by Amo Jones
My body trembled as I began to mourn the loss of myself. I had lost myself to Ryker Oakley and a band of bullies. Thoughts came crashing into me, every comment I had seen on MySpace, every snarl, every laugh, and finally, the words Ryker spat at me that night a week ago, and I pressed the razor against my wrist and pushed down. The icy feeling of the opening wound brought me relief and solace in my world of pain. My eyes closed as the first trickle from the wound ran down my arm.
Slipknot’s “Wait and Bleed” was screaming through my ears as I tapped my finger to the tune and counted the dots on my roof. The blankets still smelled of Bryleigh, which both annoyed and pleased me. I brought my phone up to my face, opening MySpace. My heart tore open a little more as I scrolled through all the posts that were on “Bryleigh Monroe is a Crazy Ho.” I did spread one of the rumors—her being a crazy bitch, yet not the virgin one—but I didn’t start the page. I woke up yesterday morning to a friend request from it. Clicking accept, I kept up my appearances and left a few measly comments here and there. I didn’t mean any of it though, and like Bryleigh would give a shit about what people on the internet were saying about her.
My door burst open before Tommy was launching himself onto me, his grip tight around my throat. I ripped my headphones out of my ears and brought one hand up to his throat, with my other on his forearm.
“What the fuck, man?” I grunted, eventually shoving him off me.
“You fucking idiot, Ryker. You’re a fucking idiot!” he roared, standing from his spot. “I got that you wanted to push her away. Really, I did, but going this far?” He threw his phone down at me with the MySpace page open. “This is low—even for you.”
I threw his phone back at him, standing from my bed. “Why the fuck has this got anything to do with you?”
“Because I saw her today, Ryker. Her eyes were so red she looked like she had been socked in the face twice. Her cheeks were swollen under her eyes from all the tears, and she looked so fucking lost. She was running out of school when I tried to talk to her, but she freaked out and told me to stay away. You fucked up.”
I swallowed down my guilt, dropping back onto my bed. “It had to be done.”
“What? You couldn’t just dump her?”
“No,” I said, a hiss escaping my mouth. “Besides the fact I was fucking pissed off at her for not coming and asking me about Sophie, when instead she went and jumped into the first fucking arms she could find, I’m fucking pissed at her about something else too. And yeah, maybe I have taken it too far, but she lost her way a long time ago, Tommy. And I’m fucking reckless when it comes to her. I’ll ruin any chance we all have with this band if she’s around.”
“Because you led the way, Ryker. She was only following your lead.”
“Was my lead going into the bathroom to snort some coke?”
He stilled, running his hands over his hair before putting his cap back on. “So what, bro? We’ve all fucking done it. Hell, Ryder has even done it.”
I shook my head. “You’re missing the point, Tommy. She would have never done that shit before she met me. I’m bad for her, and the only way I could get her to really get the hell out of my life, without having to have the sucky fucking conversation, was to just hurt her. Then at least I don’t have to see her face break in front of me.”
“You’re right, Ryker. You didn’t have to see her face break. I did.” My door burst open again, this time with Becca launching herself at me. I stood from the bed and gripped onto her wrists as Leo came bolting in behind her.
“Becca!” he yelled, peeling her little body off me as I dodged every hit she swung my way.
“Fuck you, Ryker. She almost fucking killed herself! That what you wanted? Huh? To bully someone so bad they wanted to off themselves? Because that’s how her parents found her. In a puddle of her own blood from the gash down her wrist! All while holding her damn phone that was open on the MySpace page your fucking army of whores created.”
My heart stopped and my blood turned ice-cold before my legs gave way and I dropped down to the bed again.
Bringing my hands up to my head, I whispered to myself, “No way. There’s no way she would let it get to her that bad.”
“You’re wrong, Ryker. Indie came home in hysterics, pulling me out of bed to get to the hospital. Her parents have her on a strict regime. The doctors stitched her wrist up, but she’s had to have a blood transfusion, because she lost that much blood. No one is allowed to see her. Not even Indie.”
“Fuck,” I cursed, swallowing down the lump that was lodged in my throat. “I need to see her.” I stood from the bed, but Becca stepped in front of me, her hand flying up to my chest.
“You will sit the fuck down and stay the fuck away from her. You did this. This is what you wanted, and now you can live with it,” she sneered, before walking back out the door. Leo looked at me briefly before following her out.
Tommy stopped beside me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She’s right. You can live with this, Ryker,” he whispered, before he walked out the door, following behind them. On his way out, Ryder came through my door, watching Tommy closely before walking in and shutting the door.
“Sit,” he said. My body dropped onto the floor at the end of the bed as the first tear escaped.
“I fucked up, Ry.” I rubbed the tear off my cheek and looked up to my brother, who dropped himself down beside me, drawing his knees up.
“Yeah, you did. She can only get better from here.”
“I think I loved her,” I whispered, as another tear fell and I scrubbed it away again. I never cried. I couldn’t even remember the last time I shed a tear. It must’ve been when I was little. Ryder nodded his head, leaning it back into the bed. “Yeah, I think you did too.”
