Lost & Found

by Ashley John

  Oliver kicked open the bathroom door, still clutching Charlie's hand tightly as Charlie tried to shake away the alcohol haze that was starting to alter his mind. The door swung open and two girls sat on the edge of the bath kissing each other. Normally, Charlie would have loved to see two girls making out, but as he stared at them, he couldn't feel a thing.

  “Excuse me ladies, as much I love watching you play tonsil tennis, my friend here needs to use the bathroom,” Oliver said in his usual cheeky tone.

  The girls seemed more embarrassed than anything and scattered out of the bathroom instantly. Oliver dragged Charlie into the bathroom and locked the door gently behind them. It took Charlie a moment to adapt to the silence. He could still feel the music pumping below, but the sound of his own heart was much louder now.

  Dropping his hand, Oliver perched on the edge of the bath and smiled up at Charlie. His eyes were a lot fuzzier than they had been when he'd left him with Porter, and his smile seemed to be spreading further than usual.

  “Have you taken something?” Charlie asked.

  “I just had a bit of a joint someone was passing around,” Oliver smiled.

  “I thought you didn't want to be like your brother?” Charlie asked, leaning against the glass counter of the white bathroom.

  “It's just some weed! I don't use anything else,” Oliver said defensively, “I'm nothing like him.”

  Charlie knew that Oliver was nothing like his brother deep down, but he did a good job at impersonating him when he wanted something.

  “Are you having a piss or what?” Oliver asked, clinging onto the edge of the bath.

  “I don't even need to go,” Charlie said, sitting on the edge of the bath next to Oliver, “I just wanted to get away from Porter.”

  Oliver laughed and dropped his head lazily. His glossy hair bounced forwards over his eyes. When he looked up, he didn't bother to move the strands from his eyes. Instead, Charlie reached out and brushed the strands back.

  Their eyes locked as they sat on the edge of the giant bathtub. Charlie could just make out the chatter of the hundreds of people below having the time of their lives, but as he stared at Oliver's moist lips, he couldn't hear anything else.

  They look so soft.

  “I'm glad we're friends,” Oliver said softly.

  When Oliver spoke, it only made Charlie's heart pound faster. It felt like it was fluttering in his throat.

  “Me too,” Charlie whispered deeply.

  His eyes wandered from Oliver's swirling hazel eyes down to his soft pink lips. All he could think was how perfectly pink they looked next to his bronze skin.

  “There's something I want to tell you,” Oliver said, edging in closer to Charlie.

  Charlie reacted and leaned in closer. They were so close, he could smell the tangy alcohol cocktail on Oliver's breath.

  “What is it?” Charlie panted.

  “I don't think we can be just friends,” Oliver's voice was hardly audible, but Charlie heard every word.

  A bead of sweat trickled down Charlie's forehead and collected on his eyelash. He wanted to wipe it away, but his hands were frozen to the side of the bathtub. Blinking slowly, he felt the drop of sweat run down his cheek, but when he opened them again, Oliver was even closer.

  “I want to kiss you,” Oliver leaned in gently and whispered in his ear.

  When he pulled back, the fuzziness was gone from his eyes, and the old familiar seductive look returned. Charlie wanted to feel annoyed and irritated that Oliver was still trying to seduce him, but the sparks flying around in his heart were the only thing he could think about.

  I want you to kiss me.

  As if he could hear his thoughts, Oliver leaned in and closed his eyes. His lips landed delicately on Charlie's and when they did, the voices of protest in his mind vanished. Slowly opening his mouth to Oliver, Oliver's tongue slowly explored his, and it tasted like citrus, vodka and tobacco. Oliver's hand slid up his leg and squeezed his thigh tightly. He let the passion take over him and he grabbed the front of Oliver's polo shirt and pulled him in closer, intensifying the kiss. Oliver's hand gently cupped the solid package in his jeans and started to massage it through the layers of fabric.

  A loud banging on the door followed by someone protesting that they needed the toilet made Charlie open his eyes and look at Oliver's closed lips.

