Why I don't make promises anymore..... His birthday is on Friday.... he would've been 28 this year.
I dated Ryan for about four months, not long. But he was an angel through and through. He is the one of the few guys I've dated who in no way abused me. More than that though, he was just a truly wonderful guy, who was also drop dead gorgous. He had so much going for him. He was funny, intelligent, kind, driven, comforting and just so sweet. So of course I broke up with him. At that point in my life I didn't feel I deserved a guy who was kind to me and so it truly scared me that he treated me so well.
I had met Ryan through a friend, Nick Carter (yes, same name as the Backstreet Boy- we mocked him once they came out) a couple months before we started going out. When I broke up with Ryan it was to go out with Nick. I asked Ryan if it was okay and he simply said he loved us both and wanted us both to be happy. So Nick and I began dating. This was before Nick became a sadistic, evil fuck to me. (And before I began using heroin, but Nick had just began to use on occasion.) Ryan was still my best friend and we hung out everyday. Really, not much had changed about our relationship other than no more sex and such. We would still lay in bed and watch tv, cuddling and talking. I don't think I have ever been as comfortable in my entire life as I was those days spent being held by Ryan. Ryan was attending USM and doing very well. He was so smart and just so talented in everything he did. So yeah, his life was laid out before him, he could've done anything. He could've been amazing.
Two months after we broke up he called me up in the morning. He asked me to come over that afternoon around 3. I said I'd be there. He asked me again and told me it was important. I replied "I promise, Ry, I'll be there at 3. I promise." I told him I had a few things to do before that but that I'd be there by 3. He said okay and we chatted a bit more before hanging up. I went about my day. I went to the Old Port and met up with some friends for coffee. Went over to another friend's apartment, went and met Nick at work on his break. I chaecked my watch. It was 3:30. No rush, Ryan would understand, he always was one for letting me get away with anything. Being a bit late wasn't a big deal. The next time I checked my watch it was almost an hour later. I called his number from a pay phone on my way. No answer.
I arrived a little before 4:30 I think. I let myself in since I still had a key. The shower was on. Normally I would've burst in on him and made some comment on his nice ass. But I didn't. I don't know what held me back. I'd seen him naked since we broke up, so it wasn't that. I just waited a bit. I turned off the stereo in the living room that was blaring some obscure band I'd never heard of. I wandered around, occasionally yelling in the direction of the bathroom for him to hurry up and come cuddle. I turned on the tv and watched something. He wasn't coming out. I was starting to get annoyed. What the fuck was taking him so long. I want to get a drink in the kitchen. That's when I saw it.
On the counter a small peice of paper with just a few words "Katey, why didn't you come?" And I knew. I couldn't breathe. I felt my body go cold and I let out a cry. I ran to the bathroom and threw open the door. The steam from the hot shower had filled the bathroom. It was so thick. So fucking thick. I pushed aside the shower curtain and there he was. His beautiful body lay lifeless in the tub. The water going down the drain a bright pinkish red. His wrists were slit and the blood poured from them. I grabbed him to me and screamed what I was later told by a neighbor was the most hideous, animalistic scream they'd ever heard. I clung to him and screamed at God and cursed Him. Why Ryan? Ryan was so good, so utterly flawless. Why him and not me? Ryan deserved to live to be an old man, a happy healthy old man. And yet there he was in my arms. His naked body still warm, although probably mostly from the hot shower. I clung to him and rocked. I offered up my own life if God would let him live. I made bargains and pleas that went unanswered. I don't know how much time passed before the police broke down the door and found us. The neighbors had called and apprently been trying to break thier way in to see what was the matter. I wouldn't let them take him from me. I physically could not release him. They pried him away from me and took me out to the living room. They wrapped me in a blanket that still smelled like him. I know that they asked me questions. I know they said things that I'm sure were supposed to be reassuring. I didn't say a word. I didn't speak outloud to anyone for over two months. There was nothing to say. The one person I had loved completely, who had loved me unconditionally was ripped from me. I didn't see the point in anything. There are still days even now where I look around and can see nothing beautiful and I realize it's because he isn't here to point out the constalations to me or explain some obscure musical referense. He isn't here to take my hand when we cross the street, as though I might just dart out into traffic like a child and get hit by a car. He isn't here to end every phone call with an ongoing debate on who loves who more complete wit annoying fake kissy noises until one of us (usually me) gave up and said "Fine you do love me more than I love you." He isn't here to fucking do anything. He isn't here and although I don't blame myself as much anymore, if I had fucking shown up on time, if I hadn't fucking done all the other pointless bullshit, if I hadn't fucking promised him I would be there at 3, maybe just fucking maybe I would still know where fucking Orion's Belt is when I look up at the stars. Because without him, when I look up at the stars I just see stars. I don't see the point of them, the order. I don't see the beauty without him here.
