The Other Side Of MeChapter 8 free porn video

Oliver wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands as if it would stop the tears from flowing. David always told him not to cry. Guys just didn't do that, and Oliver was no baby. But, what else could he do when he felt so lost? Nothing around him was as it was supposed to be, and as his dad literally dragged the twin bed that belonged to David out of his bedroom, Oliver wanted to do more than cry. He wanted to scream.

"Don't do that, Dad!" he called. "David won't like that! You'd better put his bed back!" But the mattress had already disappeared out the door. Oliver turned his attention to his mother, who was purposely avoiding his eyes as she filled a box with pictures that covered David's side of the room. Oliver went to her. "Mom? Mom? Why're you taking all of David's stuff? Mom, don't do that. Those are his pictures." Oliver reached for one, but Mary quickly put the box down to grasp his hands and give him a gentle smile.

"Oliver, why don't you go outside for a while, alright? Feed your chicken."

"But Mom--Mama, David's things..."

Mary's smile faded and she lowered her voice. "Now you've gotta stop this, Oliver. There is no David."

Oliver frowned. "No. No. David's my brother, Mom. I love him."

"He's not real, Oliver. Remember? We talked about this. Now you can't talk about him anymore."

"But..."

"You don't want anyone to take you away from us, do you?"

"No, Mama, but David..."

"And you want to see Frank again, don't you?"

Oliver paused, his face bunching up in distress. Nothing was right. For days now, nothing had been right. He wanted to see Frank, but Frank hadn't come to see him, and he didn't understand why his parents were saying that Frank didn't want him to go over there. "Can I see him?" Oliver asked. He'd been asking since Frank drove away without saying goodbye. He hoped the answer had changed.

"Well, that depends," Mary replied. "Oliver, I want you to try to understand that Frank isn't very happy with you right now. We've already talked about what will make him happy, haven't we?"

Oliver turned his eyes away from his mom's, shaking his head. "No," he said flatly.

Frustrated, Mary reached up, grabbed Oliver's chin, and forced him to look at her. "Frank doesn't want to hear about David. No one does."

Mary gasped when Oliver suddenly pushed her hand away. " "It's not nice to say things that aren't true, Mom!" he snapped. "Frank said David's not bad. He's my brother!"

"You don't have a brother!" Mary stated. She could feel her hands shaking, pressure building behind her eyes. Why couldn't Oliver just understand? And she hated the look on his face, the confusion, the hurt, the anger. Things had gone too far, and now Oliver had to suffer for it.

Mary suddenly reached for him, wanting to provide comfort, but Oliver lurched away from her, pulling his own messy hair. "Why? Why? Why?" he demanded, moving to the box full of David's pictures. "These are his! You can't take them away. He won't like it! You can't!"

Oliver finished, only to jump right along with Mary when they heard a crash in the doorway and turned to find Brian standing there over David's now shattered camera as he looked disapprovingly at Oliver.

"There is no more David in this house, son," he said before looking at his wife. "I need your help outside, Mary."

Mary frowned, but followed her husband, glancing back at Oliver only briefly before they left him to mourn over David's most cherished possession.

Frank was well aware of his mother standing at the attic stairs, frowning at him as he looked through one box after another, but that didn't stop him from pretending that he wasn't. Until she finally talked to him. It was always a bad idea to pretend not to hear her, because she'd figure out what he was doing and he wasn't likely to hear the end of it for days.

"What are you doing? I thought we decided that everything up here is stuff we can do without. What are you looking for?"

"A camera," Frank said flatly. "Any camera." Besides the disposable one, he thought. Anything else would be better. "How is it that we have, like, a billion family pictures and no camera?"

Jessica looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned on a light as she stepped further into the attic, illuminating the small room. Frank frowned. After all the boxes he'd hauled up here, he'd been completely unaware that this part of the house even had electricity, which is why he'd been relying on a pathetic amount of light coming from a sliver of a window. A dusty window.

"I think we have a few of them," Jessica said as she knelt down next to him to help look. "Have you checked the box that old stereo's in? The one with the brown speakers?"

