Page 15 of Only the Small Bones
The tenders were a bit too crispy along the edges, but were otherwise golden as pictured. The fries were soft in some places and hard in others. I took another look at the cooking instructions for both, cursing under my breath. The fries needed to cook longer than the chicken. I should’ve had them baking first, or maybe went with the option to fry. I bit down on a soft end and nodded. They weren’t perfect, but they were edible.
I got everything plated, and had just placed Ryan’s food on his side of the island when he appeared at the kitchen’s archway. He’d tied his damp hair away from his face, making his surprise more evident.
“Hey,” I said, my mood brightening further, despite my nerves. Ryan looked from the food to me, his gaze turbulent. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. “I know you like to watch…” I trailed off when his sudden blush and swift turn of his head confused me. Then I recalled the incident in my bathroom last night.He’d seen me.
My words took on a whole new meaning then. Dread and disgust filled me as I contemplated the old wounds on my body again, wondering if he’d seen them from his vantage point outside the door. It was highly unlikely, but that was how shame and paranoia worked. It made the impossible seem plausible. There was also the issue of him witnessing the act in itself. Had he stuck around for it all? Did it trigger him in some way? I still didn’t know what he’d been through. Did it scare him? And if hehadseen it through to completion, if ithadn’ttriggered or scared him… Then what had it done to him? I didn’t allow myself to contemplate that answer.
“I wanted to surprise you.” I went back to the meal I’d prepared. “I made something different. Hopefully it’s edible. The fries are…okay.”
Ryan continued to stare at the food.
“I can taste it first. Prove there’s nothing more than flour and way too much salt in there.”
Ryan’s gaze returned to me, his cheeks crimson free, his jaw now set like stone. He seemed angry. At himself? At me? My smile ebbed as he took a step back, and continued to fade with each backward step until he was gone, taking whatever joy I’d found with him.
I stared at the empty space he’d left behind, asking myself what I’d done wrong. I wanted to believe it was something to do with the food. Or maybe his embarrassment over my unintentional double entendre. Something told me the truth was much worse than that, though. I couldn’t help feeling like Ryan saw my momentary lapse into happiness and decided to punish me for it.
We didn’t communicate over the next four days. I spent most of my time upstairs working in the studio while Ryan made the library his home. For three of those days he made his own bagel and waffles. The loss of that role affected me more than I’d have liked to admit. Preparing his meals made me feel needed in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long while, and he’d taken that from me.
Him having the power to do that made me realize I’d lost sight of the main objective. To get him to Safe Haven. He needed to see a doctor, needed to talk to someone licensed and equipped to deal with his trauma. He needed to start rebuilding his life.Ineeded him to start rebuilding his life.
Today he hadn’t eaten at all. Earlier, I’d waited as long as I could before tapping on the library doorway to ask if he was hungry.
“It’s almost dinner time and you haven’t eaten anything today.”
He’d been sprawled out on the floor, books and reams of paper surrounding him as he traced letters with resolute concentration. He scowled at me, making no move to get up. I broke first, walking away.
My emotions were tethered to those of the people around me. How someone else felt usually dictated how I felt. I’d always been that way. It was something I constantly worked on. I had another side too. A side that lashed out when hurt, or when my overthinking grew to a breaking point where I said “fuck it,” not giving a damn about anyone or how they felt. Those moments were closely followed by remorse, and an even deeper dive into self-dissecting. Was I wrong? Were they right? I could feel one of those moods coming on as midnight approached and Ryan still hadn’t eaten or given me the time of day.
After picking at a couple pieces of the bland tenders still in the fridge, I decided to go to Ryan and speak honestly instead of stewing over how things were. I had to be the one to keep making the effort, and I wouldn’t get any sleep knowing he still hadn’t eaten, and that it was likely because of me.
He sat at the window seat now, huddled over a notebook. I watched him from the dark hallway, the dim light above the closest bookshelf to him extending over his top half. He guided his pencil in slow, careful strokes over the sheet of paper, his brows drawn together in concentration.
Suddenly I didn’t want to interrupt him, but the floorboard creaked when I took a step back. His head turned in my direction, trapping me with his hostile gaze. His expression blanked, as though he didn’t want to give me anything, noteven his rage. As though he knew I craved anything other than indifference.
I entered, drawing in closer than usual. His features didn’t shift, he didn’t recoil in the slightest, but the hand holding the pencil to paper trembled. I inched back once the lead tip snapped, not proud of myself for needing a sign that he cared. Even if he only cared about keeping me away.
“Something went wrong between us,” I said, “and I don’t know what it was.”
Ryan didn’t seem moved by my words. I sighed, slipping my hands in my pockets. I cleared my throat, continuing with the truth this time.
“Actually, I think I have a good idea. The thing is, I have a habit of over analyzing things and creating scenarios in my head that don’t exist.” I waved a hand at my head before pocketing it again. “I don’t know if I can trust what my brain says is wrong.” Looking at him made me feel seen in both good and bad ways. Like he understood me but also hated me because of it. It was a feeling I couldn’t explain, or maybe I could if I wasn’t afraid to.
His large, black eyes burned with something old and familiar, something that took me back to a time I hated to remember, but couldn’t stop myself from reliving every day. It would’ve been easier for us both if I hadn’t let him in. If I’d left him in Davidson’s hands that day at the hospital.
My heart rejected that thought the moment it filtered down to it. He was here for the same reason the others had been. Ryan served a purpose. A purpose I’d been running toward for as long as I could remember.
“I got excited when you wrote back to me the other night,” I whispered, careful not to let a sad smile break free. Sad or not, I now felt protective of any small amount of joy I possessed, of showing any emotion that could be confused with happiness inany way. The fiery hate in his gaze faded a bit. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.
“I can’t recall the last time I’d felt… happy,” I said, for lack of a better word that would’ve put me somewhere neutral. “You saw that didn’t you?”
Ryan dropped his gaze to the scribble on his notepad, as though he had seen it and felt terrible about it. I took that as confirmation, feeling bolder now that I knew my inner voices hadn’t been playing tricks on me.
“I think it offended you, or upset you. Maybe even scared you. I can only imagine why.”
His fingers curled around the notebook’s spiral binding. I pondered if his reaction was out of anger at me having it all wrong, or fear because I’d gotten it right. Because if I had gotten it right, then that meant I saw him too, that our understanding of each other went both ways. I could see how that would be scary when I sensed we both would rather hide.
“My brain settled on a conclusion,” I went on, walking to a shelf to grab a book I wasn’t the least bit interested in. I just needed to move, needed to remove myself from his line of sight, needed to hold something in my hands to stave off the strange desire to touch him. Maybe if my fingers were busy with something else, they wouldn’t want to reach out to him.
