14 | in which she tells believable lies

We are all in a relationship,

Some with the person,

Some with the memories.

.\.|./.

Crystal Monroe

|in which she tells belivable lies|

He's trembling under my hands, before my very eyes, and I can't believe it.

A grown man, whimpering in pain, frozen in fear, giving me that pleading gaze as if asking me to save him, to save him from his own mind, begging me to hear the words he hasn't uttered yet.

"I'm here," I repeat over and over, not fully understanding why I'm saying them. It just seems like the right thing to say. It seems like the thing he wants to hear.

He closes his eyes, bowing his head so that his hair flop forward, half-hiding his face from my view. I take the chance to look down at the spilled soup, staining his clothes and burning through them. His skin is apparently scorched by the smoldering liquid, but pain seems not to bother him at all.

Pain is something he appears immune to.

Leaving him alone even though I don't want to, I hurry into the kitchen and grab the towel off the rack. Running back to him, I begin to wipe away the spilled soup.

"You don't have to," he mumbles. "I'm sorry I ..." His voice trails off.

I don't see why he thinks he should apologize.

My heart beats wildly against my ribs, and I don't know how to feel. The man is somehow always hurting, whether intentionally or accidentally, I don't know.

"What was this about?" I ask without meaning to.

I have seen attacks like this before. An uncle of mine went to war, and after returning, he sometimes experienced flashbacks and panic attacks. There were triggers, the tiniest thing that would set them off. Loud bangs that sounded like gunshots, fireworks, screaming, the sound of marching ... these were just some of the things that plunged him back into the pain of the past.

"I'm ... I'm allergic," he says. "To cardamon."

I glance up at his face, which is as pale as the walls around us. He's lying, I can tell, but I don't say it. If he wants to hide, he's allowed to hide. We all are.

"You should have told me," I say instead, rubbing the towel over his pants to clean them. They are sticky and wet, looking strangely gross, and I feel awkward, bent over his legs like this. "Is there anything else you're allergic to?" I ask, ignoring the strange situation.

"Just cardamon," he says.

Liar.

I push back my hair and straighten up, looking closely at his face. He's looking back at me, a kind of hesitancy in his eyes. Is he afraid of being judged? Is he afraid I can see through his lies?

I'm in no position to call him out for them.

"You'll have to change," I say, pointing to his soiled clothing. "Should I help you get to the bathroom?"

"No, I can ... I can do that, thank you." He's pushing himself out of bed before I can stop him, his breathing shallow and ragged.

I make no attempt to help him, standing by while holding the sticky towel in my hands. I watch him limp towards the bathroom, leaning against the wall for support. When the door closes behind him, I decide to do the inevitable -- make something for the man to eat.

Unfortunately for me, all his groceries are still in their brown bags like yesterday, giving me the impression that whoever bought them just stacked them randomly along the kitchen shelves and left them to rot. The only quick thing I can make is instant-noodles.

He returns after a few minutes, changed and clean, water dripping from his face, which he clearly just washed. He gives me a small smile as he limps back to bed, appearing to be quite a creep, with all his broken bones and weird grins.

"I can change the sheets if you ..." I suggest, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

I must be losing my mind; I barely know the guy.

"Thank you, but you don't have to do any of this for me," he says once he's settled on the clean side of his bed. "You already drove from God-knows-how-far to bring me the soup I spit out. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

He smiles, and by the looks of it, he's finally returning to his normal overly-friendly and completely creepy state.

"Actually I didn't have to drive at all," I say, trying to make casual conversation. "I live next door."

The smile that creeps its way onto his face is too bright for my liking.

"Seriously? So we're neighbors? How long have you been living here?"

"Almost three years," I answer, taking the bowl of noodles towards him. "How about you?"

"I just moved here a couple of months ago. How come I've never seen you around? I mean, I guess I almost never go out so ..." He lets out a light chuckle. "Thank you. Okay, seems like I'm always thanking you."

"You don't have to keep doing that," I point out, looking around for a place to sit.

"You keep giving me reasons to." He smiles, looking down at his food.

I perch myself at the edge of one of the two chairs in the room, resting my hands in my lap and trying not to stare at the guy.

"So, where did you live before this?" I ask, hoping to fill the awkward silence.

I should probably leave the man to his life, and return to mine. The thought is kind of scary, though, since my own empty house haunts me.

"I lived in LA," he says, quickly swallowing down a mouthful.

"Los Angeles?"

