“How?”
I don’t fucking know, but I can’t tell her that. She’s makingme feel like a two year old getting scolded for painting on the walls, and Dom is here to witness it all.
“I will figure it out, or I’ll leave and never come back.”
I’m expecting a gasp.
A scream.
A plea ofno, don’t go, we’ll figure it out.
But that’s wishful thinking. “Fine. You have two weeks.” She looks at Dom and then back at me. “I’m not even going to ask. Just try not to take him down with you.” She storms out, not even telling me what would happen if, in two weeks, I don’t figure out a way to bring the money in to pay for all these supplies. The words should make me feel better. Instead, they make my chest ache even more, because she didn’t meanfineas in she trusts me, but more like she doesn’t believe I’ll be able to fix it.
Fine, you can leave.
Fine, I don’t need you.
No matter what I do here, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much of myself I pour into this ranch, she still sees me as the problem.
And I’m starting to believe that maybe I am.
She drives away, and I don’t know how long she’s gone by the time I shake myself from my stupor.
“Riley,” Dom whispers as I rush back and throw myself into organizing the rest of the supplies, as if the giant amount will change just because I’m rearranging. I ignore him. If I open my mouth again, I will fucking cry.
Everything was going fine for once in my life, so of course, things exploded.
Again.
“Everything will be fine. I’ll figure it out,” I reply, continuing with my mindless task.” I flash him a half smile, one he either takes because he can’t tell it’s not real, or one he chooses to accept for what it is. I don’t want to talk about it now.
I don’t. Not now.
If I let myself go there, to the arena of despair, I won’t know how to ride my way out of it.
30HELPLESS
Dom
Knockingon Riley’s door feels wrong somehow. After being invited into her bed for weeks, I still don’t let myself walk in uninvited, but something about today feels different. Last night, she went straight to her cabin, wished me good night from the front door, and left me there. She didn’t want to see me, and I heard her loud and clear. She needs her space, sure, but then this morning, she didn’t run, and now she’s still locked in there. I want to make sure she’s okay.
The door opens, and a very swollen, red-eyed Riley stands on the other side. Her nose matches eyes, and her hair is wilder than usual. If I didn’t know what happened yesterday, I would have assumed she’s sick.
“I brought food,” I say, lifting the bag in my hand. I had to go into town today, and I stopped at the deli. They have my favorite sandwiches, and it’s worth going just for those alone. Riley doesn’t smile, though. She says thank you and reaches for the bag with her eyes pinned to the wood of the deck. Maybe if I would’ve brought mom’s Asopao, she would have beamed like she often does.
She pushes the door, attempting to shut it, but I stop it. “Can I come in?” I ask, and she finally dares to hold my gaze. The light in her eyes is gone; I hate seeing her like this. It pains me in a way very little has before.
“Please.” She blinks, a tear running free and landing on the pad of my thumb, but wordlessly, she steps back, allowing me to enter. She walks to the living room, dropping herself in the corner of the couch. The kitchen, and everything else for that matter, looks clean—pristine. “Have you eaten today?”
She shakes her head.
“You have to eat.” I grew up in a house where food is the primary source of showing you care about someone. It starts in the belly, my parents would say.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Are you not hungry, or are you just avoiding food because you feel sad?”
“Aren’t you a know it all?” There’s none of her usual sass accompanying the remark. No eye roll, no little jabs about me acting like her dad. Nothing.
