Not Without You

by Watson, A. P.

  “Yeah,” I sighed.

  His brow furrowed in confusion. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” The couch cushions sank beneath his weight. I’d only been to Ry’s apartment one other time. Everything was decorated in neutral tones, and he was clearly a neat freak, because not a speck of dust seemed to exist inside this space. Wanting to move closer, Ry lifted my feet and laid them in his lap, causing my heart to quicken its pace.

  “The top five students are also going to be featured in the big art show next month. As a matter of fact, we each get an entire wall to ourselves to display our work.”

  “I knew your project would be a hit! Everyone is finally going to be able to see how talented you are.”

  “Well, not everyone. Because after class was over, McKenzie reduced my project to tie-dyed shirts and a water gun fight,” I explained. “I mean, I know that my project was essentially a water gun fight, but she didn’t have to shit all over it in front of me. At least do the decent thing and talk about it behind my back like a true Southern lady.”

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “That was a very childish reaction on her part. I’m guessing her project wasn’t one of the top five?”

  “Nope.” I sniffled. “I don’t know why I’m being so emotional. I mean, usually, I’d let a comment like that roll off my back.”

  “Because you’re proud of the project you created, and you have every right to be. That’s why her jealous remarks sting so much.”

  “I’m sorry I drank most of your milkshake.”

  Setting down our cups on the coffee table just in front of us, Ry reached for me. “Come here.” His arms encompassed me, acting as a source of protection from the outside world. “I don’t know who this McKenzie is, but she sounds like a jealous bitch. You shouldn’t buy into any comments made by someone who can’t handle the fact their project wasn’t one of the best.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know there is more running around inside your head than that. Sure, maybe I haven’t known you for very long, but I have a small idea as to how your brain works. That mind of yours is always ticking away at something. You know what it means to be hurt, to feel pain on a level deep enough to scar your soul. So, talk to me.”

  Releasing a breath, I leaned against him even more. This was the type of thing I was trying so desperately to avoid. Opening up to someone other than Wren about all of my fears and doubts was impossible for me because I couldn’t allow someone to gaze into that portion of my soul.

  “For the most part, I don’t let other people dictate anything about me or about the way I live my life,” I began.

  “Ter, I knew that about you the first time I heard you speak in statistics class.”

  The tips of my fingers tugged on the fabric of his shirt. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to increase my hold on him, and yet, I still needed him closer. “You may also have picked up on the fact I don’t talk about my family very much.”

  “I have.”

  “There are several reasons for that. For one, my mother is gone, and the void she left behind will never be filled. I was a teenager when she passed, and because I was so young, some of my other family members assumed my father needed their input in raising me,” I confessed. “Art allowed me to cope with the death of my mother. It was a solace for me. I’d always enjoyed drawing and painting, but my need to create developed into a way for me to heal. And after that, I knew it was a path I wanted pursue both personally and professionally,” I said. “My aunt disagreed. She didn’t want me to study art in college. She thought it was impractical and that I wouldn’t be able to find a job, and maybe she was right. I don’t think she meant to hurt me, but even still, the words she uttered are out in the universe and they can never be unsaid.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “That being an artist wasn’t a real job and that I needed to think of more practical ways to support myself. She thought it was a beautiful dream, and it should stay simply . . . a dream.”

  “What did your dad think about it?”

  “He disagreed, of course. He encouraged me to follow my passions, but there was always that lingering voice in the back of my mind wondering if I would ever be able to make it as an artist. Would I struggle to feed myself on a daily basis? Would I have to wait tables for the rest of my life in order to make ends meet? Would I ever be good enough?”

  “A lot of people struggle with those exact same questions. My mother did. She worked two jobs for several years just to support us. And after she went back to school and finished her degree, she managed to get a better job and didn’t have to run herself into the ground anymore,” he replied in a soft voice.

  The continuous circular patterns his thumbs traced on my back were the most soothing form of comfort I’d known other than my mother’s voice. Surely, the embrace of someone I’d been friends with for a week shouldn’t hold so much power over me. Ry and I never discussed the fact we almost kissed during the Crayola War. But the moment we’d shared—gazes locked, lips a breath apart—had been burned into the recesses of my mind, never to be forgotten.

  “Your mom sounds like an amazing woman.”

  “She is, but then again, so are you,” he agreed. “And I think if your mother were still here, she would want you to be happy above everything else. Even if pursuing your passion is a risky choice, it’s one I’m fairly certain she would want you to make. You are talented enough to make a career out of selling your work, and whatever lasting insecurities you possess about that fact, you need to let go of them.”

  “I know, but that’s easier said than done.”

  “Then just take it one step at a time.”

  “How?”

  “Create some paintings that will blow everyone away at the art show next month. Show them your ingenuity, your talent, and your drive.”

  “You really think I can do that?”

  “I know you can.”