  Charlie ripped away from Oliver and sat staring at him for a moment. Oliver’s hand was still gripping his shaft, but it suddenly felt heavy and out of place.

  “Just carry on, they'll go to the other bathroom,” Oliver whispered before closing his eyes and leaning in again.

  This time however, Charlie didn't close his eyes or pull him in closer, he jumped up from the bath, causing Oliver's hand to slide off him.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “I need to go,” Charlie gasped, his voice shaky.

  “What? Why?” Oliver said.

  The sadness swirled around in his eyes and he stood up to join Charlie, but Charlie couldn't look at them for more than a second.

  “I can't do this,” he croaked, “It's not right.”

  “You seemed to be enjoying it,” Oliver smiled, reaching his hand out to hold Charlie's, “I can't stop thinking about you.”

  Charlie ripped his hand away and jumped backwards, holding both of his hands up.

  “I need to go home,” Charlie fought back the tears that were welling up behind his lids, “This isn’t me.”

  Charlie pushed past Oliver, and yanked the door open, but nothing happened. He ragged at the handle, but it stayed closed.

  “It's locked,” Oliver snapped from the other side of the bathroom.

  Feeling like an idiot, Charlie blinked through the tears and clicked the lock open. He didn't see any of the people in the party. He didn't see Porter or Connor, he just saw a blur of bodies as the tears started to flow freely from his eyes. He ran across the beer bottle filled yard and he tried to gulp down the fresh air, but it felt as stuffy as it did inside.

  Marching down the street into the dark, Charlie wiped the tears away. The voices in his head were screaming at him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. His heart pounded and his eyes hurt. He tried to think of Melissa, but he knew none of the tears were for her. All of the tears were for Oliver.

  As he wandered down towards Surf Bay, the voices in Charlie's head quietened down enough so he could try to convince himself that it was the alcohol that was making him act so weird. He tried to tell himself he didn't enjoy the kiss, but even as he did, he knew deep down in that small moment, he'd wanted to rip Oliver's clothes off and kiss every part of his body.

  Who am I?

  ACT 2

  Falling

  Chapter 10

  “Oliver! Wake up!” the shrill voice of Oliver's mother pierced through his groggy mind.

  Sitting up in his king size bed, Oliver stared around his bedroom as his head began to pound.

  “What time is it?” Oliver moaned.

  Memories from the night before quickly started to flood back and he wanted nothing more than to fall back onto his plush pillow and pull the sheets over his screaming headache.

  “Nearly half ten,” she said coolly, “aren't you late for that little job thing?”

  Shit, my job.

  Oliver grabbed his phone from the bedside which quickly told him he'd slept through all three of his alarms. As he scrambled around his bedroom looking for suitable clothes, he tried to remember what happened. After Charlie left him, he went on the hunt to drink anything and everything he could find, which explained the headache.

  “When did you get back?” Oliver groaned, remembering that his parents had been away on a business trip all week.

  He'd long since stopped asking when they were returning home, because they went on trips so often, it was like he was living alone in the giant house with nobody but the cleaners for company.

  “This morning,” she said, “when you get home, we need to talk about Yal
e.”

  Oliver groaned louder than he'd intended to. He didn't know how many times he'd told his parents that he wasn't going to study law at Yale, but it never seemed to sink in.

  “What about it?” he snapped, pulling on the jeans which smelt the least dirty.

  She sauntered into his bedroom, in her pencil skirt and tight white blouse.

  “Well, when we were in Seattle, your father bumped into one of his old professors who happens to still teach at the college. He put in a very good word for you,” she smiled, perching on the edge of Oliver's huge bed.

  “How many times mother? I'm not going,” he quipped, peeling a tight white t-shirt over his firm chest.

  “Nonsense,” she cried clapping her hands together, “once you see the campus, you're sure to change your mind!”

  “I'm not going to see the campus because I'm not going,” he muttered.

