CH. 13
POV: RYLAND
I absolutely cannot stop thinking about the kiss.
The weekend passes in a blur. I go for a run. I bury myself in homework. I go to the bank and sit with the attendant, planning out what paths I can go down. I bring flowers to my mom. I shuffle through Kroger with Archer so we don't fucking starve to death.
But underneath it all, there's a girl with green eyes and brown hair with blue tips kissing me under a tree, the setting sun in her hair and her hands cupping my face lightly.
Archer knows something's wrong, but as far as he's concerned, it's about my mom. I don't know how I'd even begin to explain what happened even if I wanted to tell him. Am I even allowed to say anything? I'd have to explain everything that went down at the hospital that led up to the kiss. If that got out, my dad would absolutely murder me. And it's her word against mine, anyway; she'd probably deny the kiss. Because she hates me.
But the thing is. The thing. Is.
Why would she kiss me if she hates me?
Is this something she's been thinking about? Does she have feelings for me? Why would she act like she hates me for so long if she likes me?
I don't think I'll be getting that answer anytime soon. She actively ignores me in school. By the way she darts down the hall in the opposite direction every time she sees me, you’d think I have the plague. She’s out of her seat the second the bell rings, around a corner before I’m even out of the classroom, her brown and blue hair whipping behind her like a banner.
By Thursday afternoon, I'm debating walking to her house and ripping her front door off its hinges, just to create a conversation. I am in no way above breaking and entering.
Eddie's had lunch with me every day since school started, and today's no different. He plops across from me now, banging his lunch tray on the table, his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a small ponytail. "Every Thursday, I hope the menu's changed," he says by way of greeting, "and every Thursday, the lunch gods disappoint me."
I continue chewing. “I’m not sure why you bother.”
Today, I’ve counted only 20 people staring at our lunch table. Which is a big improvement from the beginning of the year. I’m starting to feel like old news, and the relief makes my shoulders sag. Perhaps this town is ready to bury the past.
Eddie waves his hand in the air, dismissing my comment. I'm about to open my mouth and ask him something when I notice that he's propped his phone upright against his water bottle. Eddie taps his AirPods once, saying, "Hello once again, peoples. Edward J. Briggles coming to you live from the cafeteria, and let me tell you guys-"
"Eddie," I say, feeling a lot like someone about to dig their own grave, "what are you doing?"
He looks at me like I've just asked a very stupid question. "I'm live streaming."
"Is that a thing you do now? Is that something that's happening now?"
Eddie beams. "Would you like to say hello to everyone?"
He tilts his phone towards me. My face lights up the live stream, and instantly the comments start blowing up. Who's this guy? Where'd Eddie go? What's he eating? He's hot. Is he a YouTuber, too?
I look away from the comments and blink at the viewer count. "609 people are watching you eat lunch?"
Eddie brings the phone back towards himself. "Not usually, but today, yes." He picks up one of his fries, pointing it at me. "So. Want to tell me what's going on?"
"What?"
Eddie waves the fry at me. "Hello? Have you been conscious all week?" He pauses. "Don't answer that. It was rhetorical, since you clearly haven't been. You're, like, completely on edge, man. It's like waiting for a bomb to go off."
I freeze. "What are you talking about?"
Eddie leans forward, drinking from his water bottle and directing his gaze down towards his phone. "See, this is the problem with men these days, folks. They teach us to bottle everything up. Feelings are bad, they say! So, we keep everything to ourselves, and we slowly start going insane, and we ignore our best friend and don't tell them what's wrong when something is clearly wrong. And then, eventually, we just die of stress induced heart failure, leaving our best friend to carry out Taco Movie Nights by himself." Eddie narrows his eyes at me. "Or something like that."
I say nothing, half because of the hundreds of people watching and half because he's right about me bailing on him on Friday.
Eddie continues eating. "Self-care 101, folks. Times are rough. If you've got a problem, let the people around you know! I guarantee they care more than you think. So. Ryland. My friend of over a decade." His eyes lock on mine. "Are you good?"
I hold his stare.
He raises an eyebrow, and his mouth pops open like he's about to repeat the question. Then he directs his attention back to the live stream, squinting his eyes at his phone. "Yes, yes, he's single. But, just an FYI, he's a bit of a douchebag supreme and comes with a fuck-ton of emotional damage."
"Hey-" I start.
"You're going to the bonfire on Saturday, right?" Eddie asks, cutting me off with a grin.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "You want the honest answer to that?"
Eddie makes a strangled noise in his throat. "No way, man. You're not skipping. No way in Hell. We're going, and we're going to get shit-faced because it's Halloween night and that's what you do." He shoots a dazzling grin at his camara. "Right, guys? Who's getting shit-faced this Saturday?"
