Work Text:
May 30, 1988
Just one more.
That was all Oliver ever told himself.
Just one last hit, one final time then he would come clean.
But every time, it would never just be that one final push.
That night was no different, at least, so he thought.
~*~
Oliver didn’t even fully remember just how it all started, the beginning of a downward spiral that would continue to haunt him for years to come. What he did know was the why, and with what.
It all started with opium.
He was at his peak, growing quickly to be one of the most powerful Empires in the world. Revered and feared, ruthless to his enemies but adored amongst polite society. No longer was he that shy, quiet little boy who was constantly overlooked. Pushed around. Perceived as weak.
Now there he was, proving all of them wrong.
However, there was always something that nagged in the back of the Brit’s mind. That one thing that he felt as though would just hold him back if anyone found out his little secret.
That he was different, and not in a way that he properly understood. The only thing that he knew at that time was that he never wanted anyone to find out, to possibly be dragged out of the position of power that he had worked so hard for only to possibly be incarcerated.
That was where it all began. Just one swig.
At first, it did help. It helped him become ‘normal’ even though he continued with his research in a more natural, holistic approach from whatever sorts of herbs, flowers, whatever he could find on his travels. As with such things, that need grew. Oliver took more. Became more irrational, moody, reckless.
In the end, lost everything he worked for so many years for.
Just to cope, he found himself in the arms of a second vice of spirits. Hand in hand, the sweet combination at least for a while helped him feel nothing. That mere feeling of numbness that he had been looking so long for.
As the years progressed, the drugs of choice slowly began to change but the drink remained for the most part the same. They became harder, always continuing to chase that perception of nothingness. Oliver grew even better at hiding this burden that he carried so well, masking his true emotions behind that of his quick wit and a smile.
He was good at it, hiding it seemed always was a special talent of his no matter what it was. Whether it was from his Father or his brothers when he was a boy or from himself and others, it didn’t matter.
That smile of his was a facade, Oliver just knew how to make it appear genuine.
The punk club scene in Liverpool was where he ended up disappearing too. His lack of caring became far more prevalent as he fell deeper and deeper into their world of drugs, alcohol, and sex. Of course he made sure to keep the proper veneer when he had work obligations to fulfill, making sure to keep certain parts of his body hidden at all times.
Saving face, keeping his secrets close to his chest. Never allowing even those he was closest to to see just how much he was spiraling out of control. Continuing that constant chase to now just feel something . Anything.
After all, no one would accept him as he was now.
~*~
Shaky hands pressed against the bathroom sink, the echoes of sharp metal guitar echoing through the room from his bedroom. It had been a couple of days, hadn’t it? That’s right… Mandatory meetings that he had to attend. Oliver had to be lucid.
Now that they were over, he could take that one final prick.
Then it would be over.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
That’s what he told himself every time. Each time he would end up in a stranger’s bed, in a place that he didn’t recognize, waking up on his bathroom floor. Yet each time, the needle would call him back. That beckon call that would draw him back no matter how much he wanted to finally break the cycle that he found himself trapped in.
All for the sake of being seen as a ‘normal’ person.
Despite the constant tremors racking through his body, Oliver reached forward to turn the faucet to allow the comforting sounds of falling water mix with the music playing in the background. Reaching forward and filling the palms of his hands with water and splashing the cool water against his face, he immediately paused when certain words began to fill the room.
I lie awake and sweat, afraid to fall asleep
I see your face looking back at me, looking back at me
Turning his head upward to look at himself in the mirror, his eyes widened as he for the first time fully saw what he had done to himself.
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
I've always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare
Oliver just looked so… Tired. He lost weight, the bruises in the crook of his elbows, wavy pink hair fully unkempt, his once big, bright blues now dull and sunken in. Lifeless. No ounce of joy left in them. The little things about himself that he was once so self-conscious about were long in the past now. His ‘bunny’ teeth, the mere fact that he was always a little more on the chubby side thus the whole reason why he got the tattoo on his hip in the first place, his ‘baby’ face, his freckles, his quiet and sweet demeanor.
Now it all felt so… Trivial.
He didn’t recognize this person that he saw in the mirror as the water slowly dripped off of his chin. Was this… Really what he had done to himself? There he was, laid bare for himself to see. No makeup or clothes to hide what he had truly been running from.
All these years.
This is where it led him.
Oliver didn’t like what he saw.
This was the truth that he wanted so desperately not to see.
His own mental state had beaten him. In his futile attempts to hide, it only led him to this shell that he saw reflected back at him.
Now it wasn’t just the cool water that was falling down his cheeks, but hot tears. Quiet crying quickly shifted to full sobs as he fell down onto his knees on the bathroom floor, wrapping his arms around his shivering frame.
“Wh–... What have I done?” Oliver whispered this to himself, knowing full-well no one would hear. All he could hear was the continuing sounds of the water running in the sink, the record in the next room, and his own bout of just completely shutting down.
Is this all that's left
Of my life before me
Straight jacket memories, sedative highs
No happy ending like they've always promised
There's got to be something left for me…
Oliver just stayed there in that spot, finally allowing all of the emotions that he had spent so many years pushing down to bubble to the surface. Crying as he hugged himself for some semblance of comfort, letting each and every negative feeling and thought be mourned and let go.
No more.
He was done.
That last time was the final time.
It was finally time to stop running and face his demons head-on.
Shakily getting back up to his feet and having to use the sink as leverage to steady himself with the sudden dizziness and nausea that threatened to overtake him, with unsteady feet Oliver walked back into the bedroom toward the phone resting on his bedside table. Picking it up and calling the first person that he could think of, one of the only people that he knew he could trust especially while he was in this sort of state.
After four rings, the click followed.
“...Oui?”
“...Francis. I… I need to tell you something. And… I need your help.”