Page 77 of Ryker

Anger and sorrow fill me to the brim. It builds, builds, builds until I tip my head back and roar.

My voice cracks. My throat hurts. Tears fall down my cheeks as I fucking sob like a baby. I hate myself. I hate my life. What the fuck did I do to deserve this shit? The tears won’t stop. I don’t even try to wipe them away. It’s like the floodgates to my soul have blown to smithereens and what flows out is uncontrollable.

I sob for my mom. I sob for myself. I sob for Dmitri and Knox and even Natalie.

We’re all in Hell.

We’re all fucked.

We’re all destined for a lifetime of misery.

By the time I have nothing left in me to cry with, my head’s banging and I feel numb. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m a mental case. I can’t think straight anymore.

Leaning back on the bench, I close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere else but here. I let the humid air fill my lungs. The sound of water trickling is my solace.

Then my ass vibrates with an incoming call. Pulling it out takes work because I’m still shaking from my meltdown. “Hey.” I clear my throat and try again. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Resting my elbows on my knees, I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “Just out for a walk. What do you need, Natalie?” I’m not telling her about my client this morning. I got her on my own, and there’s no way I’ll split the payout with Natalie. In fact, I’ve grown my own secret client list without her and have every intention of keeping her in the dark about it.

“Jackson Barre wants you for lunch.”

Jesus. That man’s golden shower fetish annoys me. “You take him.”

“He’s specifically requesting you, Ry.”

“I’m busy.”

“He figured you’d say that. Says he’ll pay triple for one hour.”

Triple? That’s… shit, that’s more than I’ve made in the past two nights. “My mom’s—”

“I’ll sit with your mom, sweetie. Go and do this. It’s only an hour. You can do anything for an hour.”

Scrubbing my face, I groan. I need sleep. Food. And apparently a lot of water now. “Fine. Tell him I’ll meet him at eleven at his place.” That will give me about two hours to get home, shower, feed my mom, and get there. “Can I borrow your car?” If not, I’ll have to take the bus and walk the rest, which will eat up more precious time.

“Yeah, sure. But I get a third of your cut.”

God. Damnit. “Fuck off, Nat.”

“It’s only fair. I’ve been the liaison between you and Jackson every time.”

Because I won’t give that asshole my personal cell number. I think he likes how evasive I am—maybe he considers me more valuable because I’m not easily accessible. Who knows?

“Fine.” Even if I didn’t have Nat as the middleman, she’s still helping me take care of my mom when I’m on these dates. Her time costs money, too, even if she’s never asked a dime to look after my mom.

“Are you at the conservatory?”

Leaning back on the bench, I sigh. “Yeah.” She only knows that because she’s likely pulled my location from Snapchat. We try to keep tabs on each other for safety reasons.

“Don’t stay long,” she chides, even though her tone is soft and understanding. “And make sure you drink a lot of water before you go. Make it rain, Ryker. Make it rain.”

She hangs up and I’ve suddenly lost my desire to stay here and find my peace of mind.

Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head and half the bones in my body snap, crackle, and pop. A monarch butterfly lands where I was just sitting, her little wings open and close slowly as she crawls across the slats of the bench. Holding my finger out, I wonder if she’ll climb on.

She doesn’t.

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