Yelling
by M. F. LuderPart five
Try to hold this under control
They can't help me 'cause no one knows
- Changes. Three Doors Down.
It's easy to pretend. Ryan has become a master at it, and it feels like nothing, come Monday morning, to go to school, sit in class, stare at the teacher and write down what's being said. There are papers to get done, projects work on, and information to research. On top of that, he has afternoon battles with Seth, trying to find out who really is the Master of the World. Seth has a fondness for old games, games he used to play when he was a kid, things like Duke Nukem and Doom.
They still play it, of course. Ryan learned how to use the weapon five and how amazing it is, how to kill the big monster, throw its head to the other side of the field, and then sit down on the neck and pretend it's a can.
They have fun, and Ryan enjoys this, and then, afterwards, after they have battled and laughed, he goes to the kitchen table and starts on homework.
It's easy to pretend, and he does it great, because no one knows what he's thinking, how bad he's trembling inside, how he's feeling like he could die, right now, if that would finally get him out of this. And at the end of the day, when he lies down on his bed, he wonders if maybe that is the answer.
So it's not until Thursday morning, as he stands before the mirror and looks at his reflection, that it comes crashing down around him and on him. And he breathes, because he has to, and he lowers his head and tells himself, I can do this. I've done this before, I can do this again.
But maybe he's wrong.
He walks out of the pool house and to the kitchen, and everything is held in place, under thoughts of platitude, and he can function. He has breakfast with Seth, nudges him on the shoulder at one point and almost smiles, and things feel like they are alright.
They go to school, and it's while he’s sitting down in his seat and trying to copy what's being said about Physics, that his hand starts to tremble. He takes a deep breath and tells himself he can do this, and he writes down as much as he can of the little he actually heard.
Lunch is a quiet affair, at least on his side, as Seth does most of the talking.
Getting cold feet, my sweetie? You can't, beautiful, can you? You can't. Gotta go through this. Gotta be a man. Right?
He sighs and looks up at Seth and nods.
On their way back to class, Ryan tries so hard to keep his voice from breaking, his face from telling anything that it shouldn't, that he bumps against someone, something.
He looks up as his books fall down, and Ryan doesn't see the surprise in the eyes, or the confusion, or the lips that are parting to utter an apology. He sees black and green and blues, he sees dark eyes and nothing in them and something inside, something, just breaks.
Ryan's hands move to the guy's shoulders and he pushes, as hard as he can, with as much strength as he possesses at the moment. The guy hits the wall on the other side of the hallway. Ryan advances and when the guy tries to take a step forward, to say something, Ryan him pushes again.
Ryan bites down on his lower lip, feeling the back of his eyes sting and his resolve waver. He takes a deep breath, ready to push and punch and hit and curse and do everything in his power, the second that guy stands up and fights against him. Because, Ryan might not be able to fight the ones that can't be fought, but he can fight this man, this kid, this boy. Ryan can fight and hurt him, and maybe that will fix something inside him.
But that moment never comes. There's a hand on Ryan's shoulder, pulling him back, against a chest and arms come around him and he deflates, breath leaving his lungs. He sighs, leaning back and closes his eyes. There are words in his ear, but these ones are different. They are trying to calm him down and say nice things, things he hasn't heard in the longest time. Ryan hears them and nods, and listens, and doesn't do anything. Just waits.
When Ryan opens his eyes again, he can see, really see. He turns around in the almost embrace and looks up at Seth's face. Seth, who once again looks worried.
"Ryan, what the hell?"
Ryan shakes his head and turns around, looking at the guy on the other side of the hallway. The guy looks back at him and it takes Ryan a moment to recognize the person. Andrew. One of Luke's friends, now one of Zach's friends. A water polo player. He sighs. One of the guys who used to make his life a living hell, and Seth's as well, a long time ago. Well, if isn't life funny?
"Dude, what the-"
Ryan waves off whatever Seth was going to say. He half expects a teacher to show up, to take them both, or Ryan alone, to the Principal's office, to call Sandy and Kirsten and demand to know what Ryan’s problem is. And maybe, Ryan thinks, this is the only way things will come out. This is the only way he'll fucking talk.
