Something Worth Living For - Chapter 6
Masterpost
Chapter Six
Something weird happens over the course of the next week; suddenly Ryan wants to hang out all the time. Not only am I surprised by his sudden outgoingness, but also, before, he seemed so sure that his parents wouldn’t let him go anywhere, and now they just don’t have a problem with it? It doesn’t make any sense.
Then again, nothing makes any sense when it comes to Ryan.
There is one thing I’ve noticed, though. Ryan has been acting strange every time we hang out; nervous, jittery. It’s like he can’t relax, like something is eating away at him. Not to mention the flinching hasn’t improved any.
I just don’t think I’ve ever known such a strange person. One minute he’s smart and witty, and the next minute I’m having to explain something as simple as YouTube to him. This whole thing about him being completely oblivious to things that every seventeen-year-old should know has surpassed ‘odd’ and is now becoming frighteningly worrisome. I don’t worry about people.
But I’m worried about him.
Another sigh leaves me in a huff as I heave myself off my couch, trying to push these stupid thoughts out of my head. They just seem to be getting worse and worse, especially since Ryan has been around so much. He’s on his way over right now.
This time, I’m confronting him.
And this time, he’s going to give me an answer.
* * *
“Sit down.”
“Um… okay,” Ryan looks at me weirdly. My expression is unwavering.
“We need to talk,” I inform him, inwardly cringing at that stupid cliché of a line. I sit next to him, worrying my lip and facing him directly.
“About?” he prods.
“Just - don’t freak out, okay? I’m just going to ask you something,” I say carefully. I remember what happened last time I brought this up. He looks worried now, like maybe he’s catching on to what I’m about to ask. He doesn’t say anything, his face remaining impassive.
“Ryan. What’s going on with you?” I ask slowly, gauging his reaction sharply. I see panic in his eyes, and I know what he’s going to say before the words even leave his mouth.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Of course he doesn’t. He never does, which only causes me to worry more. The more I think about it - however much I don’t want to admit it - the more I notice that the way he acts, the extreme shyness, flinching when anyone touches him, being antisocial and without hardly any self-esteem, those are all clear signs of abuse. I ran over the signs over and over in my head and I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. It makes sense.
“Look, I know something is wrong with you. You’re way too shy, more than is normal, and you flinch every single time I touch you-”
“No I don’t,” he interrupts, looking surprised by what I just said.
“Ryan, yes you do,” I argue. “Even if I’m just touching your shoulder, you flinch away from me.” He looks like he’s thinking back on it, trying to remember if what I’m saying is true. “You’re antisocial,” I continue. “And the most important, you don’t know about some of the most common things, things that everyone learns at some point in their lives. Everyone knows what an iPod is, Ryan,” I say quietly, trying to convey with my voice exactly how serious I am about this. He isn’t looking at me now, but at his lap instead. I know he knows I’m right. I can see it in his face. But the problem is that he won’t tell me.
“I should go,” he says, and his voice sounds far away, unfocused and tinged with something like nostalgia, but not in a good sense, maybe in a… resentful sense? He stands up abruptly, rushing toward the door. I can’t let him leave now, not when I’ve got him thinking about it. I beat him to the door, blocking the way.
“Just tell me,” I plead, my voice almost a whisper. I can see he isn’t going to, and my desperation causes me to blurt out something I told myself I wouldn’t ask. “Do they hit you?” I hear myself say. I didn’t want to ask like that. I wanted him to be the one to tell me. He looks up at me then, and the look on his face makes me think I’m right.
“Why would you think that?” he asks cautiously. There’s a desperateness in his eyes that he’s fighting to keep at bay, and his voice remains calm and neutral.
“All the signs are there, Ryan,” I shake my head out of sympathy. But I don’t think my commiseration is going to help anything here. His eyes are watering now, and he looks close to losing his calm any second now.
“I’m fine, Brendon. Don’t worry about me,” he smiles. The smile is fake, completely full of underlying misery. He’s trying to keep it hidden, just like he keeps everything else hidden, but I can see it.
“Ryan, you don’t have to live like that,” I say, and I can feel prickles at the back of my eyes. I’m almost shocked at myself, because I can’t even remember the last time I cried for myself, let alone for someone else.
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he smiles another fake smile at me, pushing past me and out of the room.
All I can do is stand here, because he pretty much confirmed that his parents abuse him. That much is obvious. But there’s still so much that that doesn’t explain. So much that I still need to figure out. I don’t know why I have this need to help him, but I do. I’ve had it since I met him, and I’ve only just now realized it.
The truth is, I knew Ryan Ross needed help the minute I saw him hunched over, folded into himself. I knew he needed someone to help him, and as much as I don’t want to admit it… I always wanted to be that person.
