05| Oliver

Reid gently sets me down, and I instantly tug my dress down, cheeks warm from the flush of being so close. His gaze lingers, sweeping over me in a way that both thrills and unsettles me. As he twists the doorknob, a voice filters through from the other side.

"Red's here. Thought you said you'd sorted it?" Red? Who's Red? At the name, Reid's whole demeanor changes, his expression hardening. Whoever this "Red" is, they've clearly rattled him.

"Where is she?" he asks, his tone low and sharp. The words sound more like a demand than a question. I wonder who this Red is—and why she has such a hold over him. She. The word hangs heavy in the air. I can't help but stiffen. Who exactly is she to him?

"Out in the yard," the voice continues, with a hint of scepticism. "You're actually going to see her?"

My stomach clenches at the thought. We just shared a kiss—my first kiss—and now he's leaving to meet some other girl?

"We don't exactly have a choice, do we, Oliver?" His frustration deepens. "But I'll need a favour."

And then, before I can prepare myself, he pulls the door wide open, revealing me standing there, attempting to listen in.

Reid's gaze softens once his eyes are on me, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he brushes a few stray hairs back into place. In front of his friend, he leans down and presses a brief but meaningful kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to leave a trace of warmth. "Right, love, looks like the party's over. My boy here," he nods towards Oliver, "will drive you back."

Oliver's eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. "I will?" he says, blinking in surprise.

"Yes, you will, Oliver," Reid replies, rolling his eyes.

"But—Reid, I don't even know her. And you know I get..." He hesitates, whispering so poorly that I hear everything. "...awkward with girls."

I glance away, feeling just as awkward about the sudden arrangement, but Reid doesn't miss a beat. His gaze shifts back to me, and his voice softens. "You'll be alright with him, love, yeah? Promised your mates I'd get you home safe, and Oliver here will be absolutely delighted to help, won't you, mate?"

Oliver looks like he'd rather face a firing squad, but he manages a tight smile. "Yes," he says, gritting out the word, "delighted."

"Brilliant," Reid says, smirking again, then sweeps past us and down the hallway, leaving Oliver and me in the doorway.

An awkward silence hangs between us as Oliver scratches the back of his neck. His shy smile is endearing, and I can't help but take him in for the first time. He's tall and a bit lanky, with soft brown hair that flops slightly over his forehead, framing his face. There's a delicate, boyish charm to him, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink blush. He doesn't make eye contact, but his freckled skin and hesitant smile are disarming.

"Right, um... I'll just grab my keys, yeah?" he stammers, glancing down the hallway before looking back at me. "Could you... er, wait here a sec? Just keep the door shut—it can get a bit mad around here, and, well... don't fancy Reid tearing me a new one for mucking this up." He laughs nervously.

I smile, hoping it'll put him at ease. "Sure."

Oliver nods, looking relieved, and hurries off, shutting the door behind him. Left alone, I feel the giddiness of everything hit me at once. I had my first kiss—with Reid Carter, my first and only crush. The thought sends a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, though a sense of surreal disbelief tempers the excitement. Tomorrow, I'll probably spiral into regret and second-guessing, but right now... I can't wipe the grin off my face.

The room is quiet, and curiosity gets the better of me. Wandering over to his desk, I notice the small, intriguing details: a laptop, a single cigarette resting beside a worn box, a few books, and a metal flask. One book catches my eye—a glossy red cover with Destined or Bound by Fate embossed in gold. I pick it up, feeling the weight of it in my hands, and flip open the cover.

There's a line scrawled inside the front page, looping and elegant. I will always love you, my little flower. The words send a strange pang through me. Did someone give this to him? Did he write it himself? Who was this "little flower"?

I'm not entirely sure what I'm feeling right now as my fingers trace over the words scrawled on the front page. The handwriting is unfamiliar, so it could be either. I remember Aaliyah once telling me how Reid never accepted gifts in high school. She had saved up her allowance to buy him something special, only for him to return it without even glancing inside. I remember because I spent weeks comforting her, listening to her cry about it.

The gift I gave him... well, I'm not even sure what he did with it.