  “We've been through this Oliver. Every man in your family for the last 3 generations has gone to Yale. It's just what we do,” she smiled politely.

  Oliver felt like he was staring at a stranger rather than his own mother. He'd been raised by a gang of nannies, cooks and cleaners as she and his father advanced in their careers. He'd always wondered when she fit the time in to pop two children out.

  “How did that work out for Connor? He hasn't worked a day in his life,” he shot back.

  “But he still graduated with honors, and when the time comes for him to settle down, he'll make a terrific lawyer,” she clapped her hands together again.

  Oliver didn't know if she actually believed her own delusions, but Connor wasn't likely to settle down anytime soon. He lived by the mantra that he was here for a good time, not a long time.

  “He's in his 30s and still partying like a kid,” he said, “did you know he's back in town for a few weeks?”

  “Is he?” she said, looking at her sharp, red nails, “You must pass on my best regards.”

  He didn't know if she'd noticed, but Connor hadn't visited her the past four times he'd been in town, and she wasn't the type to make the first move when it came to reaching out to her family.

  “We're taking you up to see the campus next weekend,” she said, standing up, “no excuses.”

  With one last quivering smile through her red lipstick, she flicked her straight, brown hair over her shoulder and strut out of his bedroom leaving the door wide open.

  Grabbing his phone, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he had no messages. Porter would still be recovering, if he even made it out of bed. Oliver suddenly cringed at Porter doing a strip tease on the kitchen counter in the early hours of the morning and disappearing into the laundry room with a 20 year old Brazilian underwear model called Paulo.

  After Charlie had left him in the bathroom, Oliver had spent the rest of the night trying to convince himself he didn't care and he just wanted to sleep with Charlie. He told himself a kiss meant he was halfway there, but he couldn't ignore the true feelings that were growing inside him.

  So much for just taking his virginity.

  Knowing he was probably still over the limit, Oliver jumped into his car regardless. He usually walked to work because he didn't like pulling up in town in the sports car his father had insisted on buying him for his 16th birthday, but Oliver didn't think his jelly legs would carry him all the way down the hill to Surf Bay.

  After a slower than usual drive, Oliver pulled up outside of the Surf Club and his hands started to shake on the steering wheel, and it wasn't from the hangover.

  It's fine Oliver, just act cool.

  The thought of Charlie inside the wooden shack made his legs wobble as he jumped out of the car and locked it with a click. He pushed the door open, holding his breath. It felt like his first day at the Surf Club all over again. Glancing around the shack it seemed empty at first, but the backdoor was open, leading out onto the golden beach.

  “Hello?” Oliver called out.

  “What time is it?” Porter shot his head up from the counter.

  “Fuck Porter, you scared me!” Oliver cried out.

  Porter was leaning against the counter, and from the heavy bags under his eyes and the cup of coffee he was clutching, Oliver knew that Porter was in a worse state than he was.

  “It's just gone 10,” Oliver lied.

  “You'll be okay today won't you?” Porter asked, but before he had an answer, rested his head back on the counter next to the cash register.

  “Sure,” Oliver laughed, relieved that he'd got away with his tardiness.

  The relief quickly vanished when Charlie appeared in the doorway, clutching a surfboard.

  “Oh,” Charlie said.

  The fear in Charlie's face surpassed anything Oliver was feeling, but that only made him feel worse. As Charlie stared wide eyed at him like a deer in the headlights, Oliver was facing the realization that he really did have feelings for the guy stood in front of him.

  ***

  I really hope he doesn't remember the kiss.

  Charlie was lying to himself. He'd not been able to think of anything else since he left the party. When he finally found his way home after what felt like hours of wandering through the perfectly manicured lawns of Surf Bay, he collapsed on his bed where Poppy was still sleeping soundly as if he'd never been gone.

  He'd been exhausted, but he couldn't think of anything other than the kiss. His final thought before he fell asleep was that he was going to cut Oliver off, but as he stood there in front of him, in a fitted white t-shirt with tight faded jeans, his mind was suddenly blank.

