RUIN: A M/M Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  And now, he wants to presume we’re still in love as if we ever were?

  “So you don’t love me anymore, Griffon?”

  I pause.

  It takes me about five seconds to turn around. To process whatever the hell is going on in my head between the pounding in my ears. Twisting around to face him, I take in the sight of all his gorgeousness and how effortlessly cool he looks wearing blue jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, and boots. His dark hair is a mess and edges his beautiful eyes perfectly.

  He looks better than he did when I last saw him.

  Fresher. More alive.

  He doesn’t look like he’s been using at all.

  But, still, right now he looks sad.

  Those big blue marbles of his beg me for something. He genuinely looks affected by my statement. And I think I might just be hurt too by the disappearing Houdini act he’d pulled on me weeks ago.

  He slants his head to the side waiting for me to speak.

  “No, I don’t, Ryker.”

  “Ouch.” He shifts his weight to one hip then grooms his hair just once with his fingers, pulling on it a little. “I see you’re hurt.”

  “No, I’m not. Honestly, I don’t care what you do, Ryker.”

  He keeps his baby blues on me.

  “But quitting rehab is on you.” I practically spit the words from my mouth.

  He smiles. “I didn’t need to be there, Griffon, I’m not an addict.”

  I laugh.

  Isn’t that what all us addicts say?

  “Whatever, dude.” I keep walking, glancing back at him.

  “But it’s nice to know someone truly cares!” He lifts his arms up to the sky as he takes a few more steps in my direction.

  I stop once more and march back toward him finding a contrite expression etched all over his cute face. Okay. It’s official. I’m incapable of holding back my rage. “You’re a fffffucking liar.”

  The smirk on his face careens to the stone floor at our feet.

  “You spewed all that bullshit to me back at Spero so that you could get me to pity you. I was thinking that you were some poor kid who’s had this poor life and it turns out you’re the son of a goddamn billionaire. You’re a fucking liar, Ryker, and I want nothing to do with you.”

  Tilting his head to the side, his lips part once more but nothing comes out. If anything, it looks as if he’s sucking in air. “You think I’m a liar?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “Okay, then.”

  I set off walking again certain steam is billowing from my ears.

  “But seriously, you truly don’t love me anymore?”

  “NO!” The word explodes from my mouth and bounces off the walls around me.

  “You don’t mean that, Griffon!”

  Yes-I-fucking-do.

  RYKER

  I SEETHE.

  Finding my seat at the back of sociology class, I breathe out the hottest air ever, like the dragons do before the flames are let loose. I flex my hand in my pocket and consider Griffon’s words.

  The boy who lies himself is accusing another of being a liar?

  The truth is we all lie, because often it’s easier than facing the truth.

  Frankly, it all sounds reasonable to me…

  A smile tap-dances across my lips.

  I don’t know what I expected.

  Fuck.

  Honestly, I didn’t know what I’d do really.

  Explain? Beg him to forgive me? Make promises I thought I already had?

  It’s midafternoon and this theatrical bullshit is almost done.

  Professor Roth stands at the front of the class attempting to encourage a student or two to share their words about love and romance and the bullshit he’d last asked us to write about. I like this class. The topics change. Often, we don’t even follow the rule book.

  I think I come here just to listen to super-cool Professor Roth talk about what being transgender means. You see. He used to be a she. Just had a baby too—a little boy. And is now expecting another baby with his husband.

  And since this is the last class of the day, it gets crammed with other students who just want to listen to Professor Roth talk about whatever which doesn’t surprise me.

  I hadn’t completed the assignment yet, but I promised to do it today just like I had a million times before. Such sentiments stay in my head, never brave enough to flow down through the pen.

  I huff out another breath and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, thinking.

  When I open them, I spot Griffon a few steps below me enter the room, toss his big knapsack in the seat next to him, and hunker down, away from everyone. He sits in his own corner, not acknowledging me as he said he would.

  My jaw tightens, and sharp breaths leave my nose.

  I’d told that asshole I loved him, and I meant it.

  So what if I had disappeared for a few weeks!

  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?

  And being called a liar was the worst.

  No one is more of a liar than Griffon Russo is, believe me.

  My ears heat and I’m pretty sure my cheeks are scarlet. I shift in my seat and search for my phone when it buzzes one more time.

  Bella: Please make sure you are home tonight by 8:00 p.m. sharp.

  Yeah, whatever.

  Since I’d been back home it had been the usual crap. Francis worked nonstop and was being his usual tyrant self and Bella buried her mind in the vodka. Nothing new there…And I just did my thing. No blow though. Just a few shots and late nights. No boys either seeing that I’m now in a committed relationship…

  Running my tongue over my teeth, I consider just how much I hate my father.

  He’s a man who’s been wealthy his entire life. Powerful. Influential. Intimidating.

  Unstoppable.

  Thinks he’s God in the flesh.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Griffon though.

  I really couldn’t.

  Shutting my phone off, I tuck it in my pocket and catch Griffon’s pebble grays when they land on me.

  A tiny smile tugs at my lips when I remind myself that the boy who can’t feel suddenly displays rage, rejection, even hate. However, I’m unimpressed that it’s all directed at me—the guy who loves him.