Frank stood to do just that. "Nothing here," he said a few moments later. "Whatever happened to that polaroid?"

"We tossed that. It was a pain in the butt. What do you want a camera for, anyway?"

Frank shrugged. Now was a good time to be evasive. "Just thought I'd take pictures of a few things around here."

"Hmm... I don't know if I can find a camera... but come with me."

Frank watched curiously for a moment as she left the attic, and then followed her, turning off the light on his way out. In his mom's bedroom, he watched her reach up onto the shelf he'd installed there the week before, and a second later she was passing him a small black case that he hadn't seen in a while. Opening it, he didn't find a camera, but the video camera his parents had bought two years before.

Jessica shrugged. "It's better than nothing. But, you might want to charge it first."

Frank had to agree. "Thanks," he said as he turned to go. "This'll work."

"Hey," Jessica called, following him. "You're not going out now, are you?"

Frank looked at her. "Depends. Can I use the car?"

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Frank..."

"One way or another," he cut her off, "I'm not going to be around when he gets here. Oh, and if you let him stay here, could you let me know now so I can clean out the shed? I'll need somewhere else to sleep."

"You're not sleeping in that shed."

"So he's not staying here?" Frank asked.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to make an effort here, Frank," Jessica stated. "But for the record, no. I told your father that he'd have to make other arrangements."

"Good."

Jessica followed Frank out into the hall, and then cornered him in the living room. "You know, you're going to have to talk to him eventually," she said.

"No. Actually, I don't," Frank said confidently before walking around his mother to get to the front door. She still got there first, though.

"Honey, I understand that you're trying to protect yourself here, but is this really how you want it to be?"

"What I want, is for him to leave us alone," Frank informed her. "He didn't have a problem with it before. I don't see what's so different now. So can I use the car, please?"

Jessica sighed. "I'm sorry, but no. Your dad's supposed to call when he gets into town and your sister and I are going to go meet him. I wish you'd come."

"I already have plans," Frank said flatly.

"With Oliver?" Jessica asked, raising an eyebrow. She was well aware that for the last week, Frank hadn't seen Oliver once. In fact, he'd hardly left his room. She'd thought that the sudden dark mood her son had slipped into had a lot to do with his dad's visit, so she'd been hopeful when he actually gotten out of the bed and joined the rest of the family for breakfast that morning; but now she could see that nothing had changed, and she was beginning to suspect that Frank's problems had to do with more than just Sam coming into town. Unfortunately, when Frank didn't want to discuss something, it was frustratingly hard to get him to open up.

"No. I just... wanted to go do something in town. I don't want to be around here right now, okay?"

Jessica sighed. As much as she wanted to, she knew that it would be cruel to force Frank to stick around and visit with his dad. If anything, it would only make matters worse since he'd not only be furious with one parent, but two. He needed space, and Jessica was good at choosing her battles, which was why she was prepared to give it to him.

"Well... you could always ask Mr. Dron for a ride. I know he's going to head out in a little while for more paint. He might even give you a ride--even though you haven't lifted a finger to help him all morning."

Frank frowned. His mom was paying Mr. Dron twenty-five dollars--mostly because he wouldn't accept any more--to paint the trim on the outside of the house white in an attempt to brighten it up. Normally, it was something Frank would have done himself, or at least helped with, but two nights ago he'd accused his mother of trying to fix the place up for his dad's benefit. He was sticking to that theory, and wanted nothing to do with it, but that didn't stop him from plugging in the camera to charge for a while, and heading out the front door.

It was windy more than it was cold, and although the occasional cloud passed over the sun, it was a fairly bright day. Frank appreciated it, the sunlight they'd had over the last week. It tended to ease his disturbing nightmares when he woke up to it, and that had happened more often lately than he found acceptable.

The darkness. Frank hated it every night when he went to bed, though he refused to sleep with a nightlight. But every time he turned off his bedroom light, closed his eyes and submerged himself in darkness, he was back in the Martin house. Back in the basement. He'd become aware of how much the situation had shaken him the first night he'd spent in his room afterwards, and seven days later, it was becoming all too clear to Frank that his sudden fear of the dark wasn't going to be as easily conquered as it had been when he was five and his dad had scared the monsters away. And Frank had only been forced to endure his experience for a few hours.

