Yelling
by M. F. LuderPart three
Nothing valued think no fear,
always wondering why you're here
- Live of my own. Three Doors Down.
The weekend ends and Ryan doesn't say a word about what he has tried to forget about his tenth year on earth. It's Monday, and Monday means papers to turn in and classes to pay attention to.
By Wednesday, when no word has been mentioned about Dick Dart, Ryan managed to block out the memories and past and everything else that was shoved to the forefront of his mind when Mr. Dart walked in.
He's pushed everything back to the furthest corner, under everything that means nothing and should mean nothing, when on Thursday night, as Ryan picks up one of the containers and pours himself some mushu pork, Kirsten speaks up.
"I talked with Dick. We're having Saturday lunch at his place."
Ryan freezes for a second, his hand stilling and he has to catch himself, grip his fingers tightly around the fork, to keep it from falling onto the table.
"Mom..."
Seth's whining gets him nowhere. Kirsten shakes her head. "No, no, I promised. I told him we'd be closer to him, like we used to be." She sighs. "Back when my dad still had friends. Anyway, we're going. I've already settled it with him."
"As long as I don't have to wear a jacket," Sandy says with a smile. "I'm in."
"Argh." Seth says, shaking his head, but at the end, Seth gives in, of course, Ryan hadn't expected anything else. It's not like he knows. It's not like Ryan has confided in him.
Ryan attempts to shake off all that something that is around him, holding him captive of memories he'd rather not be reminded of. He lowers his head and stares at his half served plate of Thai food, no longer hungry. He puts the container on the table and pushes it away from him, toward Sandy, in case he wants more. Ryan picks up his chopsticks and pauses. His hand isn't trembling, but it isn't moving either. It's cold. His fingers are cold and they hurt and he feels a tightness in his chest.
God. This isn't supposed to happen. He isn't supposed to remember, to go back to a past he has almost put behind him. Dick Dart is a memory of the past and it's fucking supposed to stay that fucking way.
But he's not, Ryan, my beautiful.
The word, the endearment that makes him shiver, forces his stomach to clamp and he can almost feel bile on his lips.
It's disgusting. Everything about that time is disgusting.
They don't mention the subject anymore. Kirsten makes a comment about work, and then Sandy starts in about a case, something stupid he shouldn't be working on, something along the lines of a yacht owner wanting to sue a cleaning company for putting one coat of wax on his boat when he had specifically asked and paid for two. Seth speaks afterwards, saying that now that they are talking about boats, he's been saving up some money to get his catamaran, but he might need some funding.
They are talking about the implication of something like that, about Seth actually, probably, tacitly, being banned from sailing a boat for the rest of his natural life, Ryan isn't sure. He isn't listening. He's trying to keep his breathing under control and his hand not shaking and the stinging in the back of his eyes to a minimum.
They don't notice that Ryan doesn't say another word through the rest of dinner.
Ryan knew he couldn't say a word. He knew it, in the back of his mind and in the front, but that didn't mean he could keep his brain from going over it at a mile a minute, his hands from shaking or his stomach from tightening into a knot each time he thought about it.
It was Saturday night and he was doing homework, sitting on the floor, books on his bed, trying his best to focus on whatever he had to get done for Monday, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop thinking, remembering, Mr. Dart's hands on his shoulder, the bite he still had on the nape of his neck, and the whispered words running through his head.
Before leaving the house on Thursday night, his mom had gone upstairs, to get the dresses the Mrs. had asked for, to put them in the closet, and Mr. Dart had walked into the kitchen.
Ryan's breath had caught in his throat and he had trembled, still did, sitting in his bedroom, as he remembered. Mr. Dart had smiled, closed the distance before Ryan knew what was going on, and whispered in his ear. "Next Thursday, my beautiful."
Ryan had almost thrown up on the spot, had he not been frozen in place, tears in his eyes, until his mom walked downstairs, said his goodbyes to her boss and they both left for the night. Ryan spent Friday afternoon with Trey, thank God, but that didn't mean next Thursday he'd be off the hook.
