Winning Back Ryan

by S. L. Siwik

  A minute later, Brian and the guys entered the room again. The timing was a little too perfect, which led me to believe that they had been standing outside the room, listening in. I hoped they hadn’t heard much. They walked back in smiling a little too brightly for the situation, and I had to keep it together. I needed a few minutes with Ben though…. We needed a heart-to-heart. As Brian made his way over to the bed, his eyes zoned in on our hands holding. He looked up, smiling tightly at me. Ben saw my boyfriend’s reaction and let go of my hand, taking a few steps back.

  “Guys would you mind going to get me some coffee?” I asked Brian.

  “Sure, we’ll go down and get you one at the cafeteria,” Brian replied quickly.

  I shook my head. “No, I really really would love one of those ice mocha latte frozen thingies that I love. There’s has to be a coffeehouse in the nearby area.” I tried to give my best smile. “Please?”

  He let out an exhausted sigh. “Sure, sweetheart, if that’s what you want.”

  All three turned at the same time after touching my arm. I was sure that they were afraid to hug me, afraid they’d cause me pain.

  “Oh, sweetheart?” Ben called out in a sing song voice.

  I watched the guys who were leaving the room. The only one who turned back to look at Ben was George, who raised his brow. When the rest of the group realized that George had answered to the name ‘sweetheart’, they all exploded in laughter. George fought the tinge of pink coloring his cheeks as his lips pressed into a hard line realizing he had been set up.

  “What do you want, fucker?”

  Ben pursed his lips before saying in a high pitched female’s voice, “I’d like a drink too. I can’t believe you didn’t even ask me.” He huffed dramatically.

  George glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want?”

  Ben starting counting off on his fingers. “I’d like a mocha iced latte, but you have to tell them only a quarter ice, or they put too much in. Plus I want only sugar free syrup, skim milk, and two sugar substitutes. Make sure they don’t use real sugar, because I’m watching my figure this month.”

  “How about I just bring you back something, and you’ll fucking drink it and like it, douchebag,” George growled.

  “There’s no need to be so testy.” Ben’s voice was so dramatically high that I burst out laughing.

  “By the way, Annie,” George said, and I looked in his direction, “This POS over here, after eating all of the cookies you sent him, came over to my place and then ate all of mine.”

  I glanced at Ben, raising the brow over my good eye.

  “Is that true?”

  He shrugged softly, giving me an impish grin. The metallic ball of his tongue ring slid across his bottom lip.

  “He shouldn’t have taken so long in the bathroom.”

  “Bullshit!” George shouted, pointing at Ben. “I had them hidden. You went through all my cabinets to find them! Those were my fucking cookies that she made me!”

  “I’ll make you a new batch once we’re out of here,” I offered as condolence. George shined with his victory grin, and they all turned and walked out.

  “Must be some fuckin’ cookies,” Mr. Hurley muttered under his breath.

  I couldn’t help but laugh loudly since I had just been thinking the same thing.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I have no idea what that was about.”

  His brow raised, puzzled by my response not explaining George’s outburst. But, I didn’t have answers for him. I found it just as bizarre.

  After they left, I spoke to Mr. Hurley, “I know you’re really busy, and I’m guessing that you’re going to drive Ben to his car, but may I please have a few moments with him alone first?”

  Mr. Hurly glanced between me and his son, his expression softening.

  “Sure, kiddo. And Annie, if you need me, you know how to find me.”

  I nodded. “Thank you for everything, sir.”

  He smiled. “I’ve always liked you. You’ve got a huge set of balls on you.” Ben’s father turned to his son. “I’ll be downstairs in the limo when you’re done.”

  When his father was gone, Ben opened his bag up, pulling out something green. “I got you something.” I wasn’t able to hide my surprise as he handed me a large stuffed animal- a sea turtle of my favorite character in an animated movie. “Do you remember our sophomore year, we wanted to go out drinking, but you wanted to stay in the rec area and watch that damn movie during ‘Monday Movie Night’?” I nodded, recalling the memory. “So me and the guys drank a few beers, but cut the night short and found ourselves crawling into the room to come sit next you and watch that ridiculous fucking cartoon that you loved to death.”

  I feigned annoyance. “You mean the one where George cried at the end like a little girl, my Resident Advisor called you a pig for sleeping with her friend, and I was embarrassed because people were giving me death glares?”

