by Xavier Neal
The series of questions has answers that almost ten years later after the turmoil and battle scars have stopped reigning in the forefront of my mind, are the epitome of bewilderment. After all this time, I'm just as clueless now about where Ryder should fall in my life now as I was years ago when I walked away from him one final time. Maybe we've weathered the storm. Maybe all this is putting us back on the same path or maybe...maybe I'll spend the rest of my life lost in logic and sabotaging my sanity with distant memories of unrealistic expectations.
Ryder
-“For the pain I caused you, I will never forgive myself.”-
“I don't wanna talk about it!” My voice reverberates around the room until it pushes my back against the wall. “Just...just fucking let it go.”
Doc denies the request. “No.”
Shaking my head profusely I snap, “I don't wanna go back there.” I don't want it spoken out loud. I've spent so much of my life replaying that one regret. It's enough it's carved in my consciousness, permanently incarcerating me in the cell of contrition every night in the shadows, but to let it free? To let it gallivant in circles while cackling at the opprobrious excuse my life has become as a direct correlation of those lurking horrors from the first moment I truly let drugs triumph over the only thing I thought in my life untouchable. No. I've discussed lots of shit here. I draw the line there.
“And that's why you need to.”
“No.” I demand, “Drop it.”
“Alright,” Doc says to my surprise. Skeptical, I stare. As I should've predicted, he stands to his feet. “This session is over.”
“You're serious?” His head tilts at the stupidity of my question. “You can't be serious. These are my sessions! I discuss what I want. What I deem fit for conversation.”
“If you truly believe that, then our time together has been pointless.”
My eyebrows wrinkle. Doc doesn't stop his actions. He moves the chair back to the table, tucks his clipboard under his arm and heads for the door.
“Just....just wait!” I shout with my arm extended at him.
Doc stops and folds his arms across his chest. “Talk.”
“But-”
“Last chance.”
With my fingers threaded through my hair I pull as I slide down to the ground. “I'll talk...”
“Start,” he reprimands still standing.
“Will you sit?”
He bluntly refuses to toss my mercy away. “No.”
Helpless, as the disdain for myself begins its forceful choke hold, I beg, “I need....I need you to sit.”
“Tell me what you did to her,” his voice is stiff and parental, commanding absolute submission for the crimes I have yet to be held accountable for in the light. “Tell me what happened when your drug habit overlapped with the very thing you were getting high to cope with losing.”
“It was...” the words drips down the back of my throat, the dismal nature of them so foul my stomach churns. “It was an out of body experience. I was so fucked up, I honestly don't know how I made it to her house that night....”
Getting out of my car, I slam the door closed, cigarette on my lips still burning. Damn it. I need to put this fucking thing out. She hates when I smoke. She hates when I'm high. Uppity little bitch hates a lot of things I really enjoy. I'm glad we won't be together for a few more months. Issac's pill hook up is way better than Thomas'. Those blue and white ones he calls 'Diamonds' are quickly wiping me out. But damn. They're so fucking worth it. Every pretty little penny. I toss the still burning thing into the street and jog up to her front door. With a heavy pound I impatiently rock on my feet. Fuck. I'm hungry. Wonder how pissed she'll be if I just suggest just ordering pizza or feeling her up on her parents couch instead. Maybe I'll take her back to her room. Strip her out of those useless clothes and show her why we shouldn't wait to bang like we have been. Fuck! What's taking her so long to open the goddamn door?
Suddenly it swings open and she smiles wide at me. “Ryder.”
I know I should be as thrilled to see her, excited to hear her say my name, but that's not how my mouth responds. “Who the hell were you expecting?”
“I-”
“Are you fucking someone else?” Paranoid I start looking over her shoulder. “He here? He fucking here?”
“Whoa,” she whispers out and touches my chest. “Relax baby. It's just us.”
“Good.” My body pushes past her. “I'm fucking starving. Can we get this shit on the road?”
After shutting the door behind me she sighs, “Yeah, just give me another minute. I need to grab my phone and purse.”
“Whatever.” I reply following behind her, my eyes scanning her living room for the little shit I doubt her parents would even notice was missing. Pawning some of this shit could get me big bucks. A nice order from The Candy Man. I wonder what her mother wouldn't miss. Ugh. If she's anything like her twinkle toes daughter she probably notices when an extra pump of goddamn toothpaste is missing. Leaning against the door frame of her room, I grunt, “Can you pay? I'm broke.”
“Again?” her voice half-heartedly questions.
“Sorry princess, but maintaining two girlfriends is pricey.” I try to keep myself from adding anything else, but fail. “Besides you're mommy and daddy can still afford to give you cash. Mine are a little tied up with divorce lawyers. So...just fucking deal with it.”