He closed his eyes, shutting them as tight as he could, but it wasn't tight enough. The tears welled up in his eyes, and then brimmed over the edges. His breathing was harsh, but his crying was quiet, barely a whisper heard in the room, let alone in the whole house.
There was nothing to say, nothing inside him, nothing that needed to be said. And even if there was, even if Ryan accepted that he had to talk about this with someone, anyone, there was no one out there to listen.
Ryan leaned forward, forehead touching the bedspread, and he let everything wash away, from inside out.
Ryan lifts his head, blinks and takes a deep breath before looking down at the books. Saturday morning and he's doing math homework, right? He closes the book and looks at the cover. Yes, yes, math. Not that he has gotten anything done, of course. He's been spacing in and out, and he can't even remember what class he's supposed to be learning.
He sighs, slams the book closed and rests his forehead on the covers.
The motion itself, somehow, makes his forehead ache and the back of his eyes sting and he has to bite down on his lower lip with as much force as he can muster without breaking the skin to keep everything bolted up, under chain and lock, the way it's supposed to be.
Not anymore, Ryan, my darling. Not anymore. I'm here, aren't I, sweetie? I'm here, my baby, my doll, my beautiful, beautiful boy. Perfect, lovingly, adorable. Perfect. Such a sweet ass--
"Shut up!"
The words come out through clenched teeth, like a hiss that sounds more like a whisper and nothing like a scream.
Ryan hits his forehead once, twice on top of the book cover before the voice dies down, quiet once again in the back of his mind. But there's no stopping the voice, is there? There never was. It was always there, even through all these years. It was there-sitting, waiting, until the perfect moment came and it could take over Ryan's mind and body, once again.
And God, you're fucked, aren't you, my darling? Yep. Fucked. You can't keep quiet any longer, can you, my beautiful? Nope. If you want your ass in one piece, literally, you gotta speak up or turn around and bend over.
And fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck, it isn't fucking right.
He takes a deep breath, holds it inside before letting it out slowly through parted lips. And he's still breathing, holding it and letting it out slowly, telling himself breathing is an action he's very much familiar with when he hears Seth walking into the kitchen.
Ryan lifts his head, rubs his eyes and tells himself everything is okay and that the walls around him aren't tinted with red.
"Dude?"
Ryan turns around and tries his best to give Seth a small smile. "Hey."
Seth pours himself a glass of orange juice, grinning at Ryan as he does so. "What are ya doing?"
Ryan looks over his shoulder at the books and shrugs. "Nothing much. Homework." Though nothing has actually gotten done, not that he'll tell Seth that, of course.
"Oh. Cool." Seth takes a seat at the other side of the table, taking a small sip from his glass before offering it to Ryan. Ryan shakes his head. Seth turns the closed book around and looks at the cover. Ryan wonders if Seth notices that Ryan's been banging his head against it. "Calculus?"
Ryan nods. "Yeah...though I haven't gotten much done."
Seth chuckles. "I have no idea how you deal with this."
Ryan looks up, sharply, his eyes slightly widen. "What?"
"This." Seth waves his hand in the general direction of the two of them and the table. "AP Calculus? Dude, argh. Talk about horrors."
Ryan gives him a tight grin and a shrug, pulling the book closer to himself, hand gripping the edge. "It's okay."
"Anyway," Seth says, checking his watch. "Better get it done, 'cause I'm pretty sure we'll leave in about half an hour."
"Leave?"
Seth nods. "Yeah, you forget? That guy's place... mom's friend? God, I can't remember his name."
Ryan's breath catches in his throat as the name leaves his lips. "Mr. Dart."
"Yeah, yeah, that one. What a weird name." Seth shrugs, standing up. I better change. Mom said not fancy, but she did specify to wear dress pants and not jeans." He shrugs again. "Hurry."
Ryan nods, not quite looking at Seth as he walks around the table and toward the second floor. Ryan's pulse quickens and once again, he forgets how to breathe.
It takes him a minute to gather what little control over himself he can, and he stands up on wobbly legs, gathering his books in his arms. He shakes his head, tells himself everything will be okay, he's with the Cohens once again, before walking out of the kitchen toward the pool house.