I open my eyes, glaring at him. "Eddie-"
Eddie waves his hand in the air again. "You have to come, Ry. Come on! Everyone's going to be there, man." Eddie picks his phone up, angling it at selfie level. "Anyways, folks, that's all from me right now. Got things to eat, people to talk do, work to be done. Hope you all have a great day!" He places his phone face down on the table and releases a breath.
My breath catches in my throat at his words. Everyone's going to be there.
Yeah. Everyone probably will be there.
"Come with me on Saturday, bro." Eddie's staring at me again, and there's something about the look in his eyes that makes me pause. That cool, lighthearted expression is still there, but there's a brimming panic underneath it. I recognize it instantly; I've seen that same expression in the mirror a hundred times. "It'll be fun, I promise. You've been...like a ghost lately."
I blink at him. Eddie looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his bottom lip instead, looking down at his food in defeat. I stare at him for a moment before releasing an uneasy breath.
"Alright. Fine."
Eddie's eyes light up, relief washing over his features. He hums happily as he goes back to his food, and a small part of me relaxes. The more powerful part of me continues its downward spiral into my self-loathing and loneliness.
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My father's standing in the kitchen when Archer and I walk in after school. Archer's backpack slips from his hand and he gasps, his voice two octaves higher than usual, "Father?"
He turns to face us, dressed in a crisp brown 3-piece suit. It's fucking annoying. "Hello, boys."
I glance at him, and then over at Archer. The look of pure shock on Archer's face confirms my suspicions about what he told me a few weeks ago: Archer had had the locks on the front door changed when I'd arrived over the summer. He told me Father hasn't been at the house since I left, and his mom hasn't stayed the night in about 15 months, so he'd wanted the place to be for us alone. No one could get in without one of us knowing.
My heart does a flip in my chest as the realization of that sinks in. He'd wanted me to feel completely, utterly safe here. But there’s no running from the man standing in front of us.
"How...did you get in?" Archer asks warily, stepping closer to me. I don't know if it's to protect me or himself, but I welcome the warmth.
"I own this town, Archer," he responds smoothly. "I can get past a few locks."
"Well, go back past them," I say sharply. "Get out."
My father's eyes flicker to me, and distain fills them. I sneer right back. With a curl of his lip, he says, "I have a few things to say to you first."
Archer flinches at the words, and I make a show of thinking it over. "That's quite the conundrum, since I have nothing to say to you."
Ignoring me, he walks between Archer and I, beginning his ascent up the stairs. Archer shoots me a panicked look, but I'm moving before he can speak. Gritting my teeth, I follow my father up the stairs..
He's stops in the doorway of my bedroom, his eyes sweeping across the space. I move past him into the room, sitting down in my desk chair. "Alright, we're alone. What do you want?"
He shuts the door behind him, and my heart thunders at the movement. "You've been ignoring my calls all week."
"My phone died."
He starts walking around the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Has Archer spoken to you at all?" he asks.
"We talk about a lot of things."
His eyes instantly flash with anger as they finally land on me, and it’s clear the playful facade he used in the hospital is gone now. He strides towards me, stopping with the toes of his dress shoes barely touching my feet. Leaning forward, he places his hands on the armrests on either side of me. It's an effort to not lean away from him, but I stay still.
"Don't get smart with me." His lips pull back in a feral grin as he says in a low voice, "But let me rephrase my question for clarity, my son. Has Archer talked to you at all about the young boy you murdered when you were 14?"
I flinch, the words "boy you murdered" like 3 separate slaps.
My father's grin widens at my reaction. "How about the young girl in the wheelchair? He must've asked about her, yeah?"
"No," I lie, forcing myself to remember how to breathe. "We haven't talked about it at all."
He nods but he doesn't lean away. "You'll continue to live here silently, and Archer will continue to live in ignorance. Keep it that way, and the two of us won't have any more problems." He pauses for a moment. “How’s Lorelei? Hospital treating her alright?”
I hold his stare, and he waits for me to respond. When I don't, he scoffs and leans back. I watch him leave, and once the door closes, I shut my eyes. It does nothing to keep the images at bay.
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Archer's hands are on my arm, his fingernails digging into my skin, his sobs echoing in the night. I'm aware of every movement, every sound, as I lean over the side of the building and peer down.
Down to the street 3 stories below.
Down to Austin Montgomery, whose body lay broken on the ground below.
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I grit my teeth, fighting against the memories. My father has no idea that Archer was there that night. That I practically begged him to help me that night. And that's a secret that I'll gladly take to the grave. If I can do this one thing for Archer, just this one thing to protect him from the hatred...
