Chapter Text
Hey love, Auntie Kat is coming to pick you up. You’re spending the night with her <3
Oliver looked at this and sighed. He knew this pattern. His dad was doing something stupid and didn’t want him to be there. That’s why he distracted him with visits to Auntie, going to the mall, going to the park or some other shit.
He was eleven—not stupid. He was surprised his dad still thought he didn’t know. But whatever. His dad had his things, Oliver had his.
He scratched at his arm, feeling the scars on it—little, even lines on the side of his arm going down to the elbow.
Long sleeved shirts were a guy’s best friend, and all that.
Oliver bit his lip and packed his personal bag. It was one he liked to carry around, a Miles Morales bag from Into The Spiderverse that Owen had got him after the movie came out. He didn’t remember much about it, but Owen said that, for some reason the movie lit him up during a depressive period. So Owen got him the bag as a gift.
It was a funny thing, being rewarded for being happy. But Oliver was never one to look a gift bag in the mouth.
He started to pack his bags with his usual shit: charger, keys, snacks, money, journal, pens, pencils, deodorant, stim toys, gum, pepper spray and headphones. All lovingly organized so he could reach it without having to search—he hated having to search in his bag. It always made him nervously think of the worst. That he may have left it at home and he ended up needing it, and blah, blah, blah.
He pulled out his phone to text his dad.
Kk i’ll text you when she gets here
He desperately wanted to know what the hell his dad was planning on doing. He knew it was a stupid kind of shit—he just couldn’t tell what the hell it was.
Oliver’s dad always acted fine and dandy afterwards. The only reason he knew it was stupid shit was because he looked guilty as hell. Like he was going to be sent to hell at any moment. Which was weird, because he admitted to Oliver that he wasn’t even sure if he fully believed in hell, or at least the popular version of it.
Auntie Kat arrived with a wide smile on her face. “Hey babydoll. Come on in!” she said, gesturing to her car.
Auntie Kat was an old friend. She came around when Oliver was around nine or eight and had stayed ever since. She always had brightly colored hair and makeup, and her bag was initially bright pink, then became deep blue and finally royal purple. The bag was big, unorganized and messy, but it held everything in it, like candy and a weird amount of phones, journals and shit.
She once let Oliver hold it and it weighed like a ton. She said that was because of how many books were in it.
Oliver got in the car and Auntie Kat smiled. “Where are we going first, babydoll?” she asked.
Oliver loved the nickname “babydoll”. There was something so great about it. And it was only used for him and no one else! Dad was “babyboy”, and Owen was “Captain My Captain”. But Oliver and Oliver alone was babydoll.
“Um. Can we go get food? Or like, something else. I don’t know, like, whatever you like, really. I’m not even that hungry, ya know. Like, we can do something else, too.”
Auntie Kat looked at him before smiling. “Yeah, let’s go get some wings.”
Oliver let out an internal sigh of relief as Auntie Kat hit the gas. He always hated asking people for food. It coiled up in his stomach tight, and he just felt so fucking rotten and wrong when he did ask. He had eaten a snack five minutes ago anyways; he didn’t need to eat more.
“Hey olly.” auntie kat asked softly turning on the radio “whats with the cool new scars?”
Oliver blanched brushing his hand against the scars on his arm. Fuck he forgot to wear long sleeves. It was just os fuckign hot and-
“Olly? Babydoll?”
He breathed in and out and smiled “I was playing with some friends. Got hurt.”
“You sure that's it?” she side eyed him and he gulped
“Yeah. That's it.”
“You sure you’ll tell me if it's anything more than that olly? I promise I won't judge.”
“I. I promise auntie kat.”
She sucked her teeth before nodding. “Good boy.” Oliver ignored the tightness in his stomach at being called a good boy. That was just anxiety over the scars. Nothing else.
They pulled up at a wing place and Auntie Kat ordered them lemon pepper wings “wet as hell” with fries and two lemonades.
She winked at Oliver. "Don’t tell your dad, okay? I don’t think you should be having this much sugar.”
Oliver giggled, putting a finger over his mouth in a hushing motion.
“So, we’re going to my apartment. The cats are gonna be so excited to see you, babydoll!” Auntie Kat said excitedly. “And then, we can have a little slumber party! I still have your sleeping bag from last time.”
Oliver remembered, it was the Disney princess one that made his dad look at him funny before buying it. Oliver asked if he hated it and dad insisted he could never hate anything he loved.
