Chimney Swift
i am confusion
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MOOD: Panicked -> slightly less panicked
LOCATION: The Church -> The Dreyfuss Residence -
basics
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tags
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TL;DR Stu is crying, Oliver hates being touched, broken ribs hurt, end of. Oh also stealing.
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tl;dr
Oliver Dreyfuss
Quiet people have the loudest minds
For a brief two-minute reprieve, it felt as though things had calmed down. Oliver, keeping still so as not to irritate his splintered ribs, listened quietly to Stu and Ashley chirping back and forth at each other-- well, mostly Ashley to Stu. Oliver was pretty sure Stu didn't like Ashley very much. Ashley, unfazed, handed a kitkat bar to each boy. Oliver, who hadn't had any real food yet today, was incredibly grateful for the gesture. "Thanks, Ashley!" Oliver never smiled this often. Despite everything, despite whatever had happened yesterday and the injuries and confusion that still remained, maybe this was just going to be a really good day. Maybe he'd finally get to watch Star Wars with Stu and Vered before school tomorrow, like they were supposed to before Oliver got attacked and his friends disappeared, or whatever order those things happened in.
Just as Oliver was starting to have a full-on optimistic outlook on a day for the first time in his whole life, some girl he didn't know came crashing onto the scene, snatching the chocolate bars from their hands and clambering onto the counter, crowing about her encounter with Stu at some point during the time Oliver was unconscious. Something about the girl's mocking tone made him feel like covering his ears. As she gleefully recounted in gruesome detail the story of Stu publicly urinating on the beach last night, she bit down on the kitkat meant for Stu. She'd tossed one to Oliver, who simply held it in his hands, too confused and startled to move. She rinsed her hands off as she spoke,
Then she reached down from her perch on the counter, yanking the still-frozen Oliver closer to her. He shrieked, trying to shove her off, but she didn't flinch. Her position on the counter gave her some height and leverage, and Oliver's panicked and wounded state meant he wasn't in good condition to put up a fight. Wiping her hands dry on the front of his hoodie, she released him with a light and friendly pat on the shoulder.
Oliver hated being touched. It sent shivers down his spine, made his skin crawl, gave him an immediate burning need to run away as fast as possible.
In a blind moment of panic, he roughly slapped her hand away, stumbling back and nearly bumping into Stu, who had burst into tears and quickly ran off into the church.
Oliver couldn't run. Not in the state he was in. He had started hyperventilating, which quickly turned into ragged gasps of pain. He bent over, clutching at his chest, then excused himself from Ashley and Ian and pulled himself away.
Outside the kitchen in the main area of the church, it was mostly empty. The clamoring within muted to a low whisper as soon as the door had closed, leaving only the wide, echoing chamber of the temple. A large wooden cross loomed over the altar in a way that was sort of threatening if you weren't used to being in churches, and the long rows of pews gave the place an orderly and solemn atmosphere. It smelled of wood polish and there were no sounds anymore except his own feet dragging across the carpeted floor. His ribs burned worse than they had when he woke up in the hospital, leaving him at a loss for air... before he knew what was happening, his vision whited out and suddenly the sensations of the room were gone.
He woke up on the floor a few seconds later.
Shit. Oh no...
Sadly, this was not an uncommon occurrence for Oliver. If he pushed himself past the reasonable limits of his anxiety or pain tolerance, something that happened far too often, his blood would decide to give up for a second, his brain would panic, and he'd drop like a ragdoll. It was never for too long, not like when Ryan beat him into a coma yesterday, and usually if he didn't hit anything on the way down he'd just get back up again and pray no one saw.
This time, it didn't seem like anyone had, so he picked himself up, rubbing the side of his head with a wince. He reached an arm out to brace himself on the wall and wait for the blurriness to dissipate.
He spotted a small box bolted to the wall, labeled thank you for your donations in debossed black lettering.
People gave money to churches? Who knew.
Wait--
Oliver needed money for something, didn't he?
He had to pay back...
He and his friends had...
COLBY.
That was it. He remembered now. Colby, whose family owned the cafe that the small band of nerds had unexpectedly been backed into dine-and-dashing, had tracked them down with security footage and was demanding payback. Tatum, who'd apparently yelled at Oliver or something about the crab incident before he got the shit kicked out of him, had insisted she handle it as an apology, no strings attached, but Oliver didn't believe that for a second. He'd been burned before that way. People would say 'it's no big deal', then spit it back in his face as soon as they felt he'd gotten too comfortable. He wasn't falling for that again, so he had to acquire the funds himself.
This just so happened to be the perfect excuse. No one was around. No one would be coming out of the kitchen anytime soon, he wagered. The coast was clear, and besides... he was sure the church wouldn't miss a few dollars. It was a church. They didn't even have to pay rent or taxes.
The donation box was locked, but the lock was simple and looked weak. Oliver carried a bobby pin on him for moments like these. The small wire object was bent and rusty from months of use, but it had yet to fail him. Sliding the pin into the keyhole, he nudged the top of the mechanism until he heard a quiet click from the inside. He lifted the lid of the box, slipped a few bills out of it, and closed it just as he'd found it. The box didn't lock up again automatically, which might be a little suspicious next time someone went to collect its contents, but there would be no cause to point a finger at Oliver. This was a church. Churches didn't have dumb security cameras.
He left the building acting as calm as he ever did (which is to say, fidgeting anxiously and looking like he was on the verge of tears.) He didn't remember, in his foggy recollection of yesterday, just who it was that pastored the church.
If he had, he would have died on the spot from guilt.
But as it was, he simply walked himself back to his family's little apartment above the drugstore, hid away in his room, and hoped his mother was gone or too drunk to come and find him. At the very least, he'd have school tomorrow. As good an excuse as any to avoid his home for a day.
code by valen t.