There is no before
by M. F. Luder
Part seven: Surrender
18. say ahh
Ryan turns his head around, the knuckles on his neck and spine popping. He takes a deep breath, and then lets it out, slowly, through barely parted lips.
The red light turns green and he starts the car once again, driving down the street, not really seeing the trees and grass going by.
He's been doing nothing but driving for the past three and something hours. Seth's voice hasn't stopped ringing in his ears, sounding in his mind, word after word, each one hurting even more than the one before.
If you don't tell them, it's like you don't love them at all
"Bullshit," Ryan mutters under his breath. His neck starts blazing with held anger and he bites down on his lower lip. Apparently, the words still ring inside him.
And you hear them, once again. Over and over again. You can't not hear them.
It's like you don't love them
Like you don't love them at all
You think that's not right. You fucking know that's not right. You haven't told him, you haven't said a word but that doesn't mean... that doesn't mean anything. You haven't told him because you know him, and you know what his response will be and what's the fucking point in risking everything for one moment of happiness. If you'd even get that.
You can't tell him. That's not even the question.
Ryan sighs, shakes his head and makes another turn. His gaze shifts to his cell phone on the dashboard. It has stopped ringing. Stopped about half an hour ago. Seth probably got tired.
When he stops by the next red light, Ryan picks it up and looks at it. Seventeen missed calls. Well, isn't Seth persistent?
And isn't that one of the many traits you love about him? One out of one hundred, one thousand. One out of a million.
Ryan sighs and pockets the cell phone. At least Seth got it into his head that he doesn't want to talk about this, about anything at all, not for a while.
Thinking, that's what you've been doing. Thinking. Doing nothing but thinking and pondering and hitting the steering wheel with your palms and wiping at your cheeks and pretending your chest isn't being compressed by something you don't recognize. More like compressed by Seth's words, by the tone and the voice and the remembrance of it all.
You tried to forget, but couldn't. You try to think past it, but still can't. This isn't something you'll forget, or let go of, or even move on from. This isn't something to move on from, actually. This is the kind of thing that marks you for life, that leaves a scar and blazing red fire and scorching skin in its wake. It has. You can feel it under you fingertips, under your heartbeat even.
When the light turns green, Ryan turns right, down the street. Something in his mind tells him that maybe another hour -- another month -- will be needed in order to face Seth with something resembling composure. But he's an idiot, and he can be an idiot in given circumstances, like leaving in a hurry after Seth spoke about something like confessions of love, that should be as trivial as the weather. Of course, this is one of those times.
Ryan reaches the gates of the gated community and waits for the security guard, Gustavo, to open it.
Ryan's weak, too, apparently, because he parks the car in the driveway leading up the house. He waits, takes a deep breath and wonders if Sandy and Kirsten are back. Because, well, if they are, then there's nothing to fear, right? Seth can be blind, but he's no idiot, Ryan knows Seth would never mention this, whatever happened, to his parents. Nope. Not happening.
Ryan sighs, takes a deep breath and hopes Seth realizes that the... discussion? Argument? Whatever it was, was personal, and is something that he wishes not to repeat or talk about, ever again, thank you very much.
For a moment, you wonder what to say to him, when you see him. Because Seth'll be there, of course, sitting by the table as Kirsten is taking out the plates, Sandy pouring the food out of the containers to pretend that this a normal kind of meal. Seth'll be there, waiting for an answer for your little episode.
And what will you say?
Ryan bites his lower lip, parking the car in front of the garage, by Sandy's BMW. He turns the car off, takes out the keys and waits. One second ticks by, another, then another, and when it's very much obvious that whatever it is that Ryan's waiting for, some signal that things will work out it's not coming at all, he gets out of the car.
Asshole, you think. Moron. Idiot. You want to groan, to shake your head and hide under the covers, which is so very mature of you, but it's what you want to do.
You could have dealt with it, you fucking pussy. You should have stood up to Seth. It was nothing. Mere words spoken by someone who had no idea what he was talking about. It was nothing personal. You shouldn't have thought it was.
He wasn't talking about you. He wasn't calling you a coward, not to your face. He wasn't telling you anything. At all.
Ryan pauses as he closes the driver's door. He sighs, leaning against the joining of the hood and door. His heart is hammering in his chest and there's that tightness again, like he's on the verge of having a heart attack at the age of seventeen.
But he's not. It's not that.
It's like you don't love them
The memory alone hurts you, again, and your hand moves to your chest. You grimace, head ducked, and it hurts. Your face contorts in pain. Your hand shakes, you notice, as you look down at it. You're shaking. You're cold. God.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't.
You were supposed to love him until forever, until there was no more tomorrow, and he wasn't supposed to know -- he still doesn't, you think. But most importantly, you weren't supposed to look like an idiot in front of him.