Wondering if Oliver was okay, safe, and not in that horrible, dark place, had been a constant in Frank's mind since he'd driven away from the Martin house. The thought of Oliver alone in that room shook him, frightened him and angered him. But he hadn't been back to check. He hadn't woken up early, expecting to see Oliver, and he hadn't pondered going across the lake to knock on the Martins' door. In fact, Frank had done his very best to avoid even looking towards the red roof that Oliver Martin slept under.

It wasn't Oliver's fault. Frank might have thought he was angry with Oliver at first, but it hadn't taken him long to figure out that that wasn't the case at all. He couldn't be angry with Oliver. He didn't even know if Oliver had been intentionally hiding anything from him. Frank simply didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it, and every time he tried, he quickly came to the numbing conclusion that he didn't even know where to start.

He'd replayed what Brian Martin had told him a thousand times in his mind, each time attempting to recall every word until he no longer knew if he was remembering what really happened, or remembering something his own mind had fabricated. The one thing that had continued to come back to him with an abundant amount of clarity, was the look on Oliver's face. Oliver's face. Oliver was the one who'd befriended him when he'd been alone. He was the one who listened to Frank every time he talked about the things anyone with lesser patience wouldn't have been able to stand. They'd shared kisses, and the kind of looks that were only meant for each other. He'd done all of this with Oliver, but now it seemed that he'd done all of this with David, too. He knew Oliver, but not David. But if he didn't know David, then Frank had to wonder if he knew Oliver at all, and the entire concept confused and frustrated him. Oliver was David. The sweet kid with a happy smile and innocent demeanor was the arrogant, crude, prick. And Frank couldn't see it. He didn't understand how one could be the other when they were so different. But he believed it.

He'd never once seen them together. True, it wasn't necessarily solid proof that they were one and the same. But, when he thought about how close Oliver claimed to be to David, how much Oliver cared for him, it was rather difficult to believe that Oliver hadn't wanted David around more when they were together. And that smile--they had the same one. Even David in his less coarse moments had that smile.

Frank thought back to the time he'd gone to the Martins and found David there alone as he slowly walked around his house. When David had greeted him at the door, he'd thought it was Oliver, and perhaps, it had been. The boy's demeanor had changed only when Frank had specifically asked to talk to David... and then David had been there.

Perhaps he was putting too much thought into it. Maybe he just needed to keep doing what he'd been doing for the last week, and stay away. It wasn't as if he didn't have his own problems to deal with.

Frank could smell paint even before he saw the ladder leaning up against the house and looked up to see Mr. Dron slowly painting the trim around the attic window. He frowned at what he was actually considering. Being trapped in a car with Mr. Dron for any amount of time wasn't within Frank's comfort level, but at the moment, he was desperate.

It wasn't that Frank thought Mr. Dron was a bad guy. Mr. Dron just happened to remind him of every old, unapproachable cowboy from every western he'd ever seen with his weather-burned appearance and tired but sharp eyes. Perhaps those characters could be entertaining in a few movies, but up close, Frank found that men with large-rimmed hats, who never smiled or laughed about anything, didn't make for great company.

Frank approached the ladder slowly, feeling uncomfortable when Mr. Dron glanced down to acknowledge he was there, but didn't offer any greeting. Not even a simple nod. Frank wanted to walk away, but chose to hold the ladder instead, as if it were actually needed.

"Need some help?" Frank called up. He didn't want to help, either, but he figured that outright asking for a favor would be considered rude. Then again, the way that Mr. Dron glanced down at Frank as if it were a skunk at the bottom of his ladder, could have been considered rude, too. At least his response was civil enough.

"Just about to come down. I'll be heading out soon. I'm sure there's plenty more you can help your mom with around here, though."

Frank frowned at the accusing look that Mr. Dron shot him. The old man seemed to be under the impression that Frank didn't lift a finger to help his family. But, instead of becoming defensive, he put his pride in check and forced a smile as he looked over Mr. Dron's work. "You're not finished yet."

