by Daya Daniels
“Oh. And the guy you assaulted?”
“I guess if you’d stuck around earlier today you’d have heard me talk all about him. It was nothing of interest. Doctor Azad asked all the standard questions and provided me with his usual comments, nothing new.” He smiles.
“And that guy…you beat him up?”
“Nah, just smacked him around a bit, lightly. He’s still alive.”
Unfortunately.
I choke down a laugh. “So, now that you’re older, you’re on your own now?”
“Nope, I live with my mother now.”
I give him a perplexed look.
“It’s a long story.”
I bite my lip.
He does the same. “It’s nice to see new faces around here though.”
In rehab?
“How many times have you been here?”
He yawns, stretching. “I don’t know ten, maybe twelve. I stopped counting when Doctor Azad told me they kept my room here unoccupied.” He nudges his chin in the direction of the east wing of the building and its brick façade. “It’s over there, away from everyone so I can have some peace and quiet while I’m here.”
“That’s nice of them,” I say, thinking about my tiny cell in the south wing that’s so small I can barely turn around in it. At least it has a window so that in the mornings when the August sun wakes up, its light shines down into my room. The birdsong and the soft breeze that blows outside allows me to start the day on the chipper side of things. It all beats waking up to Giovanni’s screaming when I haven’t done the dishes. Or I’ve left the living room a mess of old bottles, cigarettes, and cocaine-covered carpet.
It’s peaceful here.
I’ll give Spero at least that much. They know how to make a druggie feel right at home.
“You like this place, huh?” He smirks.
“Yeah, yeah, I do.”
“It changes you just a little. It becomes your home away from home. But, the thing is when you go back out into the cruel world, you forget all about it and everything they taught you like how to count to ten before you decide to crush someone’s face in or how to close your eyes and think of your favorite place—the one where you’d rather be—right before you’re about to give into temptation again. You forget all that shit when you’re out in the real world.” He peels away the loose wood on the table. “It’s fucked up, man, when you can’t survive out there, alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah, alone.” He peers at me with an unreadable expression, as if my question just annoyed the piss out of him. “Alone. You’re alone, Griffon, and so am I. Even though we’re sitting here together right now talking, when you leave here tonight and go back to your bed, you’ll be alone. We’re all alone in this world regardless of how many people we surround ourselves with. Only you must be able to live with you.” He tosses his hair away from his mesmerizing eyes. “I love being alone. I don’t need anyone. People will only complicate your life and I do a damn fine job of complicating my own without needing anyone else’s help to do that.” He chuckles for a while. It grows high-pitched until his entire chest is shaking with the action.
I laugh a bit too though unsure of why I am.
Then, I catch his smile—all wide, white, and beaming under the light of the moon.
He’s handsome.
And he’s got me talking about things I shouldn’t be…
His laughter eases just when he shifts position and leans across the table, dusting me with a gaze that feels as though it sucks all the air from me. “Your drawings are pretty good.”
“Thanks.”
He waits for me to say more.
“It’s just doodling, nothing serious, something I do when I’m bored or feeling, as Doctor Azad says it ‘anxious.’”
“Uh huh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, they’re really cool. You should think about making them bigger, put them in an art show or something.”
I laugh to myself, finding the idea of that extremely absurd. “No, I think they’re just fine in my book.”
“What’s the point of making art, Griffon, if you aren’t going to share it with the world?”
I keep my gaze low. “I do it for me, no one else.”
“Fine then.”
It’s silent for a while.
“The drawing on the third page of the boy crouched down in a corner reminds me of me.” He smiles and gazes off to the stars, allowing me a moment to look him over. “I spent many nights like that as a kid when I didn’t have any food to eat. I was so hungry. They’d lock me in that dark closet for hours.”
My lips can’t form the questions, but my brain processes the shock.
Ryker shakes his head as if he’s trying to empty it of something. “Gosh, those are fucked-up memories to have. I wish I could just erase them all.”
“I’m sorry about that too,” I tell him, my eyes stuck on his.
He smiles.
Through the glass window, an orderly lingers beneath the low light in the hallway. He makes a face, indicating it’s time to go back inside.
“I guess it’s getting up to bedtime. It’s time for little kids to go beddy bye-bye.” Ryker chuckles.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I snatch up my book and make my way over to the double doors.
Ryker stays behind, lighting up another cigarette. “I like talking to you, Griffon.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Honestly, when I first met you, I thought you didn’t speak at all or something. Considered that maybe you were some sort of freak mute.” He’s sucking away on his cigarette again.
“No, I just keep to myself.”
The orderly bangs on the glass and gestures for us both to head his way.
Ryker pays it no mind, only continues smoking, keeps staring at me.
My eyes bounce between the orderly’s and Ryker’s right before I realize Ryker is keeping me behind, begging me once again to pay attention to him.
Like a desperate puppy.
I stand straight, waiting for him to speak, ignoring the banging in the distance.