You were supposed to stand it and look at him and nod when he needed you to. You were supposed to listen and not take it personally.
Ryan takes a deep breath, and his hand doesn't shake as bad. He doesn't feel as bad.
It was personal. Each word he said, it was personal. It was right to you. Like asking you to do something you've been too afraid to say.
And now, well, now you have to come up with a believable lie, right?
It's not his fault, Ryan thinks, straightening. He pats his pockets, car keys inside, and takes a tentative step forward. He's okay, he's not shaking and he thinks he looks as calm as he will tonight. It's not Seth's fault. He didn't know. He didn't. He had no idea.
The thought softens the hurt a little, and it's enough.
Just in case, because you know yourself and you know you've been on the verge of tears for the past four hours. You open the driver's door and look at yourself in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are red, and there's nothing to do about it. But your face looks composed, somewhat.
You rub your eyes, hard, and it makes it better. Only a little. God, it's pathetic. That's so pathetic.
But that's you, and you're used to this by now. You're pathetic, and in a way that makes you smile, it's all Seth's fault.
With another sigh, Ryan gets out of the car and makes his way into the house before he decides to take the chicken route way and drive until the sun sets.
It's very much like he imagined it, thank god. Sandy is getting out the containers from the bags as Kirsten gets out some plates. Seth's not doing anything. He's standing by the kitchen island, hip against the edge, looking at him with deep brown eyes.
Ryan's breath catches in his throat, unable to do anything but look at him, really look at him, and be reminded of why he fell in love with this person in the first place. Seth's face softens, the corners of his lips curling into not quite a smile, but not quite a grimace either.
Ryan's lips press into a thin line. Whatever Seth's thinking, whatever he thinks happened, he has no idea.
Kirsten asks about his whereabouts as she hands Seth a plate to take to the table. Seth leaves his post, reluctantly, that much is obvious.
"Out," Ryan says, and the answer is lame. Kirsten frowns. It takes him only a second to gather his wits. He smiles, shrugging as he does so. "Forgot a book at school and I have homework for tomorrow."
She nods, though she doesn't look convinced. She's smart, smarter than anyone gives her credit for, but she lets the matter drop. He can't thank her enough.
They take their seats, and the table seems to be filled with awkward silences. Sandy makes a comment about work, about the new firm he's signed up with. Kirsten doesn't talk about Newport Living, or Carter, but she does talk about a new project they have in hand.
"I think you might like it, Ryan." She smiles at him, pleased and happy, and he's trying his best to smile with as much sincerity as he can muster. "I could arrange for a visit."
"I'd like that," he says, mostly because he's like to see her in her element.
And Seth says nothing.
Ryan gives Seth a quick sideways look and Seth's staring down at his plate. Ryan sighs, picks up his fork and pushes the food around. He's not really hungry.
It's not his fault, you tell yourself as dinner comes to an end and you realize that Seth has only said five words tonight. And that was him asking Sandy for the salt and thanking him.
It's not his fault. He didn't know. But it hurts either way and you tighten your grip on the fork and pick at a piece of steak and eat it. It doesn't taste like anything, more like sand and dust in your mouth, but you eat it because Kirsten will worry if you don't have anything for dinner.
After dinner, Ryan helps with the dishes, willing his hands not to tremble as he feels Seth's gaze on him, piercing through his back.
You tell yourself not to look, it's not safe, but your heart, something inside you, doesn't listen to your brain. You look over your shoulder and Seth's looking right at you, brown eyes unblinking. You know him well enough, have spent the last year and something months learning his every quirk, the sound of his breathing, the tones of his voice and the silent language of his eyes.
You press your lips together when you hear the whisper of his question.
Ryan keeps quiet as he turns around and finishes rinsing the dishes under the tap before placing the dishes in the dishwasher. Kirsten and Sandy are sitting at the table still, sharing a glass of wine and a bottle of beer, quietly talking and chuckling. Ryan's heart clenches as something inside him shifts, desiring that which they have with such an ease.
When he's done, he tells them he has a biology paper to get done for tomorrow, and they nod, smiling at him. Ryan turns around and leaves the kitchen without a backward glance.
He closes the pool house doors behind him and lets out a long sigh of relief as he leans back against them. It's done. So far, it's done.
You're here, and he's there, and now there's this space between the two of you that you don't really care to close.
Ryan pushes himself off the door and makes his way to the bed. He truly does have homework to get done, a paper due Friday, and he only has two days left, and there's the History project to turn in on Thursday.
He goes through his books and sighs as he realizes that he left the Physics and Calculus books in the kitchen, on the table, earlier today when he left in a hurry. Either Kirsten or Sandy probably put the books on one side, so as not to get in the way. But they are in the kitchen, right now, and that could mean running into Seth. And that, of course, is something Ryan isn't willing to risk.
