of someone who had kissed him and used him, drunk and not sure what he was even doing there. Of course he wasn't okay.

"Sorry." She said immediately once she saw the angry, hateful look on Oliver's face when he laughed. "Stupid question."

"You think?" He asked sarcastically, c*****g his head to the side but still looking out to the street.

"You're drunk." She pointed out and Oliver nodded, an annoyed smile on his face. She was just full of observations today. "It's late. Let's go inside, yeah? Get out of this cold?" Oliver had no idea what time it was and he hadn't even noticed it was cold, so he shook his head looking down to the bottle in his hand.

"I don't want to go inside, Daisy." He said softly, his voice low and husky from the alcohol as Daisy stood up. She haltered at his words and they fell into silence, Daisy obviously not knowing how to deal with the situation. Oliver vaguely saw her get out her mobile from the corner of his eye, but didn't think anything of it when she put it away a moment later, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then what are you doing here?" Her voice wasn't as gentle as it was before and Oliver turned to face her. He had to blink several time to make sure that she was actually in focus, but when he registered her standing there, he noticed that she looked uncomfortable, scared even. He couldn't be sure why. Was it because he was drunk? Or because she had handed in her assignment and she had no need for him anymore?

"You want me to leave?" He slurred slightly, but he knew his words were still recognisable.

"That's not what I said." She said defensively. "I just want to know why someone who's ignored me for the last two days is suddenly at doorstep. Drunk."

"No, it's okay. I understand." Oliver pushed himself off the step and onto the footpath, swaying slightly, his head taking a little longer to register the movement than the rest of his body, and he waited for it to catch up before he turned to look at her, pointing the bottle of vodka at her accusingly. "You're done with me, right? You got your grade. You don't need me anymore."

"What are you talking about?" She seemed genuinely confused by his statement, but Oliver knew it was a lie. She had been using him and she didn't want to admit it now that he'd figured it out. Look, another topic she could use for her project!

"Oh, come off it, Dais." He said angrily, looking away from her and to the wacky garden that surrounded him. What was he doing? This wasn't why he was here. But for some reason, he just couldn't stop himself. "I know, alright? I know about you're stupid f*****g project."

"Project?" She began walking down the steps towards him, and when he staggered away from her she paused, standing on the bottom step. "What project?"

"You can't figure someone out until they do it themselves." He recited loudly and proudly, like it was some inspirational quote Shakespeare had written. He watched as realisation crossed Daisy's face before what he could only describe as guilt took over. He had his proof now.

"Oliver-," She began, taking a step towards him again, but he shot his hand out to stop her. They were still several feet away from each other, so she was nowhere near close to him, but he still didn't want to have someone like that near him. Why had he come here?

"Don't." He said sternly. "Don't even start, Daisy. I just came here to tell you that I'm done being part of your little game."

"Ollie, it wasn't-,"

"You used me." He yelled, pointing the bottle at her again. He noticed the tears running down Daisy's cheeks, but didn't register that he was the cause of them. The alcohol was certainly helping this situation. "I trusted you and you used me for a f*****g grade."

He distantly noticed the front door opening again and saw Brenda walk out hesitantly, obviously curious as to what Oliver's yelling was about, but he ignored her, wanting to deal with Daisy first.

"You kissed me." He continued angrily. "And I honestly believed that you cared about me, but it was all so that you could 'figure me out'." He said, emphasising his words by making quotation marks with his fingers, or at least trying to while he was still holding a bottle.

"I do care about you, Ollie." She said walking towards him again, and Oliver was stumbling around the uneven footpath, trying to catch his balance, so he didn't even notice her get closer. "I care about you more than I have anyone, and I honestly don't know why, especially seeming you act the way you are right now."

"Well then, you definitely didn't deserve that A+." Ollie proclaimed sarcastically. "But like you said, you can't figure someone out until they do it themselves, and I don't have a f*****g clue. All I do know is that: You. f*****g. Used me." The hurt Daisy was displaying was quickly replaced by anger at his words and Ollie turned away, not wanting to hear her words.

"I used you?" She asked angrily, a tone Oliver never thought he'd hear Daisy use. "Don't think I didn't notice the way you used me."

"Seriously?"

"I knew you used me to avoid your friends. To avoid John. I know you used me as a distraction, Ollie. And I let you do it." She spat. "I didn't push you to talk about whatever it was that was so disastrous that it caused you hide away from everything. I didn't ask why you were skipping football to hang out with me, and I know it wasn't because you wanted to hang out with me. It's cause you wanted to forget about something. I sat with you, talking about jack s**t so that you didn't have to think. Am I right?"

Oliver turned to look at her, but didn't respond, because she was right. But how could he say that?