“Oh, don’t worry about him.” Ryker rolls his eyes.
I peek over my shoulder, then back at him.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Do you want to talk more?” He smiles.
No, absolutely not.
Shifting where I stand, I stare at my Chucks. “Um, about what though?” I lift my head to find him looking at me in the exact same way he was a moment ago. “About life and shit?”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Yeah, about life and shit.” He laughs.
“Yeah, sure.” I head toward the doors.
Ryker still hasn’t moved. “Remember what I told you then?”
My eyes narrow when I look him over.
“East wing, end of the hallway. I don’t sleep.” He doesn’t smile.
I tip my head forward once. “Yeah, okay, east wing.”
I make it a few more steps and catch his gaze once more before I head inside. He’s staring up at the night sky, whistling, smoking away. Making no move to get inside as I am and turn down for the night.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s offering me.
A friendship, perhaps?
I consider it.
I’ve never really had any friends.
And certainly not one like this one—one who I desperately want to kiss.
CHAPTER TWO
GRIFFON
THE TILE IS COOL beneath my bare feet.
Moving stealthily like an assassin, I make my way down the wide hallways.
Spero has been cast into darkness. In the distance, a woman’s howling creeps into my ears, then sobbing. The sound sends spiders crawling down my spine and somewhere deep inside, I sympathize with her.
I know that feeling.
Detox.
The painful process of ridding your body of all the poisonous shit that shouldn’t be in there in the first place. It can take up to a week—constant urination, vomit
ing, headaches, nausea, and hallucinations.
You’re better off dead than going through detox.
She shrieks again.
And for just a second I think I’m glad for the distraction, since whoever she is will keep the orderlies from spotting me roaming the hallways at this hour of the night.
I’d left my room a few minutes ago after I’d spent almost an hour staring into Ryker’s room in the east wing. A lamp was on, no movement at all inside but I’m pretty sure he’s in there.
He’d extended the offer to me three nights ago.
I mulled over it slowly. Then I was certain when I looked into his gorgeous face that I was staring right into the irises of a man who was offering me some sort of indecent proposal.
Then, I ignored him, sticking to the sessions with Doctor Azad, going to the gym, reading, drawing, watching TV. I did anything that could distract me from the conversation Ryker and I had a few nights ago beneath the stars.
It only worked for so long.
When Ryker didn’t show up to today’s circle time I found myself growing worried. I didn’t dare ask Doctor Azad where he was. After being at Spero for the length of time that I have, I know that people opt to leave too. They simply walk out. Say they don’t want to do this anymore. So, I knew it was possible Ryker had even left of his own accord, headed back home to do his thing.
Who could blame him?
Especially when I look around this place at its white walls and white furnishings.
There’s no life or fun here.
This place is painnnnn.
This place is loss of freedom.
This place will make you regret every decision you’ve ever made in your entire life.
Between all the counselling sessions and puking up your guts, you will soon be reminded about what a piece of afterbirth you are and how you need to change your ways.
If you’re smart, like me, you’ll take it all in stride…
I make my way farther through the large building, avoiding the cameras wherever I can. I assume someone is in the control room but it’s likely they’re assisting the other orderlies with keeping the animal that’s currently howling this place down in its cage.
With the click, I open the heavy oak door which leads to the east wing, take two flights of stairs, pass a yoga room and the securely locked door which leads to the heated indoor pool and make it to the end of the hallway.
I stand in front of a large window which looks out to the rose gardens.
It’s morgue-quiet here.
I tiptoe along the cool tile, then stop when I see a door—his door.
It’s cracked, alluding to darkness beyond which is infiltrated by the moonlight making the slit in the door appear a magical shade of gray.
I inch closer, ignoring the snapping of the tendon in my left ankle, an old injury from playing too much field hockey as a tween. In the silence, the popping is thunderous with every step I take.
Reaching the door, I press my palm to the cool wood just when music floats into my ears. Alice in Chains “Bleed the Freak” plays softly. The heavy guitar rift sinks into my head. When I round the door, I find Ryker sitting on the edge of his bed, staring directly at me.
His mouth twists up into a small smile. “I thought that was you.”
I remain still, wondering if I should turn around and go back the way I came. But, I don’t move, only stare at the floor. “I don’t know why I came here.”
He laughs. “Oh, yes, you do.” He sits up straighter and points in my direction. “Close the door.”
I don’t, only remain still.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He stands and strides across the room toward me.
It’s the first time I truly realize we are the exact same height—just shy of being six feet tall and maybe one hundred and seventy-five pounds.
I back away a little when he leans into my space, peering into my face.
“Unless you think this is a mistake.” He blinks.
I breathe and trace a line over his lips and down his stubble-covered chin.
“Unless you think this is bad for you.” He comes closer, invading my space even more, dusting me with the scent of him. Impairing my ability to blink, breathe, be. “Unless you think I’ll be your ruin.”
