The Middle | Hemmings + Styles AU

15. no control

Early Sunday night, I was sitting on my bed, listening to Olivia nagging me about going out. "We haven't seen each other for ages," she whined. "Are we back to hating each other?"

She was joking, of course. About us being back to hating each other, I mean. There was some truth behind her words. Before the two of us became friends, we had hated each other.

I thought she was a snobby, rich brat who would take down anyone to get what she wanted. And she thought I was a black-souled girl who preferred music over people.

Of course, both of our assumptions of each other were loosely correct. She was rich, and slightly snobby. And I was definitely a little darker around the edges, preferring music to most people.

One night, I went along to a party with Liam and one of our other friends, Grace. Sometime after my first three vodka shots, the pair disappeared and I wandered off in search of them. It wasn't Grace or Liam that I found first, it was Olivia. She was puking her stomach up, her long hair dangerously close to falling into the toilet bowl.

The alcohol must have softened my heart because I found myself scooping her hair out of the way and securing it with a hair elastic that was around my wrist. I still remember staring at the awful green tiles of the tiny bathroom, and trying not to breathe in the stench of Olivia's vomit.

She didn't know who was helping her when she mumbled a thank you - then proceeding to throw up again a moment later. I stayed with her until she stopped.

"I know you think I'm a spoiled rich brat," she said when she eventually stopped being sick. We'd found the kitchen and she was sitting on the floor with a glass of water.

"Well," I took a space on the floor next to her, "aren't you?"

She'd laughed. "Yes. Just as you are intolerable and allergic to people."

"Not all people," I laughed. "Just the shitty ones."

We no longer hated each other after that night. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe because we stopped assuming we had the other figured out, and we spent time getting to know the person beyond their labelled exterior. I learned that Olivia was smart. Like, insanely book-smart. And she grew to appreciate my sarcastic nature.

"No, we're not back to hating each other," I told her, knowing I'd lost this battle.

"Good. So put on your best pair of skinny jeans and get your eyebrows ready, because I'll be there to pick you up in ten. Girls night starts now."

She hung up before I could answer, and that's exactly what I did. I was just putting my feet into a pair of leopard print heels when I heard Olivia's car pulled up in my driveway.

My friend was dressed in a tiny red dress, her feet barefoot. On the back seat sat a pair of nude pumps that were definitely not appropriate for driving. Good call, Liv.

"Girls night starts now," I smiled enthusiastically, repeating the words she said to me just before.

"Three years of friendship and you're still as sarcastic as ever."

"Some things never change," we said simultaneously, before bursting into laughter.

When we got to the bar, Olivia ordered a pink-coloured cocktail for herself and a Vodka soda for me. Being a Sunday, the place wasn't overly crowded and we easily found an empty booth to sit at. With the huge dance floor and a DJ remixing house music, this was exactly opposite to my preferred scene.

"How's Oliver?" I asked. Just as grungy bars that hosted bands were the opposite to Olivia's, we've learned to compromise. I guess that's why our friendship works.