Two years later
I stood in front of my childhood mirror, scanning over my outfit.
Black.
The dark pencil skirt hugged my legs like latex, and I matched it with a loose, frilly black blouse. Swiping a fallen tear off my cheek with my thumb, my door swung open and my mom walked in.
“Are you okay?” she asked, taking a seat on my bed and curling her perfectly manicured hands onto her knees.
“No. But I will be.”
Today is Becca’s funeral.
After being discharged from the hospital a couple years ago, my parents moved quickly in setting me up a place to live with my Aunt Trish in Croatia. She had been amazing.
When I arrived there, my emotions were all over the place. I wanted to run far, but at the same time, I was homesick. It took me a good month to settle into my aunt’s routine, which ran on the basic foundation of two things: One, curfew at twelve, and two, keep my grades above a C-minus. I did both things. I spent the last two years finding the girl I lost touch with.
I glanced around my childhood room, all the memories still raw but buried under my healing. The bathroom sat there, a bright reminder of how low I had dropped. I didn’t hate Ryker. I did—God, did I hate him—but I found, in time, that that hate would do nothing healthy to my healing. My aunt was a ‘healer.’ She practiced yoga every morning, and every Sunday, we would travel to Petrova Gora, where we would practice yoga under the old monument. It was formally known as Monument to the Uprising of the People of Kordon and Banija, but simply known as Petrova Gora Monument. Though, my aunt liked to use the full name.
Why she liked to practice yoga there, I don’t know. The monument was a symbol of suffering and heroic struggle. It was built on the highest peak of Petrova Gora, where over three hundred Serb’s died attacking the Ustase, armed with nothing but pitchforks. Nevertheless, Aunt Trish insisted we practice there every Sunday. She said it would help us keep our feet grounded, because we lived in a world where freedom was taken for granted. She also said it was good juju to perform yoga on such sacred ground.
I begged to differ. It changed me though. I now don’t have the burning hatred I had feeding into me through an IV line for Ryker. I’m at peace with him. Not so
much with some of the decisions that I had made, but at least I didn’t live under the dark cloud he formed over me all those years ago.
I pressed my skirt down, making sure there wasn’t a single glimpse of a wrinkle, before taking a seat with my mom on the bed. I looked around and smiled. I still had all the System of a Down pictures hanging on my walls, and my bed still sat in the center of the room. My parents had left everything as it was.
“Ryker will be there, you know,” Mom whispered.
I clutched her hand into mine. “I know. But it’s okay. I’m at peace with that now, Mom. He can’t touch me.”
“Your father still wants his head, I’ll have you know. But their relationship has gotten better. He says Ryker has called him a couple times since moving to Hollywood.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Even with me tucked away in Croatia, I still heard about the boys making it big. They’d actually had a huge fan base there. I had seen his face flying around everywhere, so I knew that if I ran the chance of seeing him today, I wouldn’t care. It was about Becca. I’d kept in contact with her over the years, more Indie than her, but she was still a big part of my life. My chest tightened as I replayed the phone call I got from Indie on Tuesday night.
“Becca—she’s… she’s dead, Bry. I found her in her room with drugs lined out everywhere. They said she died from an overdose.” Her sobs had racked my body through the phone as my legs gave way. I booked the first ticket home after that, with my aunt joining me. She’s more like a big sister than an aunt though.
“I’ll be fine, Mama. He can’t hurt me again.”
We both stood from my bed as she pulled me in for a hug. “I love you, bebe.” I smiled at my mom’s nickname. She hadn’t used that for a long time, probably before I went off the rails.
“I love you too.”
She walked out the door and I took one more glance around my room, smiling at the good memories that were held in here. When my eyes dropped to under my bed, my smile dropped with them before I checked outside the door to make sure my mom had gone. Walking back into my room, I closed the door behind myself, hurrying back to my bed and dropping to my knees. I reached under and dragged the shoebox out from underneath.
Placing my hand over the box, I traced the lettering that I had put on with glue and glitter. I was a nerd, obviously. It had ‘Don’t cry’ in calligraphy, with glitter sprinkled over the glue for it to set. With a deep breath and a rough swallow, I popped open the box. Picking up the mass of photos that were inside, my chest heaved and a sad pull crept up my throat.
Most of the photos were of me and Ryker, but there were some of me with all the boys. Tommy flipping me over his shoulder and Ryker glaring at him from behind. I laughed, bringing my hand up to my mouth. Ryder must have taken that one. The next photo was of Becca and me wrapped around each other on Ryker’s sofa in his garage as the boys played on their instruments. An overwhelming feeling of loss and grief came over me, and a sob escaped my mouth, tears falling freely down my face.
This was my childhood; these were my friends I loved, even Ryker. I wouldn’t change it for anything, because when it was good, it was great. But now, Becca was gone and I would never see her again. Her voice echoed through my head, her very sound advice, I might add: “Go out, drink lots, fuck hard, and just hope like hell that when you die, you go out screaming with a tattooed hand gripped around your throat while being pounded from behind.” Her smile radiated through my thoughts and I laughed, placing the photos back into the box and tucking it under my arm.
