Whore (Oliver Sykes Fanfic)

Cause Of Death

My mind was a whirlwind of rampant thoughts over nothing, yet everything. Closing my eyes for milliseconds caused my mind to go into even more of a frenzy, and I'd shudder. I was over-thinking, and not thinking enough. It's odd. My mind was pulling itself apart under the weight of my life. The amount of weight my decision to leave the whorehouse had on my life, was crushing. If I left, then what? I just become a prostitute under someone else who might not be as kind and forgiving as Madame Gigi is?
I didn't want to leave and things not improve. I was taking a rather large leap of faith with Oli. He seemed perfectly okay and glad to be leaving, while I was worried about all the possible outcomes of the situation. Of course, I wanted to leave, needed to leave, for I couldn't sell my body forever. Eventually, age would catch up to me and I'd be back on the streets anyway. I wanted to make something of myself, something more than the filth that I'd become. With that knowledge in mind, I pondered over what I could exactly do to bring back purpose to my life. I could try to get some waitressing job, but I lack experience. I needed to start somewhere though.
It was like I could feel the imprint of my bag through my mattress. An unseen weight pressed against my chest. My throat was tight with tears that wished to fall from my eyes, tears I wouldn't let fall, not yet. I had no reason to cry, or did I? Birds were starting to chirp outside the window, and that's when it came to my attention, that I wouldn't be sleeping at all. So I got out of bed and went downstairs.
Oli wasn't in the living room, like he'd usually be. I tip-toed on the wooden flooring to the library and then kept going until I got to his room door. My hand curled into a fist and rapped against the door twice before I pushed the door forward and went inside.
Oli was laying across his bed in only his boxer, allowing me to see the beautifully decorated skin I adored. He had a book in front of his eyes, his hazel irises ingesting every word printed on the pages in front of him. He didn't even glance up at me, he didn't even say anything. He just patted the bed next to him, and I laid down next to him. Even though he'd never admit it, I think he was anxious about leaving everything behind as well.
"Whatcha' reading?" I asked him quietly, careful not to disturb his reading. He wove his fingers through mine.
"I'll read it to you. It's called Glimpse by Carol Lynch Williams." He clears his throat. "'And I wonder will I ever feel the same about her again? I hate you, I say. My voice is low and angry. I hate you for what you did to my sister' " And he continues to read to me, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, his accent coating his words like rainwater dotting atop eyelashes. I hated the pauses, because his voice was comforting, like the chicken soup my mom used to make me whenever I was sick. I remembered when Oli told me he hated me. The words coming out hoarse and broken. He didn't hate me, perhaps the complete opposite. He was just kind of...timid about saying it. Which is fine, I don't need to hear him say it, when he showed how he felt through his actions.
I fell asleep to Oli reading to me about a girl with a suicidal older sister. His voice the last thing I heard as my eyes fluttered shut and my breathing evened out.

___

My stomach has been performing a whole gymnastic floor routine, and I couldn't possibly eat. This wasn't the first time this has happened. I'd never been the best when it came to dealing with my nerves. I always usually just avoided things that caused my heart to beat a little faster.
"How's the not-eating diet coming along?" Missy asked me when she saw I was sitting at the kitchen table, tracing invisible patterns into the wood.
"My stomach's not feeling the best." I mumbled, continuing to draw unseen shapes. Shay glanced up at me, giving me a concerned gaze.
"You're not coming down with something, are you?" Shay asked me. I shrugged, not really wanting to answer. It wasn't a cold. It was just that I was nervous to know this would be the last time I'd be in this kitchen with all of these people. It made me want to cry. "C'mere." Shay laid the back of his hand onto my forehead, feeling my body temperature. "You don't have a fever. Hm?"
"Is anything wrong?" Tyler asked me. I shook my head. "You sure? You can always tell us." Shay nodded in agreement. Missy didn't say anything, her back turned to the three of us.
"It's nothing, really, thank you guys, though." I lied and fake-smiled at them, hoping to put their worries to rest.
"Is it Oli? Are you guys having trouble?" Shay asked me. I shook my head.
"No, it has nothing to do with Oli." It had everything to do with Oli. "You always want to talk about him anyway."
"Well, it's not like anyone knows a whole lot about him. You're the only one who really knows him." Shay huffed. "So I apologize for being nosy."
"So you admit you're nosy?" I teased, the conversation being steered clear of what was really eating at me. Every so often, Missy would give me knowing glances over her shoulder. Perhaps she was suspicious, and she deserved to be. I never thought I'd say it, but I think me leaving Missy is what I dreaded the most.