after the storm | oliver&charlotte
Oliver Latour woke thinking about how much he wanted to wring his hands around Juliet's pretty little neck.
He didn't question how he was alive. He didn't think about how much his entire body hurt. All he did was imagine murdering Juliet he-didn't-even-know-her-fucking-last-name in cold blood. She had to have known what she was doing when she let Jackson run off like a bitch in heat to save him. Oliver didn't care that he easily would've done the same thing had the positions been reversed, but Jackson never would've been that idiotic to land himself in that situation in the first place. Then again, Jackson had decided to show. If it hadn't been him, would it have been his little brother?
Tonight, he could not think of Jackson as his alpha. He had betrayed him in a way only a brother could betray a brother and he felt sick to his stomach. The blonde, bloodied werewolf wondered for a moment of whether the nausea was from being a complete shit head or his multiple injuries. After he managed to sit up and vomit to the side of him, Oliver still did not have an answer. He looked around and found himself in an alleyway. He could hear the music pumping from where they had apparently tossed him before Juliet, Jackson, or Piper could get to him, if any of them would even bother caring about him anymore. He went to jump to his feet, thinking of the force that had taken his death away from him, and moved forward only stopped by the door opening, a bright eyed woman just as covered in blood as he was. He went to talk, but the strain of standing gave to his resistance and he fell back to the ground, eyes slammed shut in pain.