I swallow hard. “You can’t ruin what’s already been destroyed, Ryker.”
Lifting an arm, he grins like The Slasher, then shuts the door.
CLICK.
RYKER
GRIFFON MOVES AROUND THE room, touching things, scowling, staring out the window at the perfectly preened grounds ahead.
I sidle up next to him just as he pulls a book out from the small shelf and fingers through the pages. It’s Shakespeare’s Richard II—a play that spans the last two years of Richard’s life.
As a king, Richard is powerful. But as a man, he is mortal and prey to his own weaknesses. In the play, Richard struggles to face his own duality.
I know all the words by heart after all these years of reading it over and over, but I don’t tell Griffon that. Honestly, I want to know what made him pick that one considering all the newer books that remain on the shelf.
I smile at the sight of him, relaxed and wearing a gray T-shirt and lounge pants. He’s barefoot too, giving him the appearance of a man who was about to crawl into bed and then changed his mind.
I wonder what made him decide against sleep after all…
I’d thought about him since that night out under the stars.
After two intensive-therapy sessions, I’m ready to call it quits here already. It’s a good place for me to come back to though after going on a few binges. I never stay here long enough—twenty-eight days is the max. According to Doctor Azad that is when rehabilitation really begins. I should be here for up to four months as he says, but I say that’s bullshit galore. It’s too long. I have better things to do with my time.
My minds drifts for a second…I’m not sure where it goes.
The flick of the page catches my attention.
Landing on Act 5; Scene 6, Griffon sucks in a breath. “I hate the murderer, love him murdered.” He bites his lip.
It’s the part where King Henry mulls over what’s happened. He admits he wanted Richard dead but then discovers now that Richard is, he hates that man who murdered him.
Oh, what a conundrum…
Can’t say I understand the affliction King Henry has seeing that now he is king.
I inch over to him and pluck the book from his hands. “This is one of my favorite stories.” I flip through the pages, eyeballing Griffon as I do. “A story about plotting and power.” My mouth eases into a smile. “I like to think of myself as Henry Bolingbroke—King Richard’s cousin—the man in this story who later becomes Henry IV.”
Griffon’s left eye twitches. “A king?”
I laugh. “Yeah, yes, him, I guess.”
Leaving me with the book in my hands, he looks around some more. “You must like power then if you imagine yourself as being a king.”
I groan.
He walks around. I trace the line of his form as he does. I find him interesting and strange. Quite the grouch too. But still, I’m happy he’s in my vicinity.
He wanders back toward me, gracing me with a stare that should never be used unless a person truly means it—intends to follow up on it—won’t back down.
Another smirk pulls at my lips, just when he brushes past me and heads toward a shelf which holds a collection of vinyl records. I’m dusted with the fresh scent of his skin which surrounds him like a soft billowy cloud I want to stretch out on. And his smile, whenever he lets the world have it, is warm and inviting.
I keep my eyes on him.
He glances over his shoulder and gives me that smile—white and perfect.
A grunt escapes me just as my dick twitches like it never has before.
He lifts his head and looks around. “It’s like you live here, Jesus Christ.” He opens a closet door. Boots fall out and s
ome unfolded clothes.
I run a hand over my jaw and nod. “Something like that.”
He slams it back shut again and wanders over to the bed, hopping on it, bouncing on it like a toddler. “This is more comfortable than mine.”
“Probably.”
“It’s still warm here too from your ass.”
The music is still playing softly.
I walk over to the bed and take a seat on the edge of it.
“What do you do when you’re not in this place?” He stretches out on my pillow, crossing his legs at the ankle, tossing his arm up behind him.
“The same old stuff, you know.”
“Oh.” He stares up at the ceiling.
I laugh a bit when it looks as though he’s being swallowed up by a sea of blue checkered plaid. It’s the ugliest duvet I’ve ever seen but I didn’t pick it out, so I guess I can’t be blamed.
Griffon huffs. “You have a job?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s crap but whatever.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says. “But it pays pretty good.”
“Enough to keep up with the habit then?”
“Yeah.” He exhales. “It’s usually all I work for.”
We laugh.
“Yeah, I know the feeling.”
I slouch a bit, propping my elbow up on my knee and my chin on my hand.
We listen to the music for a while.
“Do you think I’ll see you outside of this place?” He shifts on the bed.
“Yeah, sure.” I frown. “Like a date or something?”
He chortles. “Yes, like a date.”
I cock my head to the side and look him over. “Guys like me don’t date, Griffon.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head, annoyed by the question. “I’m not trying to have a boyfriend. That shit is for suckers and love-sick cunts who need someone in their lives just to say they’re living it to the fullest extent.” I keep my hard gaze on his beautiful eyes that remind me of the dawn fog, making sure I don’t go back on my statement. Eyes like the ones in front of me make a dude promise shit they are sure to God they can’t deliver. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the image, like I’m shielding myself from being burned by the sun.