  Smiling against his chest, I savored all the confidence he had in me. By listening to me, by comforting me, he eased the insecurities and self-doubt that had been eating away at me. If he believed in me so fiercely, then shouldn’t I believe in myself as well? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good.”

  His arms released me, and reluctantly, I pulled away. Moving to opposite ends of the couch, we each picked up our milkshake.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  For the first time since I’d arrived at his apartment, I took a second to glance around the room I was sitting in. Ry’s place was small, but it still had more space than Wren’s. A combined living room and kitchen led to a short hallway that was connected to his bedroom. I hadn’t been back there yet, and the thought piqued my curiosity. You could learn a lot about a person by looking at their bedroom.

  “Will you show me your room?” I questioned.

  A smile that could give the Cheshire Cat a run for his money spread across Ry’s face. I should’ve caught the implications lurking in the question I had asked, but it wasn’t until his eyebrow arched that I realized I was in trouble. “And what do you want to do in my room?”

  His question earned him a swift punch.

  “Ow!” he cried out, massaging his arm. “What was that for?”

  “Having your mind in the gutter.”

  “Alright, you got me there.”

  “No shit,” I answered, jumping to my feet. “Well, lead the way.”

  To my surprise, Ry rolled his eyes at me. “Fine.”

  “You just rolled your eyes at me!”

  “I’ve seen you do it enough times, I feel like I could be an expert at it.”

  I huffed loudly to demonstrate my annoyance. “Smartass,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Alright, here you go.”

  I scanned every part of his room. Just like the living areas, this room was also immaculate. The sheets and comforter covering his bed were navy blue and matched the curtains. His bedframe and dresser had been made o
ut of a dark wood. A row of running shoes was perfectly positioned at the foot of his bed. The entire space exuded masculinity, except for a single picture hanging above his bed.

  I nearly stopped breathing as I recognized the drawing I had given Ryan for helping me prank Brooklyn.

  “You framed the sketch I gave you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?” I questioned, unable to tear my eyes from the black frame encasing the orchid I’d drawn.

  “Because who doesn’t want to wake up and see something beautiful every single day?”

  His question may have been in reference to my sketch, but a tiny voice in the deep crevices of my consciousness almost wished he was talking about me.

  And it was a voice I wouldn’t be able to ignore for much longer.

  WHAT I CONSIDERED TO be my normal routine had changed completely in the weeks following the Crayola War. Before, whenever Wren was at work, I would hang out in the common room of my dorm. But after meeting Ryan, I started spending most of my time with him. It was a nice change of pace from always being alone. And whenever Wren was actually off work, the three of us were inseparable.

  When Ry first approached me in statistics class, I may have thought he was just a hottie with the best blue eyes I’d ever seen, but his sincerity and kindness never ceased to amaze me. Separate and together, Wren and I were nothing short of a handful, but Ry had no trouble keeping up with us. If anything, he was the one we had to keep in line at times.

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the gummy bears Wren dropped in my hand.

  “Do you guys always watch the same movies every year?”

  “Sometimes,” Wren answered, handing off the bag of gummy bears to Ryan. “As far as Halloween movies go, we watch Hocus Pocus, Nightmare on Elm Street, and The Crow every year. Other than that, we mix it up.”

  “Are there any scary movies you don’t care for?” he questioned.

  “We don’t watch anything with clowns in it,” I answered. “Wren hates clowns.”

  Wren grimaced at the word, a visible shiver coursing down her spine. “They’re Satan’s minions.”

  “Not really going to disagree with you there,” Ryan added with a laugh.

  “I mean, whoever thought they were an appropriate source of amusement and laughter for children should have their head examined. Everything about those fuckers is so creepy! I really don’t get it.”

  Sliding my arm around her, I moved to rest my head on her shoulder. “I agree one hundred percent, babe.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Anything you’re afraid of?” Ry asked, turning his attention to me.

  Committed romantic relationships was the first reply to pop inside my head. It had occurred to me on more than one occasion that watching the suffering and heartbreak my father had endured in the aftermath of Mom’s death had damaged me beyond repair. I feared neither death nor solitude. Both were outcomes I could accept without hesitation. I was strong and had withstood my fair share of pain. But loving someone so deeply that their soul merged with mine—only to lose them later in life—was something I couldn’t bear. It was a fate from which there was no return.

  “Spiders,” I answered after a long pause.

  “Spiders?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  The intensity of his blue gaze startled me. He knew I wasn’t being completely honest and that I had been lost in my thoughts again, and I could only wonder if he would call me out on my fib. “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  Per usual, Wren watched our exchange with a look of utter fascination. Her incessant prodding about the budding relationship between Ry and me was starting to piss me off. She believed that after enough nagging, I’d raise my white flag. However, I could only hope she was fond of disappointment, because her two friends were experts at avoidance.

  “Well then, what are you afraid of?” I posed my question with an overabundance of sass, hoping I’d be able to turn the tables on him.

  “Being cheated on.”