"I'll finish tomorrow. Gotta pick some stuff up."

"Are you going now?" Frank asked. "I mean, to get what you need?"

Mr. Dron stepped off the ladder, wiped his hands on his jeans, and openly frowned at Frank. "Might as well."

"Want some company?" Frank asked, only to have Mr. Dron step past him to clean up the opened paint can he'd left on the ground.

"Don't think so."

Frank stared at Mr. Dron's back for a long moment, and then stepped determinedly up behind him. "Well would you tolerate some company, then? I need a ride to town."

Mr. Dron looked over his shoulder, raising a bushy eyebrow beneath his large hat.

Frank let out a breath and added, "I'll pay for the gas."

Mr. Dron had about twelve cars in various conditions around his house, and since Frank had offered to pay for gas, he'd made sure to stop and get the only one with the empty tank on the way out to town. By the time he dropped Frank off in front of the movie theater, like he'd requested, Frank was feeling a little bit like an idiot and a lot perturbed with Mr. Dron for being an all-around jerk. But, at least he was away from his house.

He'd needed to get out. The biggest reason was because his stomach had been in knots all week over his father's visit. He didn't even know how to begin to deal with it, so he avoided it. Just like he was avoiding Oliver... or David. Or whoever he was. Oliver, Frank decided. It was simply easier to think of him as just plain Oliver. Who happened to share his body with someone named David.

He was avoiding them both, he figured. When he wasn't worrying over whether or not they were okay, Frank had to admit that doing his best to avoid them was currently one of the more important things in his life. And a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was afraid. He was afraid of what they were. He was afraid of how it worked, because he was afraid of the way it was so different from anyone's normal standards. He'd been afraid to leave his house during the day because there was the possibility that he could run into someone with Oliver's face, and not know how to respond to it. And he had no one to talk to about any of it.

His mom. She would have been a good choice, had he wanted to share these burdens with anyone, and Frank knew it. But he was afraid of that, too. He was afraid she'd be too good. If Frank told her about any of it, especially the part where Mrs. Martin locked him in a basement, his mom was likely to raise hell and drag the devil up by his toes. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to so badly that it was torture to keep it from her. He'd never felt so in-over-his-head before and he wanted to give it all away. Just let her take care of it. She would, he had no question about that. But he felt he couldn't. It would only make matters worse. He kept thinking about what Brian Martin said. They'd take Oliver, put him somewhere. Maybe somewhere worse than the dark. Frank couldn't live with that. And maybe, he told himself, the Martins were doing the best they could. He'd seen Mary Martin's eye, proof that David was dangerous. If they had to lock him up to keep the family safe, he wasn't so sure that he could condemn them for that. He just hated that Oliver had to share the experience with David. Because no matter the circumstances, Frank knew that Oliver wasn't David. Or rather, Oliver wasn't like him. He couldn't do anything that might hurt Oliver. He wouldn't. So for now, he'd keep their secret.

Getting away was a good thing, according to Frank. And, it wasn't as if he'd asked Mr. Dron to drop him off at the theater so he could spend his day watching movies and forgetting about his problems. Although, as he walked through town towards Karrigan's, he couldn't help feeling that that would have been the better idea. Unfortunately, Frank disliked loose ends when they involved creeps photographing his little sister. And currently, Frank had a rather large loose end.

It hadn't been David. It couldn't have been, not when Oliver had been in his room when the whole thing had happened. Not to mention, Oliver had been with him when he was attacked. And without David, Frank's list of suspects had dropped down to zero, which was actually more than it was less. Now, everyone was a suspect. He didn't have a clue.

But, he wasn't willing to forget about it. Armed with a video camera, he was following the only lead he had, hoping that he wasn't too late. It was eleven fifteen. The week before, Jenny Woodmoore had told Frank to meet her at eleven o'clock, when the photography club planned to get together. Frank had no idea if these meetings occurred every week at the same time, or even on the same day for that matter, but he was willing to find out. If anything, the trip would occupy his time with some much needed distraction.