* * *
“Wait, he really told you his parents abuse him?” Jayda asks, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“He didn’t actually say it, but he didn’t deny it either, and he left looking like he was about to cry,” I relay the events of the day to her. “You know it makes sense,” I add, tugging a hand through my tangled hair.
“That would explain the skittishness, and the sensitivity,” she agrees begrudgingly. “I just can’t picture anyone hurting little Ryan,” she shakes her head incredulously, and I’ve been thinking the exact same thing. He’s so… fragile; delicate, innocent. How could anyone lay a hand on him?
“I just wish he would tell me,” I stress, groaning and putting my face in my hands. We’re sitting in the hallway in front of our lockers, and I’m tired. It’s early, I barely got any sleep, and right now I don’t even feel like dealing with anything. I rub my hands over my scratchy face; I was too tired to shave, and I’m not used to the stubble. Jayda says it gives me that sexy, just-out-of-bed look, which is exactly where I wish I was right now.
“If he’d tell anyone, it’d be you,” she assures me, wrapping her arms around my waist in a comforting hug. “He really likes you,” she mumbles against my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say tonelessly. “Yeah, I know.” She pulls back, looking at me, considering, before her mouth lifts up in a barely-there smile.
“I don’t think you do know,” she says softly, looking at me for another moment before abruptly getting up and walking off, to find William I’m sure. And what exactly did she mean by that? I don’t have too much time to linger on the thought because just then Ryan bounds on up, sliding down effortlessly beside me and - and grinning at me? I didn’t exactly think he’d be in a good mood after yesterday.
“Hey, you,” he smiles, bumping his shoulder to mine. I blink.
“Uh, hey,” I laugh a little nervously, eyeing him warily. They’re always eerily calm before they snap and go on a killing spree. I’m about to ask how he is, but his expression goes from happy to amused as he notices my shaving capabilities - or lack thereof.
“What’s this about?” he says teasingly with that one-of-a-kind Ryan smile, running a finger over the stubble. I really try to keep myself from smiling, but it’s impossible. I don’t know where this side of him came from, but it kind of makes me forget about everything I wanted to ask him and instead focus on how he smells like strawberries with just a hint of vanilla.
“I just, um,” I clear my dry throat, flicking my gaze away from his embarrassedly. “I was too tired to shave,” I shrug in explanation. He brings a hand up, teasing his fingertips over my jaw.
“I kinda like it,” he smiles. I can’t breathe.
“Yeah?” I mumble almost soundlessly, finding it hard to focus all of a sudden. His smile widens, his eyes crinkling and his dimples showing, and god, he’s fucking beautiful.
“Makes you look all tired and sleepy,” he grins, letting his fingers skim down the side of my face once more before pulling them away. I look up, and I didn’t expect his eyes to be on mine, but now they are, and it’s hard to look away. I suddenly remember what I brought for him and I sit up straight, fumbling around in my pocket.
“I almost forgot,” I say, “I made you something.” I mostly brought it as a peace offering, hoping he wouldn’t be mad at me for last night. Once I find what I’m looking for, I bring it out of my pocket, smiling sheepishly and placing it in his open palm. “I just thought you might…” I trail off, shrugging and hoping I didn’t just make a complete fool out of myself. But when I look at him, he’s looking down at the leather bracelet with something like endearment, maybe a little bit of shock.
“It’s just like yours,” he says with a smile in his voice, pointing to the identical bracelet on my wrist.
“Yeah,” I smile. “I made this when I was like, thirteen,” I shrug, picking at my own bracelet. “I made it when I stopped eating meat - it’s not real leather, I love my cows, you know,” I laugh awkwardly, “- but I mostly made it to symbolize the whole ‘vegetarian’ thing, just there for a reminder, you know? But now I just sort of never take it off,” I finish, nearly mumbling in fear of him thinking I’m a complete idiot. “I just thought it could be like a - I dunno, like a friend thing, but if you don’t wanna wear it-”
“Can you tie this for me?” he interrupts my rambling, holding out his wrist that he managed to wrap the bracelet around when I wasn’t paying attention. I blink, huffing out a fond laugh, and lean over to tie it for him. He pulls his now bracelet-clad wrist in front of his face, examining it with that smile and I like knowing that I caused it.
“Thank you so much,” he bites his lip. “I love it.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I reply, with a smile on my face reflecting his own perfectly. Ryan definitely isn’t a touchy person - hence the flinching - so I’m completely taken aback when he surges forward and wraps me into a very tight, very soft hug. And, well. That feels pretty fantastic.
