I'm Scared To Get Close, I Hate Being Alone! // An Oli Sykes Fanfic

~ Chapter 7 ~

A/N - {{ TRIGGER WARNING }}

( Oli's POV )

It's been a few days since the night at the club and I'm currently sitting in Amelia's living room waiting for her to wake up. It's her birthday tomorrow and I have a small gift but it makes me sick to my stomach that I can't get her what she deserves.

I haven't been home in nearly a week and I've started getting endless voice mails from my dad. It mainly involves the drunk him screaming down the phone at me, aggressively, sometimes in a crying mess. He talks about mum and how sorry he is then it goes to how much he wishes I was dead and how worthless I am. Honestly everything he says is true, I am pretty worthless, I'm nothing.

My head has been stuck in this train of thoughts for couple of days now; sometimes at night when Amelia is asleep I come down stairs and cry my sorrows away. I could never do this in front of Amelia; she doesn't deserve this, any of this. She doesn't deserve me, my messed up state of mind, any of the things that I cause, which is a shit ton of bad things.

I sit like this, starring motionless at the blank white wall in front of me and before I know it I am in the kitchen, clawing my way through the draws. I find a pen and paper and write:

Just gone out, be back soon!

- Oli

Before grabbing the spare keys on the side, slipping on my shoes I grab my backpack and run out the door, shutting it as quiet as possible.

I stroll around the streets thinking about everything my dad has said and how accurate it really is until I arrive at my destination. I stand in front of the same liquor store I get all the drink from and do the same routine as always, however this time grabbing two bottles of Vodka before leaving when the coast is clear.

I run down the road until I reach a small alley I would go to when I was a lot younger and my dad was drunk.

I slam my back against the wall before sliding down to the dirty, bumpy floor, where I grab my bag and pull out one of the bottles of Vodka and my notepad. In an instant I unscrew the lid and take a long gulp of my old friend. The warm liquid slides down my throat burning the entire journey as I continuously cough at the burning sensation. I quickly screw the lid back on and setting it to my side before grabbing my notebook and flicking to the back page. My eyes focus on the white envelope that stare into my soul as I slowly pick it up and begin to peel back the white paper. I place my long fingers into the white packaging and hold the cold steel in the palm of my hands.

I delicately begin to pick up the small blade in my hands, running my fingers along some of the blunt edges before holding it sturdily in one hand.

"Hello old friend," I whisper in a slurry mess before running the ridged edges along my smooth tattooed skin on my stomach. It begins to sting the same sensation as it used to, before I feel some of the warm blood flood my skin. I take a deep breath before continuing several more times, every now and then taking more gulps of Vodka.

Now I sit here, on a dirty floor in an alley way, drunk out of my head in the early hours of the morning, my dad at home probably planning to kill me but worst of all back to my old escape, a razor.

Tears begin to flood my eyes and before I know it I am silently sobbing, my knees held up to chest and my head in a dizzy gaze. I sit like this for what seems like hours before I finally decide to get back to Amelia. I quickly pack all my things before standing up and dragging my mess of a body back to Amelia's. I walk around the streets until I feel a buzzing on my waist; reaching my hand in my pocket I pull out my phone to see Alix's contact on the screen.