Karrigan's was less empty this time around. Frank had walked in during a small lunch rush. It was unexpected, but welcome. There seemed to be less of a chance of being noticed in a crowd, and he found that's exactly what he wanted when his attention was drawn to a noisy corner full of other people his age.

There were six of them, sharing two plates of greasy fries. He recognized Jenny right off. This time, her jeans skirt and faded blouse suggested that she wasn't working, and he was pleased to see a camera in her hand and a few others over the table. He was quick to take in the others: two girls, including Jenny, who he paid little attention to. A guy with dark, shaggy hair in the corner seat was too big to be suspected of being at Rudy's window. He was beyond tall, and rather big-boned. Frank decided that there was no way he would have been able to tackle him. Another with curls and bushy eyebrows was too thin, and at least a foot shorter than Frank.

That left two. Frank's eyes were first drawn to the mullet-topped guy with dark hair and artificial red streaks. He was toying with a camera, looking irritated over the chatter going on around him, which made Frank wonder why he didn't just leave the table. Frank also wondered if it was possible that he was staring at the guy who'd left him with a split lip a few weeks ago. But, speculation wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he forced himself to look over the last guy at the table, who seemed to be all over Jenny Woodmoore.

When Frank was in kindergarten, he'd been invited to his friend Eric's birthday party. For a final surprise gift, his parents had presented him with a German shepherd puppy. Everyone had wanted to take their chance to say hello to the little creature with cute, uncut floppy ears and enough kisses for an army of giggling school children. But, from the moment his parents had placed that puppy in Eric's lap, he'd had his arms around it, and his possession of his gift seemed borderline greedy as he refused to let anyone else get in a good scratch behind the ears. Frank was reminded of the experience as he looked over at Jenny and the guy who couldn't have been anyone other than her boyfriend.

He was subtle, but the this-is-mine attitude seemed to be written all over him. It was as if he always had to be touching her, tucking her hair behind her ear whenever she looked at him, holding her hand atop the table when anyone else was looking. Even when he reached for his drink his free hand would be under the table, touching her knee.

Body language told a lot, Frank thought. It was something he was paying more attention to lately. Or, at least reflecting on. Like with Oliver. When he was with Oliver, there was comfort, nudges, mild looks and smiles. Every time he'd been near David, there had been a wall up. Tension, anger, and suspicion. The same face, but two different beings.

Frank momentarily closed his eyes. It was too much. All of it was too much. He missed Oliver. But, maybe Oliver, or the guy he thought Oliver was, didn't exist. Never existed.

Frank felt like he couldn't breathe, but as he opened his eyes, he was startled into sucking in a deep breath. Oops, he thought, realizing that Jenny's boyfriend was looking right at him. With the way that Frank's luck had been going lately, he wouldn't have been surprised if the guy assumed that he was looking at Jenny and now wanted to express how much he didn't like that. But fortunately for Frank, Jenny spotted him next, smiled, and went to greet him. The boyfriend was on her heels the whole way, but at least his expression seemed relaxed and approachable as they reached Frank together.

"Hey there," Jenny said, eyeing his bag. "Did'ya find your camera?"

"Not exactly," Frank replied, opening the black case to show her the camera. "But, there's probably no harm in using this for a while."

"Nice!" This came from Jenny's boyfriend, who surprised Frank by practically snatching the video camera out of his hands to inspect it before walking back towards the table, already pushing at the buttons.

Jenny rolled her eyes as she watched the blond go, and then flashed Frank an apologetic look. He just shrugged.

"That's Jay," she explained. "He'll give it back in one piece, I promise."

Frank smiled. "That's okay."

"You didn't show last week. Wasn't sure I'd see you here today."

"I didn't even know if you'd be here today," Frank admitted. "I figured I might as well find out, though. Um, sorry about last week. I got kinda busy."

"That's fine," Jenny insisted, nodding him towards her table. "Come on, I'll introduce you."

Frank followed, and wasn't surprised when Jenny formally introduced him to Jay, first. He seemed nice enough. A lot nicer than what Frank's first impression had led him to believe, even if Jay didn't seem interested in returning Frank's camera any time soon. Frank couldn't have cared less as he put his attention into meeting everyone else at the table.