But nothing like that happens. Andrew stands up, brushes away and glares in Ryan and Seth's direction. He's gritting his teeth, like he wants to ask for a fight with Ryan and truth is, Ryan doesn't care at this point. Doesn't care one way or the other. Fighting against this person who calls himself a man is more than fine with him.
Instead, Andrew picks up his backpack and his two fallen books and walks away. Seth lets out a soft sigh of relief and Ryan looks over his shoulder at Seth, pulling away from Seth's hold on his shoulder.
"He can't say anything," Seth says, shrugging, turning around and looking at the people gathered around them. Everyone starts making their way to class, not saying anything, but whispering around them. Well, that he expected. "He's on probation as it is. He has a thing for fist fights, same as you." Seth snorts. "If he so much as talked, he'll probably be blamed for the whole thing. Better for you."
No, Seth, actually not. I was looking for a fight, couldn't you fucking tell? Ryan nods. "Of course."
"Dude, what was that?" Seth picks up Ryan's fallen and forgotten backpack and hands it to him. "It was like you were looking for a fight. Dude."
Ryan shakes his head. Nothing to say. Nothing to be whispered or confessed. Nothing there, nothing at all.
Chicken shit. There's a grin coming from somewhere inside his mind. Chicken shit. Go on. Tell him. You want out of this? Then tell him. See what he thinks of you, of your little hot piece of ass that makes old guys want to have you, claim you.
Ryan closes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them and making his way down the hall, to the class they are already late for. "I lost it. He hit me."
"He bumped into you, you idiot." Seth shakes his head, not quite believing this. Well, Seth, that's two of us. "Ryan, come on, I thought you had a better grip on yourself. You're not one to go looking for a fight. They just kinda find their way to you."
Ryan lets out a soft chuckle, as false as he feels at the moment, and they walk into class. Seth says their apologies, and they take a seat, in the far back of the classroom. Ryan sits quietly, places his books on the table, pretends to listen to the teacher and tells himself he can get through this day.
Wednesday night, his dad walked into the house. Ryan couldn't smell the liquor on his breath, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. And maybe, if he was half drunk, it would be easy. He'd be easy to convince.
Ryan kept on washing the dishes before setting them on the table. He had cooked-grilled sandwiches-the only thing he can make, his mom too tired from work to care.
Trey was out, somewhere, with Eddie and Arturo, and the rest of the gang Ryan hadn't seen in over two weeks, since his mom had been working for Mr. Dart. Because, she thought, it'd be better for him to spend the afternoons with her, in that house, doing homework and not with his brother, who could at least keep him safe. Ryan could always blend in, almost disappear, staying out of trouble as Eddie and Trey talked about something, and Arturo tried to show off. He’d hang out with Theresa and what not. Anything would be better than Mr. Dart.
"Do I have to go with mom tomorrow?"
His dad looked up from his plate, long enough to reach for the beer by his elbow and take a long swig. He shrugged, looked down at the plate and picked up the sandwich.
Ryan sighed, lowered his head, and thought of a better way to approach this. "I don't want to go." He said, his voice as strong as he could make it, and his gaze flickered to the small TV in between the two of them. A basketball game of some sort, one team against another, that Ryan wasn't really following. And neither was his dad, now that Ryan thought about it, but it was noise and it was in between them, and that was more than enough, wasn't it?
"Your mom wants you there."
Ryan bit his lower lip. "But I'm doing nothing. I can do homework here. I'll still get it done."
His dad shook his head. "She wants you there."
Ryan felt his face contorting into a grimace and, had his dad been looking at him instead of the game, he might have noticed. "But... I don't like it there."
"She said the place was nice. You can eat whatever you want from the fridge. Her boss said it was alright."
But I don't want to eat anything. I don't want to be there. He's there. And I don’t want to be there with him. He's there, dad, can't you see? He's there and I'm there, with him, and he's there and mom's not around.
