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***
I slip into our apartment and slink to the spare room. I am halfway into a fresh pair of clothing when Ryan knocks on the door.
He steps inside without an invitation. His eyes are puffy and blood shot. His hair and clothes, for once, are a mess. I sit on the bed, staring out the window, my back to him. He sits on the other side of the bed, facing away from me.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was so mad at Luke last night. We were arguing about work. And then he said…I was so drunk, I don't even remember exactly what he said.”
He moves a little closer.
“There's something between the two of you, isn't there?” he asks. I can't bring myself to lie, but I certainly can't tell him the truth.
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“I remember when I got the call last year. Someone told me you were on your way to the hospital. And I was terrified. I didn't expect to be terrified—I had so much practice staying calm while other people were freaking out—but I was terrified something awful would happen to you.”
“You've never been terrified of anything,” I say.
“I was. I tried not to show it, but I was so scared. I had no idea what to do. I still don't. I know I'm strict, maybe a little too strict, but it's only because I want to protect you.”
“I know.”
“I only want to take care of you.”
I look into Ryan's hazel eyes. He seems so sincere. Is he sincere? Did he bump his head and fall into the person he used to be, or is this some sad, insincere attempt to win my favor?
“I said such awful things last night,” he continues, “but I didn't mean it. It hurt so much knowing you wanted him…knowing you were with him.”
“Why didn't you want me to go back to acting?”
“Because I want all of you, all the time,” he says. “And I'm so, so scared you're going to fall apart again.”
“You can't have all of me all the time,” I say.
“I need to be the most important thing in your life,” he says.
“You were.”
“Were?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, but I'm not even sure what I mean. Was Ryan ever the most important thing in my life? Sure, I spent the entire day waiting for him to get home, but that was only to end my loneliness. I've never loved Ryan the way I love acting. I've never felt drawn to him, compelled to be by his side. I enjoy his company, usually, but is that really enough?
But Ryan has been there for me for so long. So what if I don't feel a rush when he touches me? So what if I don't crave a deeper intimacy with him? That's never been a part of our relationship. It's always been about keeping each other grounded. It's always been about him protecting me, and I, in exchange, being the pretty girl on his arm and in his bed.
It wasn't that cold. It's not like we had some kind of formal agreement. I still remember the first night we were together. I was so desperate for him to kiss me back. I was so desperate for him to want me. But why? I was never in love with him. I never lusted after him. I didn't even want him, not really, not the way I want Luke.
But he was there. And he cared about me, in his own, messed up way. And that was enough, wasn't it?
When did that stop being enough?
“I know things haven't been as good lately,” he says, “but we can change them. We can get back to how we were. You just need to listen to me and we can get things back to normal.”
How we were, with me relying on Ryan for everything, following his every order. No, that's putting it too cynically. I needed Ryan. He didn't order me around. He guided me. He looked out for me. He saved me.
“You called me a whore,” I say.
“I'm sorry. I was jealous about you and Luke.”
I get up from my spot on the bed and sit next to Ryan. Apologizing isn't Ryan's M.O. Maybe things will be different. Maybe he really means it.
