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Ryan
There aren't many people here, thank goodness. Two lone tears, one on each side, run down my face. Just as I'm about to turn around, to give in to the plea in his voice, I hear Gabe walking away. Too late now. I'm not going to chase him, even if I'm dying to talk to him. He's leaving, and I'll let him go. I told him to anyway. This is okay, I think as I stare at the painting.
The bleak, black background is a stark contrast to the orange-reddish flames. I feel the battle between the flames as they try to stretch upwards, each lick of fire trying to reach farther than the other. The longer I look, the more I can feel the same battle against oneself inside me. This sucks. It's not making me feel better, so I turn to leave.
I can and will be fine without him. Part of me wants to fight to hold on to him, but I can't. I won't. My damn mind keeps replaying Gabe's silence. Over and over. If he had even an inkling of love for me, he would have immediately said something.
He didn't.
So, he doesn't.
Besides, I should be more focused on the disaster I call family. My parents call the following Sunday. The conversation is much longer than I wanted, but I get my way in the end. I can still hear the skepticism in their voices after I calmly explained why I wanted to major in art. My mother was thoroughly confused why I picked that. I'm pretty sure I scared them with my outburst, and she was genuinely trying to understand my decision.
After I told her, she seemed to accept it. Mostly. Their displeasure was apparent, but it all came down to one thing. If I was going to fail, then it might as well be because of me and only me. Then she said that if I changed my mind or if my grades slipped, they were cutting me off. They weren't going to waste money on my indecisiveness or laziness. Overall, the conversation was bullshit.
Nothing has changed. I don't even know if I want things to ever change. The way our relationship is right now is all I've ever known. It's a sucky one, but it doesn't have to change because it would either be for the better or for the worst. Hell, talking to my mom like normal was new, and I kind of hated it. Explaining it to her was torture because all it reminded me of was Gabe. He led me to the decision after all. Damn it. I miss him.
None of that matters, though. The only person I'm talking to is Viv. I told my parents I needed some space, so they've stopped calling for the mean time. And I'm still ignoring Gabe. He calls, leaves messages, but I don't listen to them. I can't. If I do, I'm scared it'll wear me down and I'll call him. My grudge against him is still there, and I'm still mad as hell over it. Right now, it's easier for me to stay pissed off than to face the music and listen to Gabe.
If I stop being angry, then it'll hit me that I bitched at Gabe and he might have been telling the truth. He could have been seconds away from standing up to his mother. I'll never really know because I spoke up first. He should have beaten me to it, but he didn't. Even if he was going to, I don't want to become a wedge between him and his family. His mother aside, Gabe has a wonderful family. They love each other to no end. I don't want to interfere with that.
No matter how many times Gabe calls, I don't answer. He calls at least once every day, and even a call to Viv here and there. I was with her the first time he called. She didn't tell him much, and after she hung up, I told her that if he calls again, she better not say anything more than I'm fine. Gabe doesn't get to know those things anymore. I almost want to give in because he calls her to check on me, but then again, that pisses me off too. If I wanted him to know, I would answer him myself.
For now, Viv is all I need, and I'm happy with that. Finals are coming up in a few weeks. Part of me wants to go party, get fucked, and forget about everything. I don't really want to do that, though. Besides, I need to make all A's, so the only thing I have time for is studying. I don't need my parents, Gabe, or that stupid four letter L-word on my mind to distract me.
Chapter Fifteen
Gabe
I never went shooting with the guys, and I've immersed myself in my work. My boss gets sick of seeing me at the station, finding paperwork to do. If my brain is numb with writing stuff down, then it'll be too tired to think about Ryan and her silence. I've tried calling Ryan multiple times, but she never answers. I don't even get to hear her phone ring and ring because she hits ignore, sending me straight to her voicemail. Maybe she just needs time to figure things out for herself. She's probably having to deal with lashing out at her parents too. Ryan doesn't need me adding to her problems.
Every day, I think about the night of her birthday. When she told me in false confidence that she loved me. I know that I have feelings for her, and I know the extent of those feelings. Not once did I tell her before Thanksgiving. I should have because now, she's dealing with what happened with us as well as her parents, and she doesn't know. What's worse is that she probably doesn't think I have feelings for her at all. I've tried to speak with her, but I have to wait until she's ready to talk to me. Whenever that will be. Every time she sends me to her automated voicemail, I want to run over there and demand she listen to me. I can't. So I'll keep calling, keep leaving messages, and wait until I can't wait anymore.
I make sure to work every Sunday to get out of going to dinner at my parents. I'm still not happy about Thanksgiving, and I haven't been talking to my mom that much. Of course, I'll be back soon enough, but for now, I just want to work as much as possible. Anything to keep me from being at home. Because when I'm at home, the thoughts of Ryan are so much worse. The memories of her birthday party, of the night it stormed and she didn't want to come inside, of the night we had sex in every room of my house, and of her smile when she saw I bought Sunkist for her.
She's everywhere.
When I patrol downtown and pass where we saw her on Halloween, I think about her stumbling down the street and me taking her home. Any time Fredrick says something inappropriate, I remember that night. I think about her every time I wash dishes. It's crazy! I'll end up washing the same dish for ten minutes because Thanksgiving replays in my mind as I picture her breaking down and throwing the glassware onto the floor. I saw her relax bit by bit with each thin
g she destroyed, but I stopped her anyway. All my memories of her play on a loop in my mind.
I want to see her and force her to talk to me. The main reason why I haven't is because I don't know what's going on with her parents. If things aren't going well, I want to be there for her, but I don't want to make things worse either. I've even called Viv a few times to check on Ryan. She only says that Ryan is fine, and she'll let her know that I called. I've done everything short of stalking over there.
“You're here early,” Fredrick says, taking a seat in the empty chair at the table in the break room, pulling me from my memories.
“There was some paperwork I needed to do.”
“You've been doing a lot of paperwork lately.”
“Are we going to work or not?” I snap.
He holds his hands up in surrender as I mutter an apology, and we head outside to leave. I don't know why she continues to ignore me, but I think it's time I stop doing as she wishes. Tomorrow, Ryan is going to talk to me because I can't let this go on any longer.
* * *
The sound of a gunshot rings loud in the air.
“You good?” I call out to Fredrick.