  His blatant honesty stunned Wren and I into silence. Not only was his confession something we’d never heard him talk about before, but Wren could comprehend his fear better than anyone. For the most part, Ry was private about his dating life. He never divulged any details about past entanglements or current prospects, so this revelation was a complete shock.

  The heaviness lacing his voice made my heart ache. A betrayal of that kind changed a person. In a relationship, trust must be earned. But when that faith is destroyed, it can seldom be repaired. When he finally met my gaze, an eternity of pain swam in the depths of those blue irises. Slowly, I moved to sit on the other side of him. I may not have known the source of his sadness, but I wanted to do everything within my power to make it dissipate.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed, laying my head on his shoulder.

  On his right, Wren mirrored me. “You’re one of the best guys I’ve ever met, and you know we’re glad to have you as our friend,” she whispered.

  “What she said.”

  Ryan shifted to slide his arms around our waists. In an instant, I was reminded of the night the three of us slept in Wren’s bed. Even though she didn’t cry, her despair was almost palpable. She was in pieces, so Ry and I held on to her in the hopes we could keep her from breaking even more. And now, Wren and I surrounded Ryan, holding on to him in the hope we would be able to instill even a small amount of comfort into his soul.

  “Did someone betray your trust?” Wren questioned.

  “Yes.”

  “When I caught Liam with his ex, I was so stunned that it took a couple days for the weight of his betrayal to sink in. And when it did, I felt so used, so disposable. It’s damaged my ability to trust. I doubt I’ll ever be able to have a relationship where I don’t suspect every sweet word is a lie.” Her voice was hoarse, a flurry of sentiments dampening the usual light tone. “I can say that talking about what happened has definitely helped me. I know it’s hard to open up, but if you ever want to talk about it, we’re more than willing to listen.”

  “As much as you’ve been there for us in the past few weeks, we are here for you,” I added. “And if there is something we can do to help, please let us know.”

  “Thank you,” he croaked.

  Sometimes, words failed to accurately capture our emotions. We were only human, and our shortcomings were plenty. But hopefully, Ry understood that we were here for him, that he could count on us.

  “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  The thought of someone cheating on Ry seemed unfathomable. He had it all, and he was one of the most considerate human beings I’d ever met. Who could throw away someone like that?

  For one thing, she’d have to be insane.

  With a heavy sigh, Ry leaned forward to grab his beer. After draining the rest of the bottle, he stood. “I’m getting another. Do you guys want one?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll take one too,” Wren added.

  “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched to make sure he was out of earshot before leaning in toward Wren.

  “I feel so bad,” I said in the softest voice I could manage.

  “I know. He nearly broke my heart.”

  “He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

  “Yes, Ter, I’m well aware of the fact.”

  “No one likes a smartass.”

  “Glass or bottle?” Ry shouted his question from the kitchen.

  “Bottle is fine for both of us,” Wren answered, loud enough for him to hear.

  “Do we need more popcorn?”

  “Yes! That would be great,” she called back to him.

  The familiar sounds of a microwave roared to life.

  Dropping my voice even further, I slid closer to ask, “I mean, what kind of girl would be stupid enough to pass him up?”

  She leveled me with a glare that was strong enough to topple
a building. “Yes, what kind of girl, indeed?”

  “I have my reasons, and so does he.”

  A smirk altered her features. “So you admit there is something between the two of you?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Que eyeroll. “But isn’t it, though?”

  “No!”

  “All I’m saying is that you have a hard time letting yourself connect with another person in that way, and from the sound of it, so does he. A guy who can understand the pain you’ve been through and your reservations about being in a relationship is someone you don’t throw away. Trust me on this one, babe.”

  “Putting it like that makes it all sound so easy, and it’s not.”

  “I know. One step at a time.”

  I smiled at her choice of words. “He told me that a few weeks ago.”

  “It’s good advice.”

  I nodded. “I’m working on it. Believe me, part of me wants to be brave.”

  “Sometimes, the hope that things can change and be different is all you need.”

  A heavy combination of sadness, hope, regret, and fear spun together, like paint mixed on a palette. It always seemed to be so contradictory how a multitude of emotions could all exist at the same time. I mean, is there a person who has only felt a single emotion at any given moment in time? Personally, I found the prospect to be unimaginable. The feelings locked within the human mind were as vast as the sea.

  Or at least, that’s how I was. And I had the strange suspicion Ry was the same way.

  “Have the two of you talked about what almost happened at the Crayola War?”

  I knew the fact she hadn’t interrogated me at length about the almost kiss Ry and I shared was because she was waiting until the perfect time. There was no way she would forget about it; I wasn’t that lucky. But if I was being honest with myself, I would be the exact same. If our roles were reversed and there was an amazing guy who was interested in Wren, I would pester the fuck out of her about it until she admitted defeat. Sure, mothers knew best, but sometimes even they didn’t have the ability to call you out on your shit like a best friend could.

  “Nope. We’ve been avoiding it like the plague.”

  “Funny.”