30 | in which she doesn't want to go home

If love turns lonely,

Let it go.

.\.|./.

Crystal Monroe

| in which she doesn't want to go home |

He's abusive, Ryan said. He's got you under his spell, in his control, he warned.

I wanted to believe him, but maybe I didn't.

It was easier to believe the lie that my love was enough, and that Jeremy would never fall out of love with me. It was easier to justify his behavior to myself than admit that I was wrong about him.

Admitting failure is never easy, and it's even harder when it's in love.

Seeing Jeremy on Ryan's doorstep, using his typical sleazy smile and hypnotic eyes to numb my brain, I knew Ryan had been right all along. A part of me still refused -- the crazy, psychotic, masochistic, and clearly blind part still clung on to the last shred of hope.

If he came back, maybe he loves me after all.

Going home with him and leaving Ryan behind was my way of challenging myself. I wanted to see who was right -- my heart, or the boy who cared for me for a reason I didn't understand. Sure, he's kind of crazy too, but why does he like me?

The moment it all became clear, I could see the truth unfolding before my eyes. The veil was lifted. The facade broken. The moment his hands began to leave bruises on me -- ones that would always be less painful than the ones his words left on my soul -- I knew there was no hope for us. We were never meant to be. I was in love with the devil and heading for hell, destined for eternal damnation.

I could have lain still, while he showed me his true colors. I could have waited for the worst to be over, for him to satisfy his carnal desires and walk away like he always did. I would have held on to hope for the night and run to Ryan in the morning, admit my mistake and let him save me. I could have played it safe.

But I couldn't.

I needed to go through every bit of that pain, put up with every ounce of the emotional, verbal, physical, and sexual abuse he subjected me to, tolerate every moment of that painful dawn to be able to live the next day. I needed to see all of that to remember it, let Jeremy leave those wounds on my mind so that not even his hypnotism would be able to remove those scars. I needed him to break apart the Crystal he made, so that the one he killed could rise from the ashes.

I needed him to do it, so I would never forget.

"Crystal --" Ryan begins, but I close my eyes and shake my head to stop him. I don't want to talk about this, not even tell him everything going on in my head. He was right, I admit it, but narrating to him the process of this discovery means reliving it. I don't have the strength to do that.

"Can we talk about something else?" I ask him softly. "Tell me about your day instead."

Ryan looks like he wants to argue, maybe to make sure I'm not suicidal like he told me he was. We never talked about that after that initial revelation, and though I always wanted to make sure he was okay inside, he was so perfect outside I was never able to.

He exhales a shuddering breath and licks his lips.

"Well, I ... I stole a car," he says.

I can't help but chuckle slightly at that, causing a burst of pain to shoot through me.

"Are you okay?" he asks quickly, probably noticing the grimace on my face.

"My head hurts," I tell him, aware of the wearing-off of the effects of morphine. "But you probably know that already," I add half-jokingly, eyeing the scar that is etched permanently across his eyebrow.

Ryan smiles slightly, nodding.

He spends the next few days with me, and even the nights. He seems different, though, more cautious, more concerned. When the doctors come to visit, he's the one to ask them how I'm doing and what he can do to help. Sometimes I drift off to sleep without warning, under the overwhelming effects of the dozens of medicines I'm taking. I wake up to find him gone, and that almost scares me.

"Where did you go?" I ask him one day when he comes back after being gone for two hours.

Ryan hesitates, watching me carefully before sitting down on the bench that has become his bed and makeshift home.

"To the police station," he tells me.

"Why?"

"I wanted to ask them if they caught him yet," Ryan says.

Even though he doesn't say his name, I know Ryan is talking about Jeremy. I have occasionally heard him talking on the phone, telling people the specifications of my car in an attempt to find Jeremy. It was through one such accidental over-hearing that I learned that Jeremy took my car when he left, along with most of the expensive things in our house, my ID card, and my passport.

I can't help but wonder if he ever came back that morning, wanting to check if I was alive or dead. I want to know how he felt when he saw that the door had been broken down and that I was missing. Did he freak out? Was he worried, or angry, or vengeful? Did he try to find me or did he only care about running away before he was caught?

The nurse arrives to change the bag of liquid dripping into me, pulling out the needles already attached to my veins and opening a new one.

"Ryan?" I call out to him, and he takes a step forward to assure me he's here. "Can you hold my hand? I'm afraid of needles."

The corners of his lips twitch, and I smile back at him. He knows I'm lying, but he takes my hand nonetheless, the same way as I had done all those days ago.

That's the thing about Ryan, he doesn't judge. In all my days of knowing him, I have never seen him talk bad about anyone. He doesn't complain about things, he doesn't whine, and simply radiates positivity in general. Despite the fact that I know he has his own demons, he never talks about mine unless I'm ready. He lets me be me, and that's something Jeremy never did.

"You're doing great now," the doctor says after a few days, writing something in my file when I exit the bathroom.

Sure, I feel a lot better. I have been sleeping without the painkillers for a couple of days, and I no longer feel the need for Ryan's support when I need to get up from bed. Most of my wounds have healed, and the bruises have taken a lighter shade. Even the bandages that had adorned my head have been removed.

"I think we can discharge you now," the doctor adds, closing the file, giving me a smile and turning to Ryan.

I stand next to the bed, holding the edge for support and watching Ryan answer the lady doctor's questions. The discussion concludes with the doctor telling Ryan that she'll get the papers ready and that I can leave as soon as morning comes.

Something I really don't want.

A few days ago, my heart would have been beating wildly at the thought of going home. I would probably be hopeful that Jeremy would be there, waiting for me and exactly like he was when we first fell in love.

Now, though, I want no part of that life. I don't want to go back to that home that I bought with Jeremy, to the leftovers of a life I tried building with Jeremy, as the Crystal who loved Jeremy. I don't want that one bit.

"Crystal?" Ryan says, leaning towards me to peek closely at my face. "What's wrong?"

I look up and into his eyes, not knowing why I suddenly feel like telling him everything. One part of me wants to bury my past and all its ashes, while another wants to let it all out so I can be set free. Maybe it's just Ryan who makes me feel so understood, because even when I say nothing, he hears everything.

"Truth?" I ask him with a faint smile.

Ryan nods, smiling reassuringly and taking my hand in both of his. He stares into my eyes, not blinking, and raises his eyebrows a fraction.

I sigh without him noticing, looking down at our intertwined hands.

"I don't want to go home," I say, speaking to his hands.

He stills hears me with all of his being, his warmth easing my anxiety as he pulls me gently into his arms.

This is the first time he has touched me intimately since everything, keeping his distance in the hospital and clearly giving me the much-needed space. I could tell he was doing that so I wouldn't feel obliged, holding my hand only when I asked him to, and sitting by me throughout the time I didn't. Now that he knows I don't mind, he engulfs me in his presence, soothing me merely by being here.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he whispers into my hair, his heart beating close to my ear.

I close my eyes, knowing that if there's anyone I can trust, it's Ryan.

Knowing that he -- for one -- means what he says.

.\.|./.

A/N: Thank you to all the amazing people supporting this story. I won't ask anything this time, but simply thank everyone for reading, voting, and commenting words that never fail to make me smile <3

You're all the reason I'm getting better each day, the reason I'm here on Wattpad at all.