  Fucking asshole.

  “Hey, man.” Paris slaps a hand down on my shoulder startling me.

  Paris Newton—good friend, classmate, crazy bastard, gay as a parade.

  “I haven’t done a goddamn thing for this class.” Laughing, Paris drops down into the seat next to me, stretching out and kicking his legs up on the chair in front of us. Following my eyeline, he nudges his chin in the direction of where Griffon sits. “I didn’t realize that asshole was in this class.” Paris smirks. “He has that whole weird and creepy axe murderer vibe about him.”

  I point a finger at Paris. “Don’t call him an asshole, and yeah, me neither.”

  Only I don’t think Griffon’s in this class…

  So why is he here?

  To listen to Professor Roth?

  To talk to me?

  Paris makes a face, then giggles. “Okay, then.” He glances over at Griffon once more then back to me. “You know him?”

  “Yeah, I know.” More than Griffon thinks I do.

  “Okay, then.” He leans in. “You should probably keep that shit to yourself.”

  A tiny smirk tugs at my lips when Griffon glances over his shoulder at me once more.

  “We were reading and writing excerpts on love when we were last here, everyone. This is an informal discussion.” Professor Roth checks his watch. “I repeat this is a very informal discussion about the different types of love there are in the world.” He gestures with his hand. “Anyone is welcome to stand and either read what they’ve written about love or are free to discuss it at length.”

  No one moves.

  Professor Roth’s eyes search the room and I’m familiar enough with the way this process works. If no one volunte
ers to stand and speak then Professor Roth takes over the discussion with his own words.

  Paris is mumbling about having a party on Friday at his parents’ swanky penthouse apartment in the Lower East Side.

  I shoot up from my seat. “Professor Roth, I’d like to read something.”

  The entire class watches me as I leave my seat, jog down the few steps and stand at the front of the state-of-the-art amphitheater classroom.

  Professor Roth runs a hand over his beard. My eyes skate down the length of him and land on his protruding belly telling me there’s a living, breathing, human in there. I smirk. He does the same. “Ryker, did you write something?”

  Griffon’s orbs remain on me—cold, uncaring.

  Reaching into my pocket, I find the page with the words scribbled on it that stole my heart away all those weeks ago.

  I unfold the page.

  I’m about to prove to the boy I love just how much of a liar he really is.

  Griffon straightens in his chair.

  All the color drains from his cheeks and his gray eyes burn silver. It’s the look of death. If he had a harpoon in his hands, I swear he’d aim it straight for my heart.

  But, with my luck, it feels like he already had when he called me a liar a few hours ago and claimed he didn’t love me anymore. That shit hurt like fuck.

  Griffon’s Adam’s apple moves violently in his neck as he swallows.

  Clearing my throat of nothing, I stare at the words written so neatly across the plain white page in between my fingertips. I breathe in deep, then begin to speak. “I met a boy today, broken and beautiful—like me—who has pretty eyes that make me want to sing the blues. They make me feel everything I never thought I ever could. They make me want to offer him my goddamn soul. And I know when his lips touch mine, I’ll be forever changed. I know he’ll ruin me.”

  CRASH.

  SLAM.

  BOOM.

  My head lifts to find that Griffon has swiped all the books off his desk. They hit the floor with a force that would make you think a truck had backfired somewhere close by. It all seems to happen in one swift motion. He snatches up his knapsack and stomps from the room, letting the heavy doors shut behind him.

  When the raucousness ends, Professor Roth shrugs then faces me. “That was beautiful, Ryker. Those words definitely sound like they were written by someone who is afraid to love and terrified to be loved in return.” He squints. “But it already sounds like they’re in love to me.”

  Griffon Russo.

  Liar, liar, indigo jeans on FIRE!

  Smiling, I examine the page. “Yes, I agree, thank you.”

  Paris applauds.

  “They’re the most beautiful words I’ve ever read,” I whisper to myself.

  They belong to the boy who loves me.

  For me.

  Only me.

  GRIFFON

  “MOTHERFUCKER!” MY BOOT CONNECTS with the garbage can at the bottom of the stoop. It topples over and spills cans, bottles, and other putrid items onto the streetlamp-lit asphalt.

  Rich Homie Quan’s “Type of Way” explodes in my ears.

  Heaving for breath, I stare at the ground where I’d dropped my knapsack.

  It’s dark out.

  I’m already late for work because I’d forgotten my gear.

  I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and take the stairs one by one, hiccupping, sobbing, enfuckingraged at what had happened a few hours ago.

  That bastard had stolen from me.

  And more than just that piece of paper with my words on them…

  When I make it to the double doors, I punch the code into the panel violently and push through them. I take three more flights of stairs because the elevator is broken and yank the earbuds out of my ears cutting off the music.

  I’m hot. I’m sweaty. And my chest hurts right-in-the-middle—where my heart is.

  When I make it to the front door, I shove my key in and twist.

  The delectable aroma of food hits my nostrils but I’m too worked up to be able to enjoy it. The apartment is low-lit and the TV in the living room is on but it’s playing for no one because Giovanni is in the kitchen stirring a pot of something on the stove.