This one girl apart from Jenny was chatty, and seemed a little overeager when she asked Frank to sit next to her; the tall guy was eager to express how friendly their town was; and the short one wanted to know if Frank had an album at home so they could see his work. Frank conveniently lost that in the move, too.

Overall, he was encouraged by how quickly these people seemed to accept him. All except for one. When Jenny finally introduced him to the red-streaked mullet head, Frank was quick to forget about everyone else at the table.

"And this is Jeremy," Jenny said. "He takes mostly black and whites. Seems to think he has enough color in his hair."

Frank looked across the table, ready to greet Jeremy as he had everyone else, but seemed to lose all track of what he was doing as Jeremy offered him one cold glance to acknowledge he was there, and then dismissed him by going back to his camera.

Jenny was still talking, but Frank had no idea what she was saying as he stared at Jeremy a little longer. Something was familiar. Frank had a bad feeling about the guy, but couldn't quite place it for several long moments before something clicked. The name. Jeremy... Jeremy. Jeremy Flaskis. Oliver had mentioned a Jeremy, and Frank was quick to suspect that Oliver's Jeremy and this one were one and the same. The guy definitely seemed intimidating, and Frank could just picture him threatening Oliver if he didn't like him. Although, now that Frank thought about it, there might have been more of a reason than that. Like, maybe Jeremy's dog really was threatened. But, when Oliver had sworn that he didn't do it, perhaps that wasn't the complete truth. Maybe it was David. It would make sense. If David was capable of attacking his mother, he was capable of tormenting an animal.

Frank remembered the image of the dead cat, floating in the lake. He had a sick feeling that David had had something to do with that, too, and swallowed down an uncomfortable thickness in his throat before forcing himself to shake off the memory and focus.

Jeremy Flaskis... he'd seen David tormenting his animal... perhaps David had run off. Later, he saw Oliver and threatened him, not knowing the difference. And why would he notice? They shared the same body, after all.

Frank narrowed his eyes at Jeremy before he realized he was doing it, and unfortunately, it was just in time for Jeremy to notice.

"What?" the other boy demanded, drawing the rest of the table's attention to Frank.

For a moment, Frank wanted to respond. A protective urge had him close to daring to tell Jeremy Flaskis what he thought of him; what he thought of someone who'd wish harm on someone like Oliver, even if it was warranted to a point. Right then and there, he was fully tempted to ask Jeremy Flaskis why he was looking through the windows of his house as he remembered something David had said. Did it ever occur to you that whoever was looking in your windows wasn't looking to take a picture of anyone in your family? Jeremy Flaskis was looking for Oliver... or David. But why? Frank wondered. Did he suspect that something was wrong with them--him? Did he know the truth? Oliver's secret? If he did, that made him dangerous, Frank decided. Maybe he wanted to prove it. Maybe he wanted to prove that Oliver--David--was dangerous. Maybe he wanted him gone. Frank would have loved to know, but quickly decided that this wasn't the time. David had told him to look deeper. Frank hadn't known what that meant at the time, but maybe Jeremy Flaskis was a good place to start. Maybe that's what David wanted. He wanted Frank's help to protect himself... and Oliver.

And not knowing if that was exactly what he wanted to do, Frank knew he would anyway as he forced a friendly smile in Jeremy's direction.

"I like your hair," he lied. "Any idea where I can get that done?"

Instead of responding, Jeremy rolled his eyes, and once again went back to his camera, leaving everyone at the table in an awkward silence until Jenny released a nervous laugh and looked at Frank. "Why on earth would you want to do that?" she asked, surprising him by ruffling his hair. "I love this color."

"Frank's lip quirked in amusement, but it wasn't what he was feeling as he looked to Jay for his reaction to his girlfriend's antics. But again, Jay seemed relaxed, friendly. He also seemed very efficient when it came to a much-needed subject change.

"Alright," Jay said, taking Jenny's hand. "You losers ready to get out of here?" He paused and looked at Frank, finally handing back the video camera. "Come on, Frank. This'll be fun."