At lost
by M. F. Luder
Ryan never knew it could hurt like this.
He had heard stories about it and read the occasional angst in a book here and there, but the words always seemed empty, meaningless. They aren't any more.
There are some things he has discovered from this.
Chest tight and hurting, feeling like you can't breathe anymore, like you'll actually die in a second if it's true.
It really happens. It's not just a nice looking phrase in a book that's supposed to make you tear up. No. It happens and it hurts like shit.
He sits on the bed, face hidden by his hands, and tells himself that breathing is necessary and he should try and do it.
It isn't that easy.
Still, his chest hurts. His throat is dry, as are his lips, and Ryan wonders for a moment why. It takes him ten seconds to realize that maybe he's losing all liquid from his eyes.
He closes his eyes shut. Idiot of him, really. Boys don't cry. Men don't cry. He shouldn't cry.
He didn't cry the first time Trey handed him a glass of tequila when he was twelve. He certainly didn't cry when Dan -- David... or was it Dick? -- put out a cigarette in Ryan's hand because he was too fucking drunk to look for the ashtray.
He didn't cry back then. Why is he crying now? He doesn't want to answer, because even thinking about it is too much.
He stands up, lower lip bitten down on by his teeth and if he bleeds, then good. Good because he's an idiot and he should bleed.
Throwing the bathroom door open, he walks to the sink, opens the tab and throws as much water as possible over his face.
Tears he tells himself he's not crying are wash away, and he closes his eyes shut when they start to sting. It's the cold, or the hot of the evening, or whatever. It's not tears.
It can't be. His throat is choked. Idiot. This isn't supposed to go like this. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. His lower lip is red and bloated, and he's on the verge of actually ripping it apart. His eyes are even worse.
He shakes his head. It's not that bad, he tells himself. It's not the end of the world. Life goes on. The world moves on. People move on, he can do that. He can certainly do that.
So what if he's alone now, lost, incomplete? He can handle that. He's always been alone, he can deal with this. Except, in the back of his mind, he hoped he wouldn't have to.
He had hoped he would always have Seth with him, at his side, to make him smile. Seth is good at that.
He chuckles, and his throat hurts even more. His chest feels like one inch thick, and he can barely breathe. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to find his center.
So what if Seth chose Summer? It wasn't as if it didn't hurt when he was with Anna. Only, this time, it seems to hurt even more.
Ryan shouldn't care. Seth is happy, will be happy, having what he's desired for as long as Ryan has known him.
And Ryan is happy for him. Yeah, he is, because not being would imply feelings being involved, and there are no feelings involved. None to speak of.
He hears knocking on the glass door and in one quick move shuts the bathroom door closed.
"Ryan? Dude?"
His throat closes down. Perfect. Just the person he wanted to see. He takes a deep breath.
"Yeah?" Serene, calm voice. Good.
"Dude, dinner is here. Are you--?"
"One minute."
"Oh, yeah, cool. Sure. I'll tell mom. Hurry up, coz it's getting cold and Chinese is awful cold. Only pizza is kinda decent cold, but still."
Ryan nods to himself. Seth will leave in a minute if Ryan doesn't answer. He has to.
"So, yeah. Hurry dude."
He hears the door closing and lets out a long sigh. Now, he has a minute to look normal.
He washes his eyes, but it doesn't work. They are still red. His lip is a lost case, but his eyes should get better. They'll give him away.
He looks in the cabinet and finds eye drops. They sting and he bites down on his lower lip again. He'll have to make up a good excuse. He thinks they aren't quite as red as before, but maybe he's lying to himself. He can't tell.
With a shake of his head, he turns around and leaves the bathroom.
He can only walk out and go to dinner, and pray that they won't ask him why he looks like shit. He won't be able to tell them. He won't be able to say a word.
He can deal with this, Ryan tells himself. He can deal with this.
Finished: May 16th, 2004.