Even though the Calculus homework is due tomorrow and there's no need to get done History tonight, he figures he might as well do something productive.
And you're not really surprised when you hear a knock on the door before hearing it open, your back to it. It's him, and you know this as well as you knew that there was no way he would have let it slide. Half you isn't surprised at all, you expected this of him. It's his way.
You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the questions that will be fired and the answers you can't quite give.
With a heavy finality, Ryan turns around to face Seth, standing two paces before the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He would smile if it weren't so difficult for him to breathe.
"Hey."
Ryan looks up from the floor and stares at Seth, head tilted to the side, confusion plainly written on his face.
"Hey." There is nothing left for him to say, nothing he wants to put into words. This conversation, even though he knows Seth needs it, isn't something that Ryan wants to be a part of. He wants to turn around and do homework, to pretend that his little moment of weakness earlier today didn't happen, and if it did, that Seth didn't notice.
None of that is possible, of course. It happened and Seth very much noticed.
"I'm sorry."
The words take you by surprise - that was something you were not expecting. You blink, stunned, and try to get past the tightness in your throat to be able to speak. Because, really, when you're trying to put some distance between the two of you, to pretend you can talk with him with a detachment you do not feel, he goes and does something like this, forcing you to acknowledge the deep rooted love you feel for him.
"What?"
Seth gives him a smile and a shrug of his shoulder. "Look, dude, I don't know what I did, okay? Really. I won't pretend to because, well, I don't. But whatever it is, whatever it was, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"You didn't..."
What you want to tell him, you're not sure.
It wasn't you, it was me. You didn't mean the words. It wasn't meant to be personal. I know that. It was my mistake, not yours.
But that doesn't work, and even if it did, Ryan would never say that.
Ryan shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault."
"Ryan, dude, you left!" Seth takes a step forward, shaking his head. "You just left. You didn't say anything, didn't answer the phone. Just left. When the parents arrived.... God." Seth bites onto his lower lip with a grimace on his face. "I had no idea what to tell them, you know? What was I supposed to say?"
Nothing, you think. Nothing to say.
"I shouldn't have left."
"What is it?" Seth takes a tentative step forward, head tilted. "What--" Seth's voice is low, barely above a whisper, and it makes Ryan want to reach out and touch him. "What did I do?"
Ryan's face softens, sighing under his breath. He sits down on the bed, heavily, with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he stares down at his hands. They don't shake anymore. They're just cold, like his insides, and they can't shake, they're frozen.
"It wasn't you. It wasn't..." Ryan sighs. What is there to say, actually? Nothing. "Forget it."
You feel the bed dip when Seth takes a seat by your side. You can feel his shoulder against your own. You can almost feel his heat reaching for you. You close your eyes, it pains you so. It's not fair, to have him this close and know you can touch him. It's not fair to have him and not have him at the same time.
And that's what hurts. And that's what he doesn't know. He can't. He won't.
Even as your resolve shakes.
"You have no idea," Ryan breathes out, the words leaving his lips before he can think them through.
Seth leans slightly to the side, to Ryan's side, and Ryan refuses to look up, to turn and look at him. He's trying to hear the words, words that are no more than a whisper.
Words you wonder how you can pronounce when you can barely imagine them.
"You have no idea," you sigh. They leave your mouth, the words, and you can't control them. They have a life of their own. They want out, finally, at last. They want to be heard, and they want to be heard by Seth. You can't do anything against that.
Maybe, you think bitterly, he really deserves to know.
"It isn't that easy."
Silence elongates before the two of them, in between, and it's about to drown Ryan when Seth asks, "What?"
Ryan closes his eyes painfully. "To tell them."
"What--?"
"You said," Ryan continues, eyes closed, for he cannot face Seth if he wants to say this. "If you don't tell them, it's like you don't love them at all." Ryan snorts, his lower lip trembling. "It's not that easy."
"Ryan, dude... I wasn't thinking."
"Yes, you were." Ryan opens his eyes only to stare down at his hands. "But you were wrong."
"Ryan--"
"You have no idea." The words leave at their own pace, finding their own way, and Ryan does nothing to stop them. "You have no fucking idea." The curse is not heated, only tired, and it means nothing in Ryan's lips. "You don't know how it is to watch the person you... care for be with someone else."
It's in your mind, you realize, that the bitterness lies.
You told her, yes, fucking easy, because you already knew how she felt for you. She fucking kissed you in your grandfather's party. You knew.
Ryan shakes his head.
Seth knew, yes, and Ryan knows as well. But the knowledge, it weighs differently. It feels differently and it taste differently.
Correspondence is one thing, loneliness is another.