Owen had looked at it, looked at Oliver and shrugged, asking why he even needed a sleeping bag since he practically had his own room at Auntie Kat’s house.
Owen clearly didn’t understand the amazingness of sleepovers and how sleeping bags were an essential part of them.
Arriving at Auntie Kat’s apartment brought a familiar—but still fulfilling—feeling of awe. Her apartment was decorated so well and so differently from his dad’s and Owen’s. His dad had as little stuff as possible, and Owen loved a “simple modern style.”
Auntie Kat’s house was clustered and cultured. It felt like how a home was supposed to be.
Oliver went into the kitchen to find Auntie’s collection of glass figures. She said she was inspired to get them after watching some play.
Oliver giggled, picking up the unicorn and going to the living room.
“I’m going to make you a plate, babydoll. Watch whatever you want on Netflix that’s age-appropriate.”
Oliver nodded, reaching for the remote. Rocking back and forth happily, he looked for Sofia The First.
He heard Auntie Kat giggle watching her, but didn’t mind. He knew her laughter wasn’t mocking.
She sat down next to him with a plate of food, humming softly along to the theme song. “You know you’re definitely too old for this show, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
Auntie Kat laughed again—softer this tim—pulling Oliver close as they watched the show together. Oliver fell asleep resting his head on her shoulder.
The morning after was good. Aunt Kat was making pancakes with chocolate chips and bacon, and she was talking about what they could do before she had to drop him off at the end of the day.
“And then we can— Oh, sorry, babydoll, I got a call from your dad.”
She placed her spatula on the stove as she answered the phone.
“You’re on speaker, Captain My Captain.”
There was silence for a minute and Auntie Kat looked confused “Captain My Captain? Wha—”
“TK is in the hospital. Bring Oliver here. I’ll text you the location.”
Auntie Kat was quiet for a moment before taking the phone off speaker and putting it to her ear. “Owen, what the hell!?”
She stepped out of the kitchen, hushing whispers into the phone. Oliver felt his gut tighten into a knot. His dad was in the hospital? Then— What happened? Was he dead? Did dead people get sent to the hospital? Was he dying? Did he lose a limb?
Aunt Kat gave him his packed bag and told him to change his clothes while she called Owen back.
Oliver took the bag with shaking hands, trying to calm his thoughts. God. God above. Fuck. Fuck, what—!?
He blinked and suddenly found himself in the car driving to the hospital, gripping his bag close to his chest.
Aunt hadn’t put on music and her hair was in a messy ponytail about to fall out.
“He’s alive.” She told him. “He’s just in a coma.”
Oliver hummed, feeling nauseous as hell. He burped and rolled down the window, trying to swallow down whatever might come up.
He blinked again and found himself at the hospital by his dad’s bedside trying to hold back tears that burned her eyes. Auntie and Owen were talking in hushed voices outside, and Oliver couldn’t fucking take it. His head hurt and his arms were tired and sore, and he just couldn’t breathe.
He needed… He needed…
He looked at his dad on the bed. He was in a mini coma, according to Owen. A mini fucking coma. That was—
Oliver could laugh, if he didn’t think the moment he opened his mouth vomit would come out.
Instead, he gripped his fist tight and got up.
He opened the door. Auntie Kat looked at him. “What’s wrong, hun?”
He pointed to the bathroom across the hall and she nodded. “Go ahead. TK will still be here when you come back.”
Neither her nor Owen noted that he brought his bag with him into the bathroom. Of course they wouldn’t—he carried it around everywhere.
Hyperventilating he somehow managed to get into a stall kneel before the toilet seat and puke into its bowl. He felt sheer panic overtake him as he dry heaved. He should have been more worried. He should have cared more. He should have—
He puked again into the bowl feeling tears come down. He should have done a lot of things.
Flushing the toilet he huffed, cleaning off the seat.
He needed something. He needed… He needed a way out.
He fished for the shaving razor he kept in his bag—he thought it was “aesthetic” when he first started the bag , he was really fucking stupid and young—and shakily removed the blade.
It wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t hurt, he knew it wouldn’t hurt. He just needed an out, right now.
It wouldn’t hurt and he wouldn't die. It would feel good. Like an orgasm.
He would orgasm when the blade sliced across his skin in a bloody red path.
It would feel like heaven. Like being born again.
Pressing the blade against his wrist, he dragged. And it felt like heaven.