“I plan to do just that, you crazy girl,” I mumbled out to the nothingness that filled my bedroom. I rested in the fact that I knew she would be watching over me forever.
I knew that coming to this funeral was risking seeing Bryleigh, though I hoped I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to face her. Yup, that’s right; I’d tucked my tail between my legs, and I didn’t give a fuck how much of a pussy that made me look. When she had left, I didn’t chase her. I took everyone’s advice and let her go, sleeping every night with the memories of her embedded into my brain and knowing I had contributed to her almost killing herself.
I reached out to Victor a couple times, because after everything, I really wanted him and me to be okay. Which we weren’t, but we were working on it. More him than me, he is the one who had to do all the forgiving after all, not me.
The funeral went smoothly though. I didn’t see Bryleigh at all, and it wasn’t from lack of trying. I did look out for her here and there, but there was a massive amount of people, and the boys and I attended only a couple of the days, the burial and the wake. Leo was there the whole time. We were mainly worried about him, and Ryder had lost touch with all of us a bit too. Our band was falling apart right in the very moment we were really kicking off.
I sunk into the plush white seat that was on board our jet, with Tommy sitting opposite me as we flew back to LA. Ryder had done a runner, and Leo had stayed behind in San Diego. There was no way he was anywhere near ready to pull himself back together. I rested my eyes on the distant lights as the jet ascended higher and higher into the sky, where darkness fell around us.
“Didn’t see Bryleigh,” Tommy said, watching me closely.
I shrugged. “Probably a good thing.”
“Wonder what she looks like now.”
My body stilled as I narrowed my eyes on him. “Little insensitive, don’t you think?” I prompted, tilting my head, ready to clip him in the chin if I had to.
His eyes widened. “The fuck? I didn’t mean it like that. I see your psycho is still very much alive where little Miss Monroe is concerned.”
I rested my eyes, my shoulders slacking. “I can’t imagine the day that will die.”
PRESENT
I walked up to the bar with Bryleigh on my mind. Leo mumbled, “Oh shit,” as he pushed himself up from the table, running toward me. He gripped his hands around my arm, halting my walk.
“What?” I looked to him with innocence. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doing. Nothing. Leave her alone.”
“Who’s she with?” I asked, taking my eyes back to where they were sitting on the bar stools, the asshole still with his arm draped over her.
“Her fiancé, Ryker,” Leo replied softly.
“What?” I scoffed, eyeing their body language. There was nothing loving about the way they were together. It was awkward and impersonal. I could see from here that she wasn’t in love with him. I remembered what she was like with me. That’s how she should be with someone. Not uptight and rigid.
I looked to Tommy and smiled. “I just want to talk to her.”
“Ry—”
Leaving Tommy and walking toward the bar, I shuffled through bodies before looking over to Ryder, who was sitting at one of the tables with Phoebe on his lap. Phoebe was now his wife. She had been fair game, and I was pretty sure that if I had pursued her more, I could’ve had her—when she wasn’t trying to run me over… But she deserved more than what I could give, which would’ve only been my dick. I don’t fuck with love, because eventually, love fucks us all. Of course, that was until I found myself actually giving a shit about her, but now she’s like the sister I never had. A complete pain in my ass, but the piece that was missing in our family.
When I reached the bar, the man that was sitting next to her looked over his shoulder at me, bringing his beer up to his mouth with a smirk. “Can I help you?”
“You? Nah, man, cock ain’t my thing. I can point you in the righ—”
“Ryker!” Bryleigh growled from her seat, her back still facing me. My thoughts halted, my mouth snapping shut.
“I need air.” She pushed off the barstool and began walking toward the beach that was only a few steps ahead of us.
“Princess, we’re outside. There’s more than enough air!” I called out with a chuckle. She flipped me the bird over her shoulder while carrying on her walk, and I laughed to myself. Bringing my eyes back to the man i
n front of me, I cocked my head.
“What’s your game?” I asked, my jaw flexing.
“Pardon? I don’t have a game, son,” he replied with another smirk, the lines around his lips making my lip quirk in a snarl.
“How fucking old are you anyway?” My eyes narrowed, and I felt a hand wrap around my arm.
He downed his drink, dropping it to the wooden bar that was set up in the backyard. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m forty-one, Bryleigh likes them a bit older these days,” he answered with raised brows.
I laughed, my tongue sliding over my bottom lip. “Oh, she’s always liked them a bit older.” I looked toward Tommy, who was watching our exchange closely with his hand still around my arm. “I should know.” I looked back to the old man. “I taught her.” The smirk that came onto my face could only be described as one of triumph. He smiled, attempting to look unaffected, but the twitch of his eye proved I hit where intended. Looking toward one of the tables in the back, he stepped up to me, his face so close to mine that it caused visions of me cracking my head into his nose to play in my mind.
“Here’s the thing, Ryker. Bryleigh is mine now. Has been for the past four years. She and I have a life together and a wedding to plan. You will stay away from her, and more importantly, she will stay away from you.” His eyes bored into mine and my fists clenched beside me.
“Or what?”
“Ryker,” Tommy growled beside me, bringing his face up to my ear. “She’s getting married, bro.”