“Whoa,” I mumble with a little laugh. And he’s still hugging me. I tentatively wrap my arms around him, having to fight off a contented sigh.
“You were right,” he suddenly whispers next to my ear, still wrapped around me. “Last night - you were right.” I can feel my eyes widen, and my arms involuntarily tighten around him. We’re sitting in the floor in the hallway in front of everyone, but I couldn’t care less right now. “I wasn’t lying when I said my parents don’t like me,” he says, whispering barely loud enough for me to make out the words. “Brendon, you’re all I’ve got,” he says, voice cracking, and then he just kind of crumples against me, tightening his fists in my hoodie.
“Hey,” I soothe. “It’s gonna be okay. It will,” I assure him, giving him one last squeeze before pulling back with a soft, hopefully comforting smile.
“Don’t tell,” he whispers, his eyes darting quickly between my eyes. That’s ridiculous, how can I just not tell?
“Ryan, they’re hurting you,” I stress, a pleading tone to my voice.
“Not ‘they,’ just ‘he,’” he corrects.
“So it’s your dad?” I clarify, and he nods.
“But, it’s not that bad, okay? And it’s not all the time, so just - can you just let it go?” he begs. I stare at him disbelievingly. He is not seriously asking me to forget about this.
“Ryan, it is not okay for a parent to hit their child, ever,” I say sternly, my eyes burning into his.
“Even me?” he asks. I get this horrible, twisting feeling listening to him say that. Nobody should ever fucking feel that way about themselves.
“Especially you,” I whisper hoarsely, grabbing his wrist. “Look what they’ve done to you. They’ve taken away every ounce of self-esteem you may have had,” I shake my head in frustration, in anger.
“Look, you can’t tell, Brendon. If anyone finds out, I’ll be taken away from my parents and sent to a foster home and I really, really don’t want that,” he pleads with me, his eyes more anguished than I’ve ever seen them. God, Ryan can’t go to a foster home. I won’t see him anymore.
I sigh, banging my head back against the lockers. “Just - next time your dad tries anything, you come to my house, got it?” I order. He nods, and I relax a bit. This is so fucked up. He’s still biting his lip anxiously, and then I realize something. “You aren’t telling me everything,” I accuse, raising my head back up. “There’s more, isn’t there?” He shakes his head vigorously, but I can tell, can see it in his eyes, that there’s more to it than this. I decide not to push him for now. He can only take so much in one day.
“Wait,” I say, an idea suddenly striking me. “I could come to your house. Your dad wouldn’t hit you in front of me.”
“No,” Ryan shakes his head adamantly. “No, absolutely not.”
“Why? Come on, Ry,” I bump his shoulder, but he isn’t having it.
“No, Brendon, I mean it,” he says seriously. “No fucking way.” My eyes widen a little because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him swear. I try to ignore the shiver it sends up my spine.
“Whatever,” I mumble, slumping against the lockers again. The bell rings, and I begrudgingly heave myself up off the floor. “I’ll see you la- mmph,” my sentence is interrupted by yet another crushing hug.
“Thanks for the bracelet. And for… being you,” he murmurs, squeezing me again before pulling away and giving me one last lingering smile before heading to class.
What just happened?
* * *
We have music fourth period, and Jayda and William have both mysteriously disappeared from class. The teacher gave us a free day, and Ryan has been practically begging me to play something for him since he knows I can play a bunch of instruments, as Jayda oh-so-helpfully pointed out on the first day of school. I finally give in, dragging my feet into the piano room, which is thankfully empty.
Today is a half day, because the Homecoming parade is this afternoon, so this is our last class for the day. I shut the door behind us, ambling over to the piano and taking a seat at the bench. Ryan sits next to me.
“Well?” I drawl. “What do you want to hear?” He has that sheepish look again, and oh yeah, that’s right. He hardly knows anything about music. “I’ll just play…” I hum thoughtfully, flipping through the sheet music that’s on top of the piano. I see ‘Karma Police’ by Radiohead and I’m kind of surprised that our music teacher has the sheet music for a song that I actually love. “You’ll like this one,” I assure Ryan with a half-smile, setting up the sheet and gliding my fingers over the keys, getting a feel for them. It’s been a while since I’ve played.
When I do start playing, I remember why playing is the best feeling I’ve ever had. It’s calming, relaxing; maybe even therapeutic. It allows you to shut everything else out and just focus on the music, on the soft notes ringing out one after another, blending together perfectly to create something so beautiful.
Pretty soon my eyes slip shut. I learned this song a long time ago; I don’t even really need the sheet music.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself again, like the old Brendon; like the real Brendon. Only for a moment, then the song’s over and I’m back down to earth. Ryan moves and I jump because I kind of forgot he was there. He was so quiet.
