Strange (boyxboy)

12

Oliver sat back on his heels as he continued to dig through the paintings. He'd been at it for hours. What had once affected him now did nothing, he felt completely numb. It had been painting, after painting, after painting; All showing roughly the same thing. Him hurting Luke, someone he thought of as precious. There had been others, of course. They were all just so dark and foreboding, but in none of them was he hurting someone he cared about. 

He ran a hand through his white hair, his eyes never leaving the canvas he currently held. This one was completely different. In finely painted detail it showed a pale hand gripping a cane. The ground was dark, and there were specific highlights covering the plastic walking stick. It connected together at different intervals and was thin. The hand that held it was stark white in comparison, and single, crescent shaped scar rested above the knuckle of the index finger. It was weird, to Oliver, that there was such a seemingly normal painting amidst all the darkness.

He set it aside and leaned his weight forward, resting on his knees. His eyes felt sore from being in the dark room for so long. What would have happened if he were born normal? How different would things be right now? Maybe he'd be out with childhood friends, laughing and not worrying about who might disappear next. Not thinking about if he would actually hurt his friends.

Oliver worried a hand through his hair and grit his teeth together. I need to get out of here, He thought desperately. With a swipe at his watery eyes Oliver left, slamming the room's door behind him. He ignored his aunt and left quickly. His feet carried him outside and down the sidewalk.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

Oliver wasn't sure where exactly he was going, but it was away from here. He just wished he could escape his mind.

***

The pale boy's feet tapped the diner ground as he sat with his hands cradled around a cup of coffee. He sort of regretted walking out like he did. It was freezing, but he needed to get out of there. Everything just seemed hard right now.

His nose, cheeks, and ears were red from the cold. His body was slowly adjusting to the warmth of the diner but he still shook. Maybe some it was from paranoia, he didn't really know.

Oliver's mind felt heavy and blurred with thoughts that just dragged him down. He felt such a strong connection to the red headed boy, just how could he hurt him? Why did so many things point to him stabbing his best friend?

The teen's long, pale fingers traced circles on the sides of his coffee cup. His eye's glazed and unfocused as he stared down at the table. Oliver just didn't know what to do with himself. The future seemed set, already. The events leading to said future is what made him so scared. Was Luke somehow involved in all of this? Nothing connected in the white haired boy's mile-a-minute mind.

Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed Oliver's small wrist. The hand was a dark shade of brown and feminine. It woke Oliver from his trance, causing him to jump slightly, startled by the sudden action. He knew immediately that the hand belonged to a spirit, just from the aura that now surrounded him. But, for some reason, the touch didn't do what it was supposed to do. He didn't see any flashes of memory, no dying moment. All he saw was the clash of his light skin to the spirit's dark.

Oliver's breathe hitched as he slowly looked up, analyzing the ghost who sat in the chair across from him. It was a teenager, maybe seventeen at the oldest. She had black hair that was cut close to her face, framing her high cheekbones and pointed chin. Her deep brown eyes were wide and scared, tears building in them as she stared at him, calling out for help with that one look. Her lips parted as she let out a sob. "He has me, please... Help me. He has me and I can't leave!" Her voice was soft but cracking.

The lights in the diner flickered slightly as the girl wept. "It hurts so bad! He's doing bad things to us, but we can't escape! Help me!"

Oliver let his eyes fly around the nearly empty diner, nobody was looking at him. He whispered his curiosity and panic. "What happened? Who are you?"

She gripped his wrist tighter and the light over their table dimmed just slightly. "I'm Lydia Warner, and I don't know what happened!" She looked so confused and hurt. "All I know is that he  has us and isn't letting us go! We're so scared!" Her image wavered like smoke, and her eyes grew impossibly wider as she furiously began to shake her head. "He knows, he knows, he knows-"

"Who knows? Who is he?" Oliver tried to remain quiet, to not draw unwanted attention. Lydia wavered again, her touch now becoming less tangible on his skin. Her movements were panicked and shaky as she whipped her head around to stare all around. "Please, Lydia..."

She stopped moving and met Oliver's eyes with her own, no emotion anywhere to be found. "He's coming for you."

And then she was gone, whisked away by forces unknown.

Oliver was frozen in shock, staring at the seat Lydia had so briefly occupied. She'd barely been with him for more than two minutes, but it was long enough to rattle his entire world. He blinked, hoping she would return and explain herself, but it was useless and he knew it. Whatever force had been stealing people away had struck again, claiming another victim- it was the only explanation.

A chill traveled up and down the poor boy's spine. "He's coming for you." A warning. Oliver was in danger.

"Sir, are you okay?" The teen jumped a foot off his seat and jerked his head to see the waiter looking at him cautiously from right beside his table.

Oliver gulped and nodded the man away, pulling a ten from his pocket and setting it on the table. He abandoned his coffee and rushed from the diner. Things had just  become so much more complicated.

A/N

It's literally been months..