"Yeah, and please don't tell me I'm crazy to have left LA for Alaska." He rolls his eyes, smiling nonetheless.

"You must have had your reasons." I shrug.

He stops eating, looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face before smiling again. "I sure did," he mumbles. "How about you? You like Alaska?"

"Um, yeah, I guess." I shift in my seat. "My boyfriend likes it more, though. He has an attachment to it and never wants to move."

"Your boyfriend, huh?" Ryan looks at me, and even from the distance, I can see his piercing gaze trying to pick me apart.

"Yeah," I say. "He'd like you."

I'm lying; Jeremy would hate Ryan. Not because Jeremy hates many people, but rather because Ryan seems to be exactly the category of guys Jeremy hates. With his friendly smile, and warm manner of conversation, not to mention the rugged and dark good looks, Ryan is the personification of everything that makes Jeremy insecure. He kept me as far away from this kind of guy as possible.

"I can't say I'll like him, but okay." Ryan chuckles again. "Does he visit often?"

Why does it feel like there is more to his question than the simple meaning of it?

"We live together," I say, leaving out the details. This stranger doesn't need to know about how long it's been since Jeremy was actually here.

"Cool." Ryan nods, his attention on his food which he has devoured in a rush. "Maybe we can have dinner tonight, all three of us."

My heart skips a beat.

"And in case you haven't guessed, I'm saying that so I can eat more of your food." He looks up from the now empty bowl and gives me a wide grin.

"I can bring you food whenever I make some," I suggest, hoping he'd take that as a sign and just back off from the dinner invite.

"You don't want me to meet your boyfriend?" he asks, proving to me that he's not going to back off at all. Maybe this is why Jeremy avoids this kind of people because they're not easy to get rid of once you let them in.

"Well, actually ..." I try to make up a lie believable enough. "He's an athlete --" true "-- and he's participating in this contest which required him to go out of the state --" lie "-- so he isn't around these days. But as soon as he comes back, I'm sure we can plan something. The three of us, and maybe even your sister. Or your girlfriend in case you have one."

I mentally smack myself in the face for bumbling out the last bit. Why did I have to sound like I'm trying to find out if he's single or not? I'm not even interested, but that is what my suggestion sounded like.

Apparently, he thinks the same way, because his smile widens. "Uh, no. I don't have a girlfriend."

I open my mouth and close it, trying to figure out a way out of this strange situation. I blame my deteriorating social-skills for this blunder. Maybe if I wasn't such a loser, I wouldn't always make a fool of myself.

To think I used to be an orator in high-school. I represented my school, and being valedictorian was one of the best parts of my high-school life. Things got even better when I joined the cheer-squad.

It was only after I started dating Jeremy that he showed me how stupid I am, always messing up, saying the wrong things and acting like a complete idiot. It was Jeremy who told me to keep my mouth shut so I wouldn't give away how brainless I really am. His training helped because I became something no one thought of me as.

"I should go," I say, quickly getting to my feet.

"Do you have to?"

My head snaps in his direction and I see him watching me closely, his smile gone. I don't understand why he's asking me this question. Maybe to see what socially-inappropriate words leave my mouth this time.

"I mean ..." He clears his throat. "You can stay over sometimes."

"Excuse me?" I blurt out, taken aback by his bluntness.

"Sorry, that came out wrong." He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. "What I meant was --"

Okay, I've decided I don't like this guy like at all.

I spin on my heels before he can answer, and head for the door without a backward glance.

Slamming the door behind me, I stop outside his house and stare out at the empty street.

What was this guy implying? Was this his way of suggesting some kind of a hook-up? Or did it simply mean that he's lonely and wants some company? Like me.

As much as I would like to believe the guy is a pervert who had sex on his mind, something about Ryan doesn't give me this impression. Sure, he's a little too friendly and overly straight-forward, but there was nothing seductive about the way he smiled at me, nothing malicious behind his eyes, nothing hidden behind his words.

Or maybe there was and I just can't seem to pick up on the signals.

No matter how hard I try, though, I can't shake off the strange feeling. The feeling that says this guy with the x-raying eyes and haunting smile knows more than he's letting on.

I can't shake the feeling ... that he knows me.

.\.|./.

A/N: So, a friendship has begun. Or do you think there is more to it?

Views about Ryan? What do you like? What don't you like?

My favorite thing about him is his resilience. I love the fact that he recovers, and even though I showed you his inner pain in the last chapter, you can see through Crystal's eyes that he doesn't reveal much. This is something I always admire in people -- the ability to smile even when you're hurting.