“That was… wow,” he says softly, looking at me in awe. “You’re perfect,” his mouth quirks up, and for the second time today, I forget how to breathe. His fingers inch up onto the keys, running over my own fingers. “Show me?” he asks, his head to the side.
I swallow, taking a calming breath. “Sure,” I reply just as soft, taking my hands off and placing his on the appropriate keys. He looks down at his hands, and before I can rethink it, I place mine on top of his before starting the song over, pressing down his fingers for him. When I glance at him, he’s smiling down at our hands, watching attentively.
He scoots closer to me and I kind of lose my train of thought, my hands slowing down on the keys until they aren’t moving at all anymore, just resting on top of his. He looks over at me, still with that brilliant smile that makes me feel fuzzy.
I don’t even remember how my face got so close to his. All I know is that I can see the specks of brown in his eyes, the nearly nonexistent freckles on his cheekbones that wouldn’t be noticeable farther away, and my breathing has increased significantly.
“Brendon,” Ryan mumbles, almost whispers, and then his hand isn’t under mine, it’s tangled with mine, our fingers fitting together perfectly. His other hand is trailing up my arm, and when did I start leaning forward? He’s breathing hard too, his breaths coming out hot against my mouth, and I can see his eyes fluttering shut.
I barely feel the ghost of a soft touch on my lips before I hear our teacher yelling from the other room for everyone to clean up, ruining the moment and causing me to jump.
I inwardly curse that fucking teacher to the depths of hell.
I cough a little, straightening up and fixing the mess I made of the sheet music. I’m scared for a second that things will turn awkward, but when I look at Ryan he’s smiling at me, maybe looking a bit flustered, and I breathe out calmly.
“Guess it’s almost time for class to be over,” I laugh weakly.
“Yeah, um. Yeah,” Ryan laughs nervously, looking away and biting his lip. Fuck, since when do I want to grab him by the shoulders and kiss the fuck out of him until he can’t breathe anymore? Since when do I feel tingles all over when I’m near him?
God, I am so, so fucked.
* * *
“Jayda, Jayda, Jayda, Jayda!” I call repetitively, dashing through the house. “Jayda, fucking come here!” I shriek. She comes barreling out of her room and into mine.
“What?!” she asks, looking worried and a bit freaked out. “What’s wrong?”
“I almost fucking kissed Ryan, that’s what’s wrong!” I wail. God, I don’t understand all these feelings. Jayda’s whole face relaxes and I think she might even roll her eyes.
“That? That’s your big emergency?” she laughs. “I could have told you that was going to happen sooner or later.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, hands on my hips. She flops down onto my couch, looking up at me.
“You have feelings for him, Bren. Anyone with eyes can see that,” she smiles fondly. “You just didn’t realize it.” My confusing stare isn’t helping matters because she just keeps looking back at me with that knowing smirk.
“I just - I feel really weird every time I’m near him. Like, my stomach feels weird,” I say, clutching my stomach for effect. She laughs again, loud this time.
“Honey, that’s what happens when you like someone. Ever heard the term ‘butterflies’?”
“Huh,” I muse. “I totally get that now.”
“You’ve liked people before, though,” she points out confusedly.
“But not like this,” I answer honestly. “Jay, I’ve never had this feeling before in my life. Sometimes that fluttery feeling gets so bad I think I’m going to throw up, and then I can’t breathe and I don’t know what to say around him and-”
“Whoa, easy. Take a breath,” she grins. “I can’t believe it took you this long to realize you like him, you idiot.”
“It’s just - this is so weird. He makes me want to…” I trail off, unsure if I should tell her or not.
“What?” she lifts an eyebrow. I sigh.
“He makes me want to be… me again,” I look at her meaningfully, and her mouth opens to let out a soft breath.
“Bren,” she smiles lovingly. “You know what? Maybe Ryan’s exactly what you’ve been looking for.” I stare at her long and hard, because that sentence made me stop and think.
The only thing my mind can come up with is that she may be right.
* * *
It’s weird to realize that you’ve had feelings for someone for a month and not even known it. But it makes sense now. That’s why I feel so different around him. I feel the need to impress him, to make sure I never sound stupid in front of him. That’s why I care so much. That’s why ever since I met him I’ve been dying to figure him out. It’s because I like him. I care about him.
He’s slowly changing me.
I just - god, I want to help him. I want to get him away from the abuse he’s living in because he doesn’t fucking deserve it. Ryan is the sweetest, most caring person I’ve ever met and I don’t see how anyone could hurt him.
If it’s the last fucking thing I do, I will make sure that nobody else hurts him.
Chapter 7