I shoot to my feet and make my way to the library on shaky legs. Sinking into the seat, I shove the piano lid back and stare at the keys. I lift my hands and stop when I realize they're shaking. I raise them higher, watching them tremble, and a shudder passes through me completely. There's a loud buzzing sound filling my ears, and my chest feels tight, and it's too hard to breathe in here. I suck in a breath and half-choke on it, bile rising in the back of my throat. The room is getting blurry, and my skin is getting tighter-
Suddenly, there's a hand wrapping around my wrist, and another working smooth circles along my back. I glance to my side and lock eyes with Kori, standing behind the piano bench. Those brilliant green eyes of hers are wide and full of alarm.
I slowly blink at her. She's gone.
I blink again. She's there.
Oh God. This is it. I've worked myself up so much that I'm hallucinating. This is a new low for me.
Slowly, Kori lowers herself down onto the bench next to me. She brings our hands down between us, and she continues rubbing my back. "Breathe," she says, and I startle at how real her voice sounds. "He's gone. You're alright now. Close your eyes, and just focus on your breathing.”
I do, and something churns in my lower stomach at her voice, her touch. She feels so real, so alive. When I release another breath, I feel the tightness in my chest loosening. I breathe deeply this time, and her scent hits me. She smells like apples and something else I can’t quite place.
Never. I've never let anyone see me during these moments, besides my mom. The moments when the room is too small, and my chest is too tight, and the vomit feels fresh in the back of my throat, and the pounding in my head might finally win out. The panic attacks have been happening for years, ever since I was a kid. The first time my dad saw me have an attack, he beat the shit out of me. It was the only time he ever laid a hand on me, but that was enough.
I learned to live with it, and for a long time my anxiety didn't control me. I haven't had an attack in years. Until last Friday, when the stress of everything finally caught up to me in that damn hospital and I couldn't take it anymore. I'd fully been expecting that attack, though not the company present.
But this one. This is just frustrating. A two second conversation with my father shouldn't trigger an attack, but it seems like anxiety isn't logical or reasonable. It doesn't need some cataclysmic event to turn my body against me. It's moments like this that make me realize that I haven't moved forward at all. It controls me all the same.
And now, she's seen me during one of those moments. Kori fucking Merrick, the last person I ever wanted to know, now knows. But she didn't balk from me, and she didn't leave me. In fact, if she hadn't completely distracted me after the hospital visit, I fully believe I would've had a stroke.
When I finally open my eyes, I'm alone in the library. Kori's gone, the warmth of her hands on mine slowly evaporating. I feel rejuvenated and empty all at once.
With a shake of my head, I shut the piano lid and stand.
Archer's in the kitchen, standing in front of the panini press we bought over the weekend, no doubt in the middle of making a sandwich. I open my mouth to tell him to make me one too, and then stop when I realize who's next to him.
Hannah and I lock eyes. "Ryland," she says, tilting her head.
Is there no peace? "You guys are a bit too into this English project," I say, leaning against the counter. Archer shoots me a pained glance.
Hannah rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I came because you haven't been returning my calls, and you've been ignoring me at school." She folds her arms across her chest, her bright green hair pulled back into a bun on the top of her head.
I drag my eyes away from that damn wheelchair of hers. "What calls?" I ask, leaning around Archer to grab a piece of ham and shove it into my mouth. He makes at face at me.
"Seriously, Ryland?" Hannah's tone makes me look at her again, and I immediately know something's wrong. She's staring at me hard now, her lips pressed into a thin line, and it makes me want to run in the opposite direction. "You know exactly what calls, and you've been ignoring them on purpose. You're so insufferable. You know you're not supposed to go see her by yourself, but you do it anyways. After everything that's happened, why do you insist on pissing people off? I thought you would've outgrown that."
I can only stare at her. Beside me, Archer's gone still.
"She's my mother, Hannah," I finally say through clenched teeth. This is not the time to be having this conversation. "It doesn't matter what deal we made with my father a million fucking years ago. No one's going to stop me from visiting her in the hospital. He can't control when I see her, and neither can you. If I'd known you were going to be on his side, I would never have-"
"She's my mother, too!" Hannah suddenly snaps, her eyes glinting with wild anger. "Not just yours, Ryland! And I wish you'd remember that every single thing you do has a consequence that affects both her and me."
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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Drama. Suprise.
School is rough right now. I'm a bit bombarded right now with the first exams coming up, so I'll see y'all in a few weeks. I feel like an asshole for taking a break again, but they say self-care is the most important care.
-Zuffy
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