Set Backs. || PURPLEPHONE

Three Broken Hearts: Two

(( so I chose a random book today to read and the parents of the main characters were named Scott and Linda excuse me for a moment-))

Oliver jolted awake suddenly when a bucket of ice-water was dumped on his head, "Estoy despierto, estoy despierto!" I'm awake, I'm awake!

"Get up, you lazy Spaniard," the bartender grumbled, throwing the empty bucket to the side. "You've been sleeping off your hangover for an entire day."

"¿Qué?" Oliver rubbed his head, only to realise his hair was caked in dried blood. He pushed himself up off of the floor into a sitting position. His legs were completely numb since he'd been lying on them when he was knocked out.

"Geez. Looks like you got into a fight," The bartender examined his bruised face and the blood in his hair. "Look, I'll go get you some ice, okay? Stay there."

Oliver looked around, everything seeming to spin around. His head was really sore. He sat still for a few minutes, trying to still the aching of his scalp. It was like someone had kicked him in the head.

All of a sudden he jumped to his feet, yelping when they gave way and he fell back to the floor, "Oh Dios mío, ¿qué pasó? Where's Scott?!"

The bartender re-appeared, holding an ice packet out to him, "You alright there, Spaniard? Here, I got you some ice."  

"Span-? I'm Mexican, not Spanish," Oliver looked around as he took the ice from the bartender and pressed it to his pounding head, "W-Where's mi amigos? My- Scott? Where's Scott?! He- He got it all wrong- I...  ¿Cómo puede yo explicar que él no tiene la culpa?" How can I explain that it's not his fault?

"Uh..." The bartender shrugged helplessly, "I dunno. We get a lot of people in here. Can... you explain to me what he looks like? No promises that I can identify him, though."

Oliver struggled to pull himself to his feet, causing pins and needles to shoot up his legs, and cramp the muscles. He hissed, leaning back against the wall as he waited for the pain to subside. "Short guy... brown hair, brown eyes. Looks like he's just gone 20 years old. ¿Qué más, qué más ...?" Ollie rubbed his temples with the hand that wasn't pressing the melting ice to his head. "Was with his boyfriend. Tall guy. Purple. White eyes. Real jackass. Very protective over him. As I learned..."

"The purple guy? Yeah, I saw him. I swear, the costumes people wear to raves get weirder every day. Came past searching for someone," the bartender frowned slightly. "Is that who you got into a fight with? Do you want to press charges? That's some serious damage you've got there. You look awful."

"Oh, callas, estás evitando el problema! I don't care less about the bruises! Do you know where he took Scott?" Oliver stood up straight, his legs wobbling and shaking dangerously. "I... I need to find him. Please."

"Why do you need to find him?" The bartender had to run forward to catch him as he almost tripped. "Is... Is he in danger?"

"Someone... Someone put something in his drink..." Oliver pushed off of the bartender and righted himself again, finding his legs to be more stable now. "I..." Oliver bit his lip, trembling. "I got the wrong idea... I thought... I read the signals wrong... He didn't give consent. He can't give consent if he was drugged..."

 The bartender's eyes widened, he took a slight step back. "The kid! The kid who left his drink unattended while he went to the bathroom! I knew it, I told him to be careful!"

Oliver turned to look down at him, almost falling over again with the speed he spun around at, "You let him leave without watching his drink for him!? You mean, you're the reason why this all happened?! He thinks I'm a rapist because of you!"

The bartender flinched slightly, looking around and shrugging, "S-Someone else needed a drink, alright? I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to actually drink out of it..."

"¡Por el amor de dios!" Oliver threw the ice pack he was holding on the ground. "He must be so confused, so hurt. How could his best friend do this to him?" He pulled at his long black hair in desperation. "Someone he trusted, just when he thought everything was finally going right, to just turn around and do that to him..."

"Calm down, alright? You weren't the one who put the thing into his drink, alright? He was giving you the wrong impression, it's not your fault for responding to his actions." The bartender shrugged, "Not your fault."

Oliver's green eyes examined the man in front of him for a long time. "You're disgusting." He said finally, and spat on the floor. "There's no excuse. Never an excuse. Nobody deserves to have that happen to them." He paused suddenly, his green eyes softening and looking away. "Well. Not Scott, at least."

The bartender blinked at him in silence for a while, flushing with embarrassment, "I-That's not what I meant."

"Mm," Oliver looked over to the wall, where a knife with a purple hilt was sticking out from where Vincent had thrown it. He frowned slightly, walking over and pulling the blade out of the wood. He could use that. He tucked it into the belt loop of his jeans.

The bartender eyed him nervously, gulping at the sight of the knife, "U-Uhm. So. You need any more ice or anything? Because, otherwise... I'll just..." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the door, "Go."

"No, I don't need anything," Oliver replied. He had to find Scott, that was the most important thing.

But first, back home. Time for a little chat with Jesús.