But I don't make promises anymore.
I had met Ryan through a friend, Nick Carter (yes, same name as the Backstreet Boy- we mocked him once they came out) a couple months before we started going out. When I broke up with Ryan it was to go out with Nick. I asked Ryan if it was okay and he simply said he loved us both and wanted us both to be happy. So Nick and I began dating. This was before Nick became a sadistic, evil fuck to me. (And before I began using heroin, but Nick had just began to use on occasion.) Ryan was still my best friend and we hung out everyday. Really, not much had changed about our relationship other than no more sex and such. We would still lay in bed and watch tv, cuddling and talking. I don't think I have ever been as comfortable in my entire life as I was those days spent being held by Ryan. Ryan was attending USM and doing very well. He was so smart and just so talented in everything he did. So yeah, his life was laid out before him, he could've done anything. He could've been amazing.
Two months after we broke up he called me up in the morning. He asked me to come over that afternoon around 3. I said I'd be there. He asked me again and told me it was important. I replied "I promise, Ry, I'll be there at 3. I promise." I told him I had a few things to do before that but that I'd be there by 3. He said okay and we chatted a bit more before hanging up. I went about my day. I went to the Old Port and met up with some friends for coffee. Went over to another friend's apartment, went and met Nick at work on his break. I chaecked my watch. It was 3:30. No rush, Ryan would understand, he always was one for letting me get away with anything. Being a bit late wasn't a big deal. The next time I checked my watch it was almost an hour later. I called his number from a pay phone on my way. No answer.
I arrived a little before 4:30 I think. I let myself in since I still had a key. The shower was on. Normally I would've burst in on him and made some comment on his nice ass. But I didn't. I don't know what held me back. I'd seen him naked since we broke up, so it wasn't that. I just waited a bit. I turned off the stereo in the living room that was blaring some obscure band I'd never heard of. I wandered around, occasionally yelling in the direction of the bathroom for him to hurry up and come cuddle. I turned on the tv and watched something. He wasn't coming out. I was starting to get annoyed. What the fuck was taking him so long. I want to get a drink in the kitchen. That's when I saw it.
On the counter a small peice of paper with just a few words "Katey, why didn't you come?" And I knew. I couldn't breathe. I felt my body go cold and I let out a cry. I ran to the bathroom and threw open the door. The steam from the hot shower had filled the bathroom. It was so thick. So fucking thick. I pushed aside the shower curtain and there he was. His beautiful body lay lifeless in the tub. The water going down the drain a bright pinkish red. His wrists were slit and the blood poured from them. I grabbed him to me and screamed what I was later told by a neighbor was the most hideous, animalistic scream they'd ever heard. I clung to him and screamed at God and cursed Him. Why Ryan? Ryan was so good, so utterly flawless. Why him and not me? Ryan deserved to live to be an old man, a happy healthy old man. And yet there he was in my arms. His naked body still warm, although probably mostly from the hot shower. I clung to him and rocked. I offered up my own life if God would let him live. I made bargains and pleas that went unanswered. I don't know how much time passed before the police broke down the door and found us. The neighbors had called and apprently been trying to break thier way in to see what was the matter. I wouldn't let them take him from me. I physically could not release him. They pried him away from me and took me out to the living room. They wrapped me in a blanket that still smelled like him. I know that they asked me questions. I know they said things that I'm sure were supposed to be reassuring. I didn't say a word. I didn't speak outloud to anyone for over two months. There was nothing to say. The one person I had loved completely, who had loved me unconditionally was ripped from me. I didn't see the point in anything. There are still days even now where I look around and can see nothing beautiful and I realize it's because he isn't here to point out the constalations to me or explain some obscure musical referense. He isn't here to take my hand when we cross the street, as though I might just dart out into traffic like a child and get hit by a car. He isn't here to end every phone call with an ongoing debate on who loves who more complete wit annoying fake kissy noises until one of us (usually me) gave up and said "Fine you do love me more than I love you." He isn't here to fucking do anything. He isn't here and although I don't blame myself as much anymore, if I had fucking shown up on time, if I hadn't fucking done all the other pointless bullshit, if I hadn't fucking promised him I would be there at 3, maybe just fucking maybe I would still know where fucking Orion's Belt is when I look up at the stars. Because without him, when I look up at the stars I just see stars. I don't see the point of them, the order. I don't see the beauty without him here.
But I don't make promises anymore.