  “How long has he been there?” Oliver asked awkwardly.

  “He was there when I got here,” Charlie said, trying to contain the nerves in his voice.

  “I doubt he went home,” Oliver laughed dryly.

  Charlie didn't feel hung over, but he could tell from the color of Oliver's usually tanned skin that he wasn't feeling great. Porter grunted in the corner, but the silence between them grew. Oliver ran his hands through his scruffier than usual hair.

  “I just wanted to say -”

  “Can we just -”

  Charlie laughed that they'd both tried to speak at the same time. He wanted to hit himself for being so awkward.

  I was drunk. People do much worse things when they're drunk.

  “You first,” Oliver smiled.

  “I just wanted to say, can we forget it happened?” Charlie said, his voice shaking.

  “Sure,” Oliver smiled, “that's just what I was going to say.”

  He was smiling at Charlie, but the sadness in his bloodshot eyes told him a different story.

  “I have no idea what I'm doing here,” Charlie said, setting the surfboard down against the wall, “I've been polishing that board for the last half an hour.”

  Oliver didn't laugh politely or smile, instead he just stared blankly at Charlie, which only made him feel worse. I thought he just wanted to make me another notch on his bedpost?

  “I'm gonna be sick,” Oliver mumbled as his eyes started to water.

  He pushed past Charlie, out onto the decking and leaned as far over the edge of the rail as he could. Charlie could hear the torrents of liquid hitting the sand below, and it only made him grateful he'd only had the one drink out of Connor's toxic punchbowl.

  Following Oliver out into the bright daylight, Charlie hovered behind him. He reached his hand out to pat him reassuringly on the back, but he quickly pulled it back realizing that touching him wasn't the best idea.

  “Are you okay?” Charlie called out.

  Oliver didn't respond, instead he spewed out more seagull food. Hearing Oliver heaving up his guts made Charlie want to help. He craved to reach out and touch him, but he cursed at himself under his breath. Ignoring the voice in his head, he reached out his hand and brushed his palm softly over his strong and defined shoulder blades at arm’s length.

  “I feel like death,” Oliver grumbled, still leaning out over the railing.

  “You look like it,” Charli
e joked, still rubbing his back.

  He wanted to stop, but there was something soothing about running his hand over his broad shoulders.

  Stop it Charlie.

  “You still look like your cute self,” Oliver laughed.

  Charlie started to laugh but stopped himself. When Charlie first met him, he was saying things like that all the time and it never sounded sincere, but it sounded like he really meant it. He had sick dripping from his chin so he wasn't in position to be putting on an act.

  “I don't know how I'm going to get through today,” Oliver mumbled.

  “I'll help you through it,” Charlie said.

  Oliver turned around to face Charlie, causing his hand to be placed in the middle of his chest.

  “You mean that?”

  Charlie's heart started to race, and he could feel Oliver's racing under his palm. He quickly tore his hand away and brought it up to his own neck.

  “Yeah, sure,” Charlie smiled, dropping his eyes to the deck.

  Charlie knew the only way to make any friendship work was to keep his distance from Oliver.

  What if I don't want to?

  Chapter 11

  Porter woke up around lunch time, none the wiser about Oliver being late and the rest of the day went by without incident. Besides a few customers booking lessons, it was a quiet day, which is just what Oliver's head needed. All of his interactions with Charlie were pleasant and polite, which only made the feelings in the pit of his stomach even more confusing. Every time he looked at Charlie, he wanted to peel his clothes off slowly, not rip them off, and he wanted to hold him, not fuck him.

  The hunger had been replaced with something else.

  As Porter locked up the club, Charlie hung around, and Oliver watched him gaze out to sea. Oliver had always lived next to the sea, so it was nice to see someone actually standing and appreciating it.

  “It's a nice view isn't it?” Oliver called over.

  Charlie turned and smiled, nodding his head, the sun glittering through his blonde hair. I love it when he smiles.