Page 26 of Only the Small Bones
My mother’s words trickled into my thoughts. She’d called to check on us a few times now, and every time she asked if we’d gone to Safe Haven yet, my answer had been no.
Thankfully, securing the contract with Foxhound Studios for Xavier had bought me an extension on his patience with our unfinished project. But with our deadline looming, his patience would wear thin again. I’d told him he could come by for a work session next week. I still hadn’t mentioned it to Ryan.
He tapped the book cover, making his preference clear.
“Okay, but I’m going to have the movie going on mute, just in case you change your mind.” I snatched up the book and went into the living room, opening the coffee table drawer for the remote. I found the movie, got the subtitles going, and muted it as promised.
We were maybe a few chapters in when from my peripheral I noticed his attention shift from me to the movie, then back again. This continued while I read. The stints of time he spent listening to me shortened until it became clear I was reading to myself. I quieted, unmuting the TV when Ryan got to his feet and moved closer to it. He stayed there until the last credit rolled and the screen went black.
The next day I offered him caramel popcorn while we watchedGlory. He turned it down with a cute scrunch of his nose. It took three more nights and a Denzel Washington marathon to get him to give it a try. I’d had to order more by the boatload after that.
Ryan hated change. Every new idea clashed with his resistance, but I came to realize he could be reasonable. If my explanation for the change made sense, he’d come around. Not instantly, but still. Also, some alone time did wonders for his stubbornness. I waited a couple more days before proposing something else. Something big. Something I knew he’d hate.
We were rained-in again, so we didn’t take our morning run. I spent time checking in with Freedom Fighters, and finally returning Davidson’s calls. He was eager to speak with Ryan, and I was eager to protect him. I didn’t think he was ready to deal with it. Davidson said that wasn’t my call to make, and so I agreed to talk to Ryan about it.
He’d been in his room for most of the afternoon, a full shelf worth of books in there with him. I’d been pacing the length of the living room when the sound of his door unlatching traveled down the hall.
He walked into the living room as though something had drawn him there against his will. Like he’d felt my need to talk to him, felt my crippling anxiety about the topic all the way from his room. Ryan exhaled and folded his arms.
“I was about to knock on your door. Feeling okay?” I asked, stalling. “I can make you waffles if you’re hungry.”
Ryan didn’t bite.
“Sit, please.” I gestured to the end of the couch he stood closest to while I took a seat on the other end. He chose to stand.
“I spoke with Davidson earlier. He’s the agent from the hospital, remember? The one who helped you and the others.”
Ryan dropped his arms, fully alert now.
“He’d like to know if you remember anything about how you got here. Can you give any names? Descriptions? Did you see or hear anything that may be useful to their investigation? Did the men or women speak English? Have any tattoos? Is thereanythingyou remember?” I didn’t mention Davidson’s interest in how and when he’d been taken to begin with. I told myself it would only overwhelm him more. “It could be important.”
Ryan’s lips set in a stubborn line. If he did know something, he wouldn’t be telling me. He turned to walk away.
“It’s time to set boundaries and encourage healthy compromises. He needs to talk to someone equipped to handle what he may have gone through.”
“Wait!” I called out, my insides recoiling at what I planned to address next. “I think it’s time we visit Safe Haven, Ryan.” I didn’t want him to think I was punishing him for not cooperating with Davidson, which was what his shocked gaze suggested, but he needed to talk to someone. As much as I wanted that someone to be me, I needed to accept it couldn’t be.
“I’m not punishing you, or putting you out. You can stay here as long as you want.” I noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “But you can’t stay here as a prisoner from the world, or your problems.” I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to barricade us inside the apartment and keep him safe from all harm, but that would’ve only satisfied my selfish needs.
“We have therapists there who can help you deal with the things that make you scream at night,” I whispered. It was more of a caged sound than a scream. Like yelling underwater, or trying to speak past lips glued together. It didn’t happen as often as when he first got here, but it still happened. He balled his fists, face heating from embarrassment or anger. Maybe both.
“You won’t have to talk, if that’s what you’re worried about. They’ll meet you where you are. Just give it a chance,” Iimplored. My assurance got me nothing. Not even a shake or a nod of his head. “Ryan—”
He stormed off, a look of fury and determination etched across his ethereal face.
“Ryan,” I tried again when he returned, but he threw himself onto the couch and began scribbling furiously on the notepad he’d gone to get. He grunted with impatience when his rage got the best of him. Sheet after sheet rained down around him as he wrote and tore the paper away to start again. His fingers white knuckled the pencil, and he gripped the edge of the pad with brutal force. He couldn’t calm himself enough to get his thoughts written down.
“Ryan…” His whispered name got lost in the sudden strike of thunder. “Ryan,” I tried a little louder, “it’s okay.” Without thinking I reached out to comfort him, to tell him I take everything back, that we could stay locked away from whatever was making him feel like this. I wanted to tell him that I understood why the idea of speaking to a therapist scared him, because the idea of it scared me too.
His pencil and paper slid across the coffee table as he leapt up, stumbling away and falling. He scurried backward, away from the threat of my outstretched hand. He panted heavily through clenched teeth, spit flying as he practically foamed at the mouth.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammered. “I wasn’t thinking.”
His chest pumped up and down at a speed too quick to keep track of.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, voice breaking. He looked like an animal that had been beaten and was now cornered, waiting.
“God,” I breathed, unsure if it was the beginning of a prayer, or the start of a curse. I sat there drowning in self-hatred. I did this to him. It was all my fault. My heart hurt, and I dug the heel of my palm into my chest, trying to get myself under control.
