“Sure.”Alex’s fist clenched.“You can’t even see—”
Ry stared at the pair of boots in front of him.A thin coat of fine dust coated the otherwise black boots.Ry crossed his arms, his throat a vise.“Alex, stop being so clingy.”
A mocking sound ripped from Alex’s throat, his eyes wild.“You narcissistic asshole!You don’t give a fuck about any of us.All you care about is groveling to Arend and expecting to live off the scraps.”
Ry thrust himself up to meet Alex, leaving a tangle of metal behind in his rush.An ugly, burning heat seared through him.“Oh yeah, uh-huh.Well, fuck you, too.Caring about people, like your sister, makes me a narcissist.You don’townme, Alex.”
Alex frowned.“If we’re all saying it, maybe it’s true.”
“Great.”Ry stood taller, his arms crossed.“So what?You just want to throw it all away then?”
“You’re the one throwing everything away, Orion.You’re the one treating me like dog shit.”
“Fuck.You.Asshole!”He jabbed Alex hard in the chest, the impact pushing the behemoth backward.
Alex’s scar twisted as he sneered.“Don’t even think about touching me again.”He stormed toward the back door.
Ry trailed behind, a magnetism pulling him forward.A flush spread across his cheeks, and his arms trembled uncontrollably.An acrid taste flooded his mouth, and the words erupted from his throat, rough and choked.“Fine, walk away like you always do.Coward.”
“Younevercared.”Without turning around, Alex flipped him off, slamming the door shut behind him.
Ry stomped, a low growl rumbling in his chest.He kicked pieces of loose concrete, the sharp clack echoing as they ricocheted off the wall bordering the property.Grabbing the flimsy folding lawn chair, he hurled it with a grunt; it landed with a rattle, breaking against the ground.He let out guttural screams, raw and ragged, the sound tearing from his throat.
The rumbling traffic, distant conversations, the cacophony of the surrounding neighborhood drowned out Ry’s low sobs.The chains constricting around him tightened, his breath shallow and uneven.Without Alex, this had to be easier, right?Arend couldn’t push him, force him, prod him into any more suffocating corners.
A breeze, carrying salt-scent, drifted through the yard, burying itself into his chest.He sat back on his heels, his eyes wet, his legs numb.With the help of a nearby rock, he pushed himself up and stumbled toward the house, each step needles in his feet.
Inside, only the indistinct whoosh of the fans disturbed the emptiness.Garbage cascaded from the trash can, dirty dishes filled the sink, and the cold remains of dinner sat on the table.
He moved through the hollow rooms.Everyone had vacated.
Back in the kitchen, Ry's gaze swept over the shelves, the dim light glinting off the rows of bottles.His fingers wrapped around the cool, half-empty vodka bottle, its weight a comfort as he rotated it, staring at the way the light danced within.At the kitchen table, the sticky surface of the placemat was rough as he pushed it aside.He set the vodka down with a soft thud.No shot glass.The sharp twist of the lid promised oblivion.His eyes fell to the floor, the worn, ugly linoleum peeling up in the corners.
He tilted the bottle and took a long, burning swig.The cheap liquor, acrid and pungent, scraped his throat through the frigid ache in his chest, only to land as a dull warmth in his belly.The bottle’s emptiness echoed the specious, vacant silence, broken only by the faint clink of glass.Ry drank again, the fire a meager flicker against the vast, barren wasteland within.He drank more, the room beginning to shimmer, the table legs blurring, the entire kitchen swaying and spinning.Then the world faded away, his vision darkening into a soft blackness that muffled all light.
CHAPTER 15: PRESENT
A bird, probably a seagull from the flash of white, flew by the window and off toward the distant ocean.Stacks of paper surrounded Ry: one for drafts, one for folded letters ready for him to deliver, and one of blank pages.He stared at the mess in front of him.He’d written Lon’s name a few times, usually followed by an “I’m sorry” or two, then scratching that out only to scribble it again.Or some variation thereof.
Tomorrow, Lon, Brand, and Alex would be here at Rosewood to see him for a few short hours.Before the visit, he had to compose a message for each of them and hand-deliver it.He’d already written and mailed the one to his father, apologizing for how he’d acted just before signing.Ry would call him next week.
Alex’s letter had been the first he’d tackled.Whether right or wrong, he assumed it would be the most difficult.It had taken him about six copies to get it to sound the way he wanted.With Brand, it was easier: three tries and a few short pages.
Trees danced lazily in the breeze outside, and the sun painted the peaks of the waves a golden hue.Where had the gull flown off to?He tapped the pen on the desk, staring out at the sea.Where to start?Discharged from the hospital a few weeks ago?The night of the party?The evening he and Alex broke up?
He gripped the pen and scratched it over the page again, starting with an apology for being an asshole, for bringing him onboard Ghostfire, for using him as an excuse to go along with Arend.As he wrote, more words spilled out of him, the shape of the amends unfolding with each firm drag of the nib across the paper.Done with the first draft, he set it aside.
He would write the final message after dinner.His edits would clean up language, organize his thoughts, and review for anything that wasn’t about Ry and his treatment of Lon over the last few years.
His muscles uncoiled with a satisfying pop, a welcome change after hours spent cramped at the desk.Though he still had a couple dozen more letters to write, he had the next week for those.Perhaps he’d go for a swim with the remaining hour of the day.
The hallways he meandered through were quiet.As he neared the lobby, the central hub of resident life, one of the female staff members pulled him aside.“There is someone to see you, your manager.Do you want to speak to him?”
Ry shook his head and said, “He can leave a message.”There was no way he wanted to encounter Arend, not when he was doing his best to work through the more terrible things the man had done to him.To Alex.To Ghostfire.
“Understood, Mr.Clair.If he leaves one, we’ll get it to you.”
“Thank you,” he said.