Unlike Aaliyah, I was too much of a coward to give Reid a gift directly. Even if I could have, I wouldn't. Aaliyah was madly in love with him, and I couldn't risk being seen giving him something too, especially because, to me, before that night on the hill, Reid was just the playboy Aaliyah had a crush on. But after that night, everything changed. He became a memory I couldn't shake—the memory I couldn't live without. His voice, his hands, his lips—they haunted me in my dreams, my thoughts, my fantasies.

I stopped minding when Aaliyah dragged me to his swim meets; in fact, I found myself looking forward to them, sneaking every possible moment to be near him. Each accidental glance we shared sent my heart racing. I wanted to give him something too, though I'd never given a gift to anyone except my parents and Aaliyah. It had to be discreet—Aaliyah couldn't know. So I wrapped it carefully, without a card, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

With Brooke's help, I managed to sneak into the locker room, pretending I had some excuse, and tucked it inside his locker. I don't know if he even noticed it, but just the act of giving it to him felt satisfying. I knew he'd be graduating soon, and that would be it—I wouldn't see him in the hallways, or in the parking lot, or in class. I'd have nothing left but memories, fleeting glances, and the knowledge that, even if he didn't know it, a part of me had reached out to him.

Lost in thought, I barely hear the door click open behind me. "Oh, you're back—" I start to say, turning, but stop mid-sentence. It isn't Oliver.

Standing there is a tall girl with raven-dark hair, waves cascading down her shoulders. Her makeup is slightly smudged, and she clutches a nearly empty bottle of Hennessy. There's no mistaking the fire in her eyes. It was Stella, the girl from earlier.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get in?" Her voice is sharp and accusing, with a slight slur that betrays how much she's had to drink.

I try to keep my composure. "Um... would you like some help? I think you might be a little—" I say noticing the sway in her movements.

"Are you deaf? I said, what are you doing here?" She sways as she steps closer, her eyes narrowing. "Did he bring you here? Reid, get out here, you bastard!" Her scream echoes, and she hurls the bottle against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

I instinctively step back, heart pounding. "I really think you should sit down—"

"Answer me!" she shouts, her voice breaking, lurching toward me. The crowd in the hallway seems to be growing, and I catch the glint of phones raised, recording. I feel trapped, panic seizing my chest. It's sickening how they just stand there, watching, judging. No one stepping forward to help.

I raise my hands defensively. "Look, Reid's not here, but maybe I can help—"

"Oh, you think you're special, don't you?" Her words slur more as she lunges, grabbing a fistful of my hair, pulling hard enough to make me gasp. "You're just another fling to him! He'll drop you like he drops everyone!" She screams, her pain evident.

I'd watched scenes like this play out countless times back in high school. Whenever Reid broke another heart, his "girl of the week" would inevitably cause a scene, dramatic and loud. I used to find it almost amusing—how they all knew his reputation but still fell for that irresistible charm of his. I wondered what went through their minds.

That is, until I became one of them. One of the girls harboring a crush on him, despite knowing exactly who he was. Reid's reputation was practically school legend; the boys even kept a list of "girls Reid had slept with" and "girls Reid hadn't." If you made it onto the first list, you were somehow considered elite. Sick, I know, but boys will be boys.

I want to help her, but I'm not sure how. I was severely distracted by the voices of the crowd mixing into a confusing buzz, their faces swirling, twisting in my vision. I barely process what's happening before survival instincts kick in. I grab her wrists and twist free, using my shoulder to shove her off balance. She stumbles, and I pull her forward, forcing her to the floor in one smooth movement, adrenaline flooding through me.

I look up, my vision blurred, seeing nothing but distorted faces staring, judging. The whispers are louder now, voices echoing around me. The room feels suffocating, and my hands start to shake.

I hear a voice. Find your happy place, Aunt Kemi's advice comes to mind. I repeat it to myself, focusing on each breath. It's hard to feel safe with the shattered glass, the scattered books, the phones still recording.

And then Oliver finally bursts through the crowd, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene—the broken glass, the people filming, and Stella lying on the floor, sobbing.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" he asks, his voice carrying a mix of shock and disbelief as he stares at me.

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Guys, if you'll notice I changed the font and format of writing. Someone complained about it being tasking to read so I'll be using this font and format now. Pls don't forget to vote and comment. Love y'all.

Made a pretty title card, the other day. Here you go