  “Are you okay?” His voice skates its way down the hallway.

  I sniffle a bit. “Yeah, yeah.” I laugh. “Why do you ask?”

  He doesn’t answer me for a while, only starts singing in Italian.

  Tossing my bag on the floor, I start down the hallway heading for my bedroom.

  This apartment is small. The kitchen is the size of some people’s bathrooms and the hallways are so narrow that you could never walk side by side with anyone down them. But I’d lived here all my life. Giovanni and I make the most of it.

  I stop when I get to the photograph of my parents and me when I was around seven years old. We look so fucking happy in it posing in Central Park near the Alice in Wonderland statue. I fix the crooked picture and keep walking. I slow when I make it near the kitchen hoping to pass Giovanni by without making conversation with him.

  I almost make it.

  “I only ask, Griffon, because I saw you outside a few minutes ago swearing and doing things that no person should ever do to their next-door neighbor’s garbage can.”

  Shit.

  Goddamn windows!

  “You really need to control your temper, Griffon.”

  “I’m fine.” I suck in a breath and keep my head low, making sure that my face is obscured by the darkness in the hallway. “I’ve just had a bad day.”

  He spins around to look at me. Instantly, I turn away and spot the Pogo stick which I’ve had since forever leaning against the wall near the closet. If someone had taken a photograph of this house ten years ago and compared it to now, they’d see this place looks exactly the same.

  The same furnishings. The same curtains. The same hideous décor hangs on the walls. Giulia’s clothes are even still in the same fucking drawers. Everywhere you turn around here, it’s a reminder that she lived here. My eyes flicker over to the crystal dish on the kitchen counter that have held her wedding bands in it since the day she died.

  If a stranger had walked into this house, they’d think a woman still lives here with us.

  I huff out some hot air, remembering the last time I tried to encourage my father to throw some of Giulia’s things out. At least pack them away. He was furious. So, I never brought it up again.

  “We could have dinner together. I made chicken cacciatore, your favorite.” He smiles.

  Giovanni knows I can’t turn down a meal, seeing as he hardly ever cooks because we never shop, because there’s rarely any extra money flying around to do that with after we’ve paid the rent.

  “Thanks, Babbo. I’d love to, but I have to get to work.”

  He squints and comes closer. “You’re upset about something.” He places a hand on my cheek forcing me to look at him. “You’ve been cr—”

  “I’m fine, Babbo, please. I have to get to work.”

  Giovanni’s brown eyes examine me. “Va bene. Okay then. I can put some food in a plastic Tupperware thing and you can take it with you. But, you should eat before you go. You’ve had a long day at school and now you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset, Babbo.”

  I’m raging!

  “You are.” His voice is high-pitched. “You really are.” He drops his hands by his sides. I try my best to ignore the tattered pink apron tied around his waist that used to belong to you know who…

  I’m living with a ghost!

  “I’m fine.” I keep my eyes fixed on the hideous Formica countertops that match this yellow kitchen.

  “Griffon, no, you aren’t.”

  “Goddammit, Babbo. Why do you hate me so much!”

  Giovanni jumps.

  I don’t move, only glare at him.

  He balls up the dishtowel in his hands angrily and throws it on the counter.

  “Is it because I’m gay?” I wait for him to speak.


  He shakes his head and runs a hand over the few wisps of dark hair on his head. When he looks at me once more, every muscle in his face is tight and his brown eyes are full of I don’t know what.

  He turns the knob on the stove with the flick of his wrist and points a finger at me.

  “Why do you hate me?”

  “Nobody hates you, Griffon,” he snarls. “You hate yourself.”

  He bangs around the kitchen preparing his plate of food. Then, he laughs. “And don’t give me that bullshit about disliking you because you’re gay.” He slams another drawer then points a finger at me, aiming right for my chest. “It isn’t that, Griffon. I dislike you much of the time because you behave like an asshole.”

  I stand in front of him stupefied.

  He pours himself a glass of water and snatches up his plate.

  I remain in the doorway.

  He shoves past me and heads over to the tiny table in the living room which is in front of the television. Then, he takes his usual seat to it and eats his dinner alone.

  I just arrived here and already I need to get out of this ghostly apartment!

  No, prison, I mean.

  Rushing down the hallway, I don’t bother to change, only rummage through my matchbox of a bedroom shoving shit into a duffle bag. When I head back out, I snatch up the paper bag that Giovanni placed on the credenza near the door.

  Thanks.

  I rush down the stairs and head straight for the 34th Street-Hudson Yards Subway Station.

  When I set into a pace, I shove my earbuds in my ears and turn on the music as high as it can go. Drake’s “I’m Upset” further confirms that I am! I’m so fucking angry right now, I could put a fist through something, anything, to make myself feel better.

  I think about Ryker.

  And I think about that kiss.

  That kiss was power, ownership, promises…

  I can’t forget the symphony of my moans buried in his sweet mouth.

  His dick pressed into my thigh, hard and long.

  Him asking me to admit I love him.

  His deep voice.

  The fresh scent of his skin.

  Him.

  Him.

  Him.

  And I think I’m in love.