"You don't know," Ryan whispers. "I..." He sighs. Seth shifts by Ryan's side and he feels their shoulders touching, and that's enough to finish the sentence. "The risk isn't in telling, the risk is in knowing the other person's reaction. And I know."
Seth will ask, you know. He can't not do it. It's in his nature. Again, one of the many things you love about him.
"What do you know?"
You almost smile, the words are exactly how you picture them.
But you can't, it hurts, to give in and out, to say the words that you've kept secret for so long, treasured, to yourself.
"That you'll hate me."
There's an intake of breath and that, as well, you expected. At times, like this, Seth is nothing if not predictable. For someone who knows him as well as you, of course.
He doesn't say anything, neither does Ryan. They sit, and Ryan can almost hear Seth going through the words, seeing two and two and trying not to come up with four.
Give up, Ryan thinks, and let's get this over with. Once and for all.
It doesn't take long, at least, when Ryan hears Seth shift in his seat. He scoots away, and Ryan's heart clenches in his chest.
He had expected it, but at the same time, he hadn't. And when Ryan notices it, when he feels the shift...
It freezes your heart. It freezes you inside out because, really, it wasn't supposed to hurt this badly. You've been hurting all this time, how is it possible for it to keep coming. It can't. It shouldn't, and then again, it does.
"You..."
Ryan nods. No need for more. The word hangs in the air. And still, somehow, you whisper, "I love you."
Ryan sighs, takes a deep breath and lets it out through barely parted lips once again. His gaze lifts from his hands and he turns around, eyes searching for Seth's face. It is not to found.
Seth's eyes shift, glancing with the corner of his eye in Ryan's direction before quickly looking at the floor again.
Ryan closes his eyes in a grimace. "I'm sorry."
"Ryan--"
"That's why I didn't want to tell you."
They sit in silence and Ryan wonders if he could ask Seth to leave, just stand up and leave and walk into his bedroom and the next morning, pretend nothing was said.
But that'd be denial, and though you've become a master in that art, Seth isn't even an initiate. He couldn't.
"Ryan?"
You look up, your lower lip between your teeth, and what you find in gentle brown eyes takes your breath away.
He's looking right at you, and for the first time in so many heartbeats you're surprised you've missed it this much.
He smiles at you, shrugging as he does so. His face is bright and calm and it's everything you saw that morning and it's the same thing that pulled you to him that pulls you this time.
He tilts his head to the side and that's the beacon in the night. And again, you listen to his silent words.
Ryan's lips soften into a ghost of a smile, letting out a soft breath of contentment as he leans forward, slowly, and his heart seems to beat more slowly. All time slows around you.
And then Seth's eyes widen in surprise and he turns his face away from Ryan's, and it feels like the temperature has dropped.
The gasp, the intake of breath from Ryan's part make his already aching heart feel like it's breaking, all over again.
And this is your fault, of course, for believing something like this could happen. For letting yourself do that, for letting him know. For doing this, trying to kiss him when you know there is nothing left for you there.
And this is the way it's going to be from now, too. You, reaching forward for something you can't grasp.
"Ryan, I'm sorry. I'm not--"
"Don't." Ryan's tone is bitter and cold, and he shivers, standing up in one quick motion. He shakes his head. "Forget it."
"Ryan--"
Another shake of his head. "It's late. I've got homework."
Bitter words from a bitter man. Ryan makes his way to his desk once again, slowly, arms around himself. His grip on his forearm tightness, nails sinking into flesh and he closes his eyes when he hears Seth move toward the door.
"Ryan, don't--"
"It's late Seth."
Go, you beg, silently. Please. Fuck. Just fucking go. I've done enough for one night. Just go so I can die in peace.
He seems to hear you. A moment later, you hear the door close behind him and that's enough. You grimace, your face into painful contortion. You sit down heavily on the bed and hide your face in your hands.
Oh, god.
Your forehead hurts and your eyes sting and everything inside you is clenched tight, and it never hurt this bad, not this much.
You press your hands into your eyes, the heel of your palms, and it does nothing to stop anything. Your chest heaves, and breathing is impossible. You try to inhale and it turns into a sob.
You shake your head.
No, no, stop this. You're no child. Stop this. Stop this.
But you can't.
Ryan sits there, on the bed, for minutes that turn into an hour. His hands stay on his face, his body leaning forward, finding comfort in resting forearms on knees.
There's nothing left in the world for him. Nothing means enough, is as sufficient, as this. There is no homework or tomorrow, or even today.
There was only that moment for you, when you whispered it, you said it. There. He wanted you to be honest, and you were, and look at where it has gotten you.
You're broken, here, sitting. You're broken and you can never be mended again. And when you finally let your body tilt to the side and rest on the bed, you realize you don't want to.
Part six: Speak
Part eight: Long
There is no before