Ryan clenched his teeth, his jaw hurting and he placed the fork on top of the plate. He wasn't hungry anymore.
"I want to stay home," he tried one more time. Maybe he could find solace this time.
His dad shook his head. "Don't fuck with her, ok? She's been in a good mood the past week. Just... just go, okay? It's not like it's that horrible."
Ryan wanted to contradict that, to tell him just how horrible it was, how it would keep on being that way as long as he kept going, but he couldn't. He sighed, nodded, and eyed the game without really watching.
Ryan blinks, tilting his head to the side and for a moment, he wonders what it is they are watching. Seth's watching, actually, really caught up in the movie, and then it flickers, like a light switch being turned on. They are watching Hellboy again. Not that it bothers Ryan, not at all, he likes indulging Seth here and there. It, somehow, feels good for the soul.
Only today is different, and he can barely remember how he got there from school. He frowns, looking down at his folded hands on his lap, down to his feet on the coffee table. He looks relaxed, even though he feels anything but.
After school, after the almost suspension that didn't happen, he went to all his classes, tried his best to keep everything in check, and there were no other close call incidents. None at all. They made their way back home, Seth and him, together, as a united front, of course, like always.
The comfort he felt at the thought, at the memory of it all, is whisked away by the notion that the clock is ticking and unless he gets this over with, there will be hell to pay. He lets out a soft breath, gaze shifting to the screen, Hellboy and Abe and John talking about something, a scene Ryan should know, he has seen the movie enough times to know half the lines, but at the moment, he's trying to come up with a plausible excuse to get out of the house.
"Don't you have homework?"
Seth turns around, looking at Ryan for a moment, his eyes flicking to the TV as something breaks, and then back at Ryan. "What? Dude, homework? Nah, homework is for geeks."
Ryan lifts an eyebrow.
Seth gives him a grin. "Well, yeah, I have homework. But I can totally do it in eleven minutes, ten, if don't change pens during the graphic, so that's it. I’ll get it done after dinner."
"It's nice to know your education is being put to good use," Ryan says, standing up and turning around, "but I do have homework to get done."
"I thought you only had that Biology thing for next week."
Ryan closes his eyes as he pauses by the edge of the couch. Right, one thing he can't believe he forgot, Seth knows more about his classes at times than Ryan does. Except about History, because History has been so boring the past three weeks, he has barely talked about the subject. So History it is.
"Actually," he says, picking up his pace as he makes his way to the other side of the couch. "I have a History exposition to get done."
Seth frowns, not quite believing him. Ryan's a pretty shitty liar, he knows, but he also knows that he's always managed to get out of questions and answers when he has needed to. When his life has depended on it. And now, well, now it's more than his life. It's his sanity, and that means everything.
"I gotta get it done for next week. I need to meet with a group."
"Oh," Seth says, thinking about it. Probably going over the lists of Ryan's classmates in his mind.
Ryan does the same, and comes up with three names in five seconds. "You remember Sarah, right? Her and Bridget, and Nell?"
Seth nods, still half frowning. He probably remembers the names, if only vaguely, and is trying to put them with the faces. Good, because Seth has only met Sarah once, when she asked for Ryan's History notes about three months ago. And Bridget by association, of course, since those two are glued at the hip. Seth has never met Nell, and Ryan only got her name once, when he had to pair up with her to get some questionnaire ready for a class. Seth doesn't know them enough to go up to them at school and ask them about the project, and that's exactly what Ryan's counting on.
"Anyway, I gotta go."
Ryan turns around just as his hands start to tremble, and he's counting the minutes until he's back in control. Because he'll be back, and he'll be able to breathe and be himself again. This is only a bump in the road, and he's gotten over those in the past. He'll do it again.
"Okay, dude, take care. You'll be back by dinner, right?"
Ryan looks over his shoulder at Seth, who's back to watching the movie, and his chest tightens at the knowledge, or lack of, of Seth. He swallows, takes a deep breath and when he's certain it won't catch in his throat, he says, "Yeah, of course. Won't be late."