Presley leans against the edge of her bed. Her face looks concerned. I don't fucking care. I'm not getting divorced. “You wanna talk about it?”
“I wanna eat goddamn it!”
“Ryder, are you okay?”
“I just told you I was fucking hungry!”
Her mouth trembles. “Are you...are you high right now?” After a very small pause she pushes. “Did you...did you come to take me to dinner, high?”
“So what if I did?” A shrug escapes me as I approach her. “So what if I get high to numb the pain?”
In disbelief, Presley remains speechless.
“So what if I get a little fucked up and then do a little fucking?” My rambling starts to build rage inside. “I'm a fucking adult! I can do whatever the fuck I want! Deal with it bitch. It's the new me!”
A sadness creeps into her eyes as she whispers, “Get out. Get out of my house, Ryder.”
Grabbing her by her upper arms I squeeze tightly. “Or what? You're gonna call mommy and daddy and tell them how you've been seeing the guy you swore you'd never see again?”
“Let go,” she softly urges.
“You gonna call the cops? Tell them I'm trespassing?” Irrational anger builds further and I toss her backwards on her bed. “Fuck, if you're gonna do that might as well make it worth the call.” I take a couple steps back and knock her T.V. to the floor. The noise makes her jump. “Oops.”
“Stop,” Presley demands, the terror in her eyes oddly satisfying. “Just...stop.”
I kick around some more shit in her space before heading back into the living room where I start riffling through the entertainment center drawers. Her parents keep emergency cash around here somewhere. If I could just get a hold of it, it'll tide me over 'til I can get some more work or until one of my parents breaks and shells me some cash. I just need a few bucks to get by for a week.
Stepping on DVDs that I've knocked to the floor, I shout, “Where the fuck is the money, Presley!”
Her sobs should register as a reason to stop, but I can't. Something inside of my brain isn't connecting with that idea. “Ryder...please...”
“Once I get that cash.” Tipping over one of the side tables, I grunt at the remotes and IPOD that tumbles out. It could get me a few bucks, but nothing like that emergency cash stash. Fuck! Where is it? “Just tell me where it is!”
Unexpectedly, she tugs on the back of my shirt. “You need to leave!”
“Fuck you!” At that point my hand flies around, the intention to lightly push her off of me, but the force ends up flying her backwards. She slips on one of the DVDs on t
he floor and hits the back of her head on the coffee table.
Presley collapses to the floor.
Cautiously, I approach her still body, “B-b-b-baby...?”When she doesn't respond, I lower myself to my knees beside her. “Presley...Look Presley, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry...I-I-I don't know what's wrong with me. Just...Just get up, okay? I'll leave. I'll go.”
Nothing.
A new found terror creeps into my veins as tears appear in my eyes. Holy fucking shit. I've killed her....
“She wasn't dead.” I sniffle, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “But fuck I was scared.” Tears continue to seep out of me as the lifeless image of my soul mate, my other half, the only place I've ever called home, haunts me openly in the daylight for the first time in years. “I called 911, but bailed before they got there.”
“Why didn't you stop then?” Doc's voice is closer than I recall it being when I started. “Why was that not the catalyst to stop the destructive behavior?”
“I don't know...”
“You don't know? You almost killed her. You could've killed her. So you would steal and murder for your next fix? Where was the line, Ryder?”
“I didn't have one!” A scream comes out of me. “I didn't fucking have one! My entire life was falling apart and the only way I knew out of it was getting as high as I possibly could!” My face snaps up. “I ruined my favorite high!”
“Being in love.”
“I ruined it! I let it go and then chased it until I literally ran it into the ground while trying to feed the very thing that was supposed to just be momentarily holding it's place! I didn't have any self-control at that point over anything. I didn't even know who the fuck I was any more. It was a goddamn miracle I got out of bed every morning! There weren't lines! There was no hope! There was nothing!”
Very calmly Doc, who is in the chair he is always in, questions, “Did she press charges?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shake my head.
“Did you two continue with your relationship?”
“No.” A sob is pushed back down. My composure desperately tries to return. “I uh...she um...We didn't speak again until prom.”
“Did you try?”
“She changed her number.” Another sniffle comes. “Avoided me at extreme lengths. She started to become withdrawn from a lot of things, buried herself in stupid school activities that she knew I wouldn't step anywhere near. She did everything she could to build a bridge to stay away from me.”
“Did you blame her for that?”
