13 | in which he drowns in his past

It is a pleasure to be hidden,

But a tragedy not to be found.

.\.|./.

Ryan Falls

|in which he drowns in his past|

Loneliness is a void, a void that is around you and seeps in through the skin, filling you completely.

Stare long enough into the abyss, and the abyss stares back into you.

For me, being alone is different from being lonely, and I would pick the former over the latter any day. I did pick the former over the latter.

Back in LA, I was almost always surrounded by people. I had friends, a girlfriend, mom, and yet I was lonely.

No one knew the real me.

No one wanted to know the real me.

And even I was beginning to forget the real me.

Alaska helps me remember who I am. It allows me to be the way I want to be, without having to worry about a standard to uphold or a reputation to watch out for. Here, I don't have to act like the guy who led dozens of boys into riots every time the teachers were unfair in their marking. I'm not the guy who walked late into seminars just to get attention. I'm not the guy who treated everyone like shit because he felt like shit.

I felt like shit because I was shit. Or maybe my life was shit.

And things would just have gotten worse when Lily's word got out. Anyone who heard what she had to say would know. All the whispers, all the rumors. Ryan Falls was going to be a laughing stock. And his life hell.

Now, life is finally good.

Humming to myself, I continue to type with my left hand. It sucks, honestly, since my right hand is bandaged and I don't have much practice with my left one. Nonetheless, the great thing about my kind of work is that I can do it from right here in bed.

The article I'm editing today is based on recent political trends, something I haven't the slightest idea about. I used to be in touch with current events and everyday news, but that was before I decided to delete all my social media accounts and vanish off the face of the planet. Sometimes, the idea of faking one's own death and disappearing is pretty attractive. It was this idea that led me to Alaska.

My doorbell rings, and I look up from my screen, staring at the door and wondering who would be coming to visit me. No one knows me here, mostly because I stay as invisible as possible. The only people I meet are Olivia and her boyfriend, and both of them call before coming over, giving me a heads-up.

Maybe if I ignore it, the unwelcome guest will go away on their own.

The bell rings again and I sigh.

Clearly, they're not going anywhere.

Placing the laptop in the empty space next to me, I lift my cast off the bed and place my foot squarely on the ground. The movement sends a piercing pain coursing through my entire body, intensifying the ache always present in my right arm and leg.

Closing my eyes to desensitize myself to the pain, I reach my good hand for the crutch standing next to the bed against the wall. I hate feeling incapacitated, but at least I'm not helpless. I can limp my way to the bathroom when I need to, and to the door on aggravating situations such as these.

It takes me a while to get to the door and pull it open, my frustration vanishing when I see the somewhat familiar face of the girl I have learned to expect unexpectedly dropping by whenever she wants. That's the weird thing; she looks like she doesn't want to be here, yet she's here without anyone asking her to be here.

What is up with you, girl?

"Crystal!" I greet, sounding like someone who had been expecting her. Hiding my pain and masking it behind laughter is a skill I am well-versed in.

Practice makes perfect.

She looks unsure of herself, returning neither my smile nor my uncannily cheerful declaration of her name.

Instead, she holds up a bowl the size of a football.

"I made some soup," she says to me. "And it's not poisoned."

Unlike the last time when she mentioned Olivia's baseless accusation, and I provided a brief explanation-cum-apology, this time I smile wider and roll my eyes. The girl is clearly obsessive, and I can't be reinforcing it with my normal behavior. It takes abnormal to break abnormal sometimes.

"Unless your soup tastes as bad as Olivia's does, I can deal with poison," I joke, limp-turning away from the door and limp-walking back to the bed.

The sound of the door closing softly behind me tells me Crystal is staying for now, unless she actually closed the door and left without a word. I'm back in bed when I see her walking towards my kitchen with the soup in her hand.

"Make yourself at home," I call after her, half-teasing, half-serious.

She doesn't answer, and I hear the clanging of dishes and spoons.

I'm reclining against my pile of pillows and trying not to cuss in pain, when she comes back from the kitchen, holding a tray with a bowl in it, steam emanating from the top. Crystal places the tray gingerly on my thighs and straightens up.

I keep my gaze on her a moment longer than I need to. She looks uncertain, a mixture of bland boredom and self-conscious over-thinking evident across her pale face. Her long hair is in a braid like last time, a neater one, and she's wearing a nice, black coat with a fur collar, the contrast of the color against her skin a yin-and-yang comparison.

Did she dress up to look presentable for me?

Probably not, but the thought makes me feel good about myself all of a sudden.

Glancing down for a split second to look at the soup, I pick up the spoon before looking back up at Crystal. She's looking around, her blue eyes taking in the minimal decor of my room. It's not that my room is empty, but rather that I didn't bring anything with me from LA, and going shopping for unnecessary items in malls of Alaska was a no-no. The few things in my house are courtesy of Olivia and Ted and their insistence on 'normal living'.

With my mind preoccupied with the girl who has my full attention, I raise the first spoonful of soup to my lips. The smell is delicious, the warmth on my lips, on my tongue, in my mouth. It tastes pretty good, like cream, and cheese, and garlic, and ... cardamon.

The soup spurts out of my mouth before I can stop it, my hand flying to my mouth and causing the bowl to topple over. I don't notice the scorching liquid pouring out of the bowl, into the tray and through my trousers to burn my skin.

"What the hell!" Her loud voice reaches me through the haze quickly enveloping my mind.

Because I'm slowly drifting off, out of the present and into the horrific past I try so hard to escape and always fail.

I'm fading, fading back into the darkness, the heat, the pain.

'Don't move, kid.'

His hoarse breath tickles the back of my neck and a shiver runs down my spine, numbing me, numbing me like pain did all those times over the span of my childhood.

'Now, you'll like this.'

I never liked it, not once. How could anyone like abuse? My heart pounds in my ears, deafening me to the sounds around me.

'Yeah, now, kid, stay still.'

I was always still. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide I was trapped. Trapped in that dark basement without an air conditioner, without a window, without escape.

"Ryan?"

I'm blind to everything, unable to see anything but darkness. I am deaf to every sound, unable to hear anything but his ragged breathing and my own agonized whimpering, my sobbing.

'Shh! Voice down or I'll show your mom the videos of our games.'

"Ryan!"

His hands on my skin, his dirty hands, painting me in shades of embarrassment, humiliation, and pain. Too much pain. Nothing but pain.

"Ryan! Look at me, Ryan!"

The hands that grip my shoulders aren't ones I recognize. Small, thin, soft. They're unfamiliar, but they're reassuring, comforting.

"Here! Look here!"

I obey the voice commanding me, the voice telling me to stay in the present and not lose myself in the past. Not drown in my past.

"I'm here."

A promise. A promise no one ever made. A promise so many people should have made, but never did.

My eyes find hers, the panic-filled, wild, blue ones. Her trembling fingers push my hair out of my eyes, warm against my icy skin. She's touching me unlike he did, unlike anyone did. She's holding me while I drown and sink in my own thoughts, in my own memories. She pulls me out.

I'm here for you.

Words no one ever said.

No one but this girl I barely know, the girl whom I have only met a couple of times, the girl I threw into a whirlwind of guilt because I wanted to die.

No one but Crystal.

.\.|./.

A/N: Thoughts guys? Ryan's past will make more sense as we go further.

Hope you're liking the story so far. Slow in the beginning like all my others, but hope it isn't too boring. Thank you for reading, lovelies. ❤️