"There were times when I believed that maybe you did like me. Maybe you did want to hang out with me because you wanted to, not because you had to. And when you agreed to come to my house, I was over the moon. I thought, maybe I was wrong and I wasn't just the distraction." She continued, hate pouring out of her and into her words, and Oliver had to back away from her, stumbling onto the grass somewhat, but that didn't seem to stop her. "But the second I tried to change that, Oliver, I knew I was wrong. I asked you about your wrists and you completely shut down, because I was no longer a distraction, right? Because I made you think about how that happened, and that's not what you wanted. So you rushed out of here and ignored me for two whole days because I couldn't make you forget anymore." Again she paused for him to reply, but he couldn't form a reply, too shocked at how he had hurt her and he hadn't even realised he was doing it. How could he have done that to her? She was the one that actually cared about him, and he was the one that used her. Not the other way around. How could he be so stupid?

"So what is it?" She asked when she got no reply from him. He looked up at her with confusion and she seemed to understand, so she elaborated. "What is it that I was distracting you from?"

"No." He said shaking his head and looking away from her again. That's not why he was here. He was here to get answers, not give them. "No, you can't know."

"I think I deserve to know, Oliver." She said sternly, but there was a gentleness to it even thought she was crossing her arms over her chest angrily. "For almost two weeks I've lived with this hanging over us. To tell me what it is that's eating you up inside."

Oliver stood silently for a moment, looking into her blue eyes. He couldn't tell her. She'd hate him. Plus he probably wouldn't survive till the end of the week because they'd know he told and they'd get him.

Our little secret.

He couldn't tell her. He didn't even want to. But he knew she wanted him to, and that killed him. He was letting her down again. But there was no way he could tell her. No way.

"You can answer her question, Ollie."

Oliver swung around – stumbling slightly from the fast movement – to see John standing on the driveway at the other end of the path and he blinked several times to make sure he was seeing it correctly. But there was no mistaking his best friend standing there, with his hands in his pockets and even in the dim light from the street lamps, he could see the bruise on Johns jaw from where he had hit him. That didn't surprise him. Even his hand was a little bruised from the ferocity of the hit. What surprised him, though, was standing a few step behind John was his father. His eyes flickered to the man who still looked just as dishevelled as he was in the living room earlier that evening, even with his suit jacket on. His father looked nervous, but at least now he was actually looking at his son. Oliver chose to ignore his presence, however, deciding to give his father a taste of his own medicine, and looked directly at John.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He said lowly, throwing as much hate into his words as possible.

"I texted John." Daisy spoke up from behind him, defiantly. So she had been on her phone earlier. How did she even have his number? He chose to ignore how his father had turned up as well, saving that question for later.

"You two know each other?" Oliver said, keeping his eyes locked on his friends.

"You introduced us, Ollie." John explained like it was a stupid question. But it wasn't stupid. Yeah sure, he remembered that the first day he met Daisy his friends had shown up and met her too, but he had no knowledge that they had had any contact since then.

"That doesn't explain why you're here." Oliver spat, glancing between Daisy and John a few times before he got too busy to continue and decided to refocus on his friend. John looked over his shoulder at his father, who stood watching Oliver silently, not even noticing Johns look for help.

"Ollie, she was right to contact me." John said, edging his way towards his friend and Oliver got the distinct feeling of being trapped. He had nowhere to go, stuck between Daisy and John and it scared him. The same way he had been trapped by the handcuffs that weekend. The same way he was trapped between the floor and George...

"You're drunk and not thinking straight." John continued calmly. "And it's not fair on her to have to deal with you all on her own."

"Not fair?" Oliver scoffed with a mixture of laughter. "You want to talk to me about what's fair? You have no idea." And something within Oliver broke. He was being made out to be the bad guy in this situation. He was being ganged up on by the people who were supposed to be there for him. By the people who should have helped him. And the way they could help him, is to leave him the f**k alone.

"You have no idea how luck you are. The both of you." Oliver shouted, gesturing to both John and Daisy who shared a glance at each other. "You talk to me like it's easy. Like all I'd have to do is slap on a f*****g smile and go back to the way things were and I'll be better. Happier. But that's bullshit. You have no idea how hard it is."

"Then explain it to us." Daisy said gently, simply.

"You don't understand." Oliver breathed, looking up to the stars that shone brightly above him, wanting nothing more than to just float up there and join them. He hadn't even noticed the tears until he let out a sob. "You don't-, you don't understand."

"Let's go inside, mate and you can tell us why." John said smoothly, smiling at his friend, trying to calm him down silently. He stepped forward and reached his hand out to take the bottle off Oliver. Caught by surprise, Oliver grabbed onto the bottle tighter and the two boys begun struggling over the bottle. John, being in better shape than Oliver after two weeks of working out and eating proper portions of food, managed to wrestle the bottle from Oliver within a minute.

But when John stepped away from Oliver, panting from the effort of the struggle, he came face to face with the barrel of a gun.