He picks up his bag from the kitchen table. It's close to five, he knows, and it's getting late, and it's pointless for him to stall because he's going to have to do this, at some point or the other, and better to get it done already, isn't it? He closes his eyes, pausing, hands gripping the edge of the table. His face leans forward and it's like everything weighs too much, too soon, too everything. His teeth are clattering against one another, and he can't breathe.
How did he do it, the last time? How did he manage to walk away slightly intact, able to breath and see and be, when right now, the memory of it makes Ryan want to let go of the table and fall down to his knees? He has no idea, but he did it, and he was only ten, and that's gotta mean something. It has to.
My beautiful. My darling. You have to go, Ryan, my sweet, because otherwise he'll come and get you, and that won't be pretty. You know that won't be pretty. You want them to know? You want them to see you, to hear what happened?
And that can't happen, can it, because then you're certainly screwed Ryan.
Ryan hears the front door open and he thinks, I really can't do this. I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't. He turns around as Sandy and Kirsten make their way into the kitchen, talking and smiling.
"Hey," Kirsten says, placing her suitcase on top of the kitchen island.
He tries to smile at her, but can't quite do it. I can't do this, he tells himself, looking at her. I'm sorry, but I can't.
"I've got something to say," Ryan whispers, softly, taking a step forward. His right hand grips the back of a chair because, right now, he has no strength left in him to keep himself standing.
Sandy nods. "Sure."
Ryan blinks, trying to find the words inside him. He knows what he says will change everything. But they can fix this, right? If anyone can, if anyone can make it better once again, it's them. It's Kirsten and Sandy, together, and Ryan bites on his lower lip without really feeling anything.
He licks his teeth with his tongue, and it's then that he realizes they are trembling, he's almost trembling, or he thinks he is, and he wonders if they don't notice. He knows himself, learned to see the signs, to feel them, and when the back of his eyes sting, horribly, he knows his eyes will turn red in a second. He blinks, shaking his head, lowering his gaze.
They can't fix this, can they, darling? No, no, they can't. You know that. You dug yourself into this, you gotta dig yourself out. This is your own fault, no one else's. Yours. You did this, and Dick is waiting for you, right now. Don't wanna keep him waiting, do you?
He lets out a sigh and looks up. They're looking right at him. Kirsten's frowning, head tilted to the side, and Sandy waits for Ryan to talk with him.
But Ryan can't. His hands start sweating, and he wipes them against his pants, and then, everything around him evaporates. Every memory, every thought. All he remembers is the way Kirsten looked at him that day, when she hugged him and told him he was welcomed to the family. When Sandy smiled and nodded, when Seth walked out of his hiding place in the kitchen and called him a Cohen.
This is his family, and he has to protect them.
Ryan shakes his head, and gives them a small smile. "Nothing, I, hmm..." He shrugs. "I have a history paper to get done. Can I use the car?"
Kirsten nods, confused, taken back. "Sure, but Ryan... is that all?"
Ryan takes a shaky breath and nods. "Yeah. Of course. I gotta--" He picks up his bag, slings it over one shoulder, and closes the distance to her, taking the keys from her hands. "I won't be late. I'll be back for dinner."
Kirsten pauses, seeming to want to ask him something else, but deciding against it. Ryan's glad, because his resolve is thin, as is his own control over himself.
He walks out of the kitchen, increasing his pace, and toward the front door. He closes it after him, trotting to the car and getting in.
He takes in a breath that turns into a sob, and he stops it by biting into his fists, hard, and pressing his eyes closed shut. His face is a grimace, nothing else, and he can almost feel tears in the corners of his eyes. He inhales, holds it, and lets it out when he can remember how to breathe again.
His heart races and he's on the verge of breaking down, but he can do this. He can. With a trembling hand, he puts the key into ignition, throwing his bag onto the passenger seat, and pulls out of the driveway.
He can see the reflection of the house in the rearview mirror, and he can see Sandy and Kristen and Seth in his mind's eye, and that forces him to drive away.