“Not. For. One. Second.” Wiping away the tears off my face, I shake my head again. “I should've been in jail. That was twice she covered for me when I was high. And that was twice I hurt her. I know neither were intentional-”
“But both were avoidable.” The bitter veracity in his words burn. “Ryder, you hit bottom. And once you get there, you have to acknowledge that is where you are or you will in deed go lower. After you committed the other unthinkable act of hurting the original high you were just trying to pass time for, all other activities were meaningless. You convinced yourself, you had to be at the lowest point and anything you did after it couldn't possibly be as horrible as what you did to her.” After a moment he states, “This is your prison term. You have held yourself in here long enough. Accept that you made a mistake. Accept that it was your fault. Accept that when you walk out of the front doors of this building your past is behind you. Forgive yourself even if you don't believe she ever will.”
My face falls back to the ground where the white mockery of a treat is nestled between my legs. How can I be expected to forgive myself for something like that? It's committing the ultimate treason. Presley was more powerful than any addiction. More satisfying than any high. She was a piece of my soul I eradicated and I don't know if I'll ever be whole again without her. I'm not sure I want to be.
Presley
Theory 5: Love Makes You Protective
Monday's usually come too quickly for me, but not this time. In fact, this time, Monday took it's sweet time arriving. With Katherine doing a family dinner on Sunday, I spent the entire day drunk on nostalgia. I found myself so enamored with my past, I made various excuses to be left alone in solitude.
There's a knock on my office door. “Come in.”
Merrick's adorable face appears around it. “You sure you want me to come in?”
“Yeah?” I cautiously reply. “Why wouldn't I?”
“Because I knocked four times, before you answered.”
More romantic reveries must be clogging up my mental capacity. I have to get a better grasp of reality, even if it's not the one I pictured all those years ago. “Sorry.”
“It's cool, Boss Lady,” he assures approaching my desk. “I was just wondering if you got my proposal for the Spring Festival? I know I'm in charge of painting the booths, but I had a slightly different vision for the concert background.”
Realizing just how out of it, I am, I nod. “I will get those looked at before the end of the day.” Now baffled by his presence, I acknowledge, “Is that why you're here so early?”
“I popped by before class,” he says with a smirk. “My girlfriend had this thing she had to do, so I swung by early.”
“You should definitely bring her to the Spring Fling. I would love to meet her.”
“I will.”
Merrick attempts to continue to talk when there's another knock on my door. Welcoming more distractions to get me back on task and away from my wandering memory, I call, “Come in.”
Surprisingly Xander walks into my office. This is...this isn't good. In our entire relationship, the number of unexpected visits he's made are all accounted for on one hand. The first, he moved his sister in with us for two weeks while she waited to move to Rome. It was a nightmare. I slept in the office the last four nights in a hopeless attempt to stop the desire of smothering her in her sleep. The second, he volunteered for me to host Thanksgiving dinner for both of our families at our apartment. It was awkward and most of my food under cooked. Not a huge cook as it is and the added pressure did not help anything. If he's here in the middle of the day it means he's made another major decision without discussing it with me first.
Xander gives Merrick a glance. I find myself hoping a hint of jealousy will arise. Instead he questions, “Are you finished with her?”
Merrick nods and shoots me a wink. “See you later, Boss Lady.”
“Bye,” I call seconds before he shuts the door behind him. Mustering up a smile I sigh, “This is...a surprise.”
“I have news.”
Dread drags itself down my flesh. “Oh?”
“Dr. Swanson called. They can get me in Friday.”
“For what?”
“For my vasectomy.”
Completely blindsided I lift a hand. “What?!”
“My vasectomy,” he announces as if he were informing me that he just switched car insurance.
This. This is exactly one of the things I hate about him. While I was actively avoiding face to face moments with him, my mind did begin to rip him apart. From his looks, which are not something I've ever truly been attracted to. His thin, dark, Boy Scout haircut, to the way his day is completely routine based, down to the rotation of the color of socks he wears. Letting myself get lost in the romance of my youth has more than begun to rock the river of my present.
“I'm having one.” Xander adjusts himself in the chair. “You know I don't want kids. This will prevent that from occurring.”
Instantly I fiddle around in my desk for my emergency stash of mints. Keeping eye contact I question, “You made this decision without me? Shouldn't this be an 'us' topic?”
“Why?” The perplexity on his face is vexing. “Do I interfere with the choices you make about your body? Am I not pro-choice? Do I not believe a woman's body is hers to command?”
“You do but-”
“Then why would I feel any different about myself?”
I snatch the
peppermint and shove it in my mouth. As soon as the mint stings my tongue, my sizzling nerves begin to simmer. “This is a little different, isn't it?”
“How do you figure?”
“It would be like me abruptly stopping the pill-”
“Which I would support-”
“In order to get pregnant.”
“Which I would not. We used multiple methods to prevent that from happening, Presley. I do not want children.”