  He frowned. “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”

  I laughed. “I bet not. Do you remember me getting into a fight with that freshman who told me that I needed to train and muzzle my dogs better?”

  He smiled brightly. “I do remember that. I remember you sent her back to her room fuming.”

  I shook my head. “No one talks about my friends that way. You aren’t animals, you’re good people. She should have kept her mouth shut.”

  I hugged the stuffed animal tightly to my chest. It reminded me of a time when life wasn’t so frightening or difficult. A simpler time. Suddenly, things didn’t seem so heavy anymore as though it was all…manageable. I felt absolutely touched by the gesture.

  “Thank you. This is somehow the perfect gift.” I rested my head against the turtle’s large head, sighing. “I don’t even have words for you right now, Ben, to express the depth of my gratitude. If you hadn’t…” I shook my head as the tears rolled down my eyes. My mind flashed through different possible scenarios of what could have happened if he showed up just twenty minutes later. Each scenario was more frightening than the last. “If you hadn’t come…”

  He hushed me, his other hand coming to my cheek. “You owe me nothing, Princess, you never have.” His thumb brushed over my lips. “You’ve given me far more than I’ve ever given you. When you need me, call, and I’ll come. Always.”

  Lifting my sore and bruised body, I closed the distance between us, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. I felt him freeze at my action, and I laid back down on the bed.

  “I thought you said that I couldn’t get a kiss because you knew where my lips have been,” he asked. He was trying for his normal cocky nature, but he was failing at it horribly. Or maybe I was just becoming better at reading him.

  I shrugged. “In the stories that I read growing up, when a princess is saved, she gives her rescuer a kiss as a token of her gratitude.” I held my index finger up. “Just one.” I had never before in my life seen Ben smile that brightly before.

  “You better watch yourself there, Princess, or I might start putting you in dangerous situations just to save you and get kissed,” he said in a timber so low that it reminded me of a bedroom voice.

  His fingertip moved across my lip, the smell of tobacco strong. “If he had hurt you, I would have killed him,” he whispered.

  I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I was afraid that I had killed him.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  I hugged the turtle tighter. “Because I know you don’t believe in God, but I do. If I had killed him, I would have damned my soul. And Ryan’s not worth losing out on heaven over.”

  His brows knitted together, taking in my words. I could tell that he wanted to argue against my logic. But, faith was something that was hard to argue against, because there was no proof either way.

  “Annie, you could never be kept out of heaven. You’re just too good of a person,” he said, his voice warm.

  “Here’s your drink, douchebag,” George said, walking through the doorway, cutting through our moment.<
br />
  Ben took several steps backwards quickly, then turned towards George, taking the drink from him.

  Brian glanced at Ben and I quickly before he handed me a large frozen coffee drink.

  “You’re the best boyfriend ever!” I eagerly gulped it down while he beamed at my compliment.

  “Anything for you,” he murmured, kissing my forehead after sweeping hair off my face. I touched his arm in thanks. “Look what else I got you,” Brian said. He held out a bright orange t-shirt for me to read. It said: Someone loves me at St. Canary’s Hospital. I shook my head in disbelief. “You can pull it off.”

  I held my hands out, waiting for him to slide the shirt on. It was a 3XL.

  “I’m not that big,” I grumbled.

  “No,” he replied quickly, “I got it really big purposely. I didn’t know if you had bruises or cuts…” he trailed off, before starting again. “I wanted the material loose on your skin.”

  “Thanks,” I replied quietly, touched that he was so considerate, as he helped me dress, while George and Max turned around. I had no idea where Ben’s shirt had gone. That shirt had fit me well, but the shirt Brian brought me I was swimming in.

  Brian leaned back down kissing my forehead again. “Do you need anything else?”

  I parted with the straw momentarily to shake my head. Glancing up I saw Ben at the foot of the bed, watching the exchange with that look in his eyes that I didn’t understand. It was surprising that after all of these years of friendship, there was any look left that I couldn’t recognize. His brows scrunched together and confusion flashed through his eyes as he suddenly looked away.

  “Well, I’m gonna get going,” Ben said, “The nurse should let ya go soon.”

  I nodded. “You need rest.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Rest. Sure.” He shook his head in aggravation before sighing. “Alright, be good.” He walked out of the room at record pace, not even saying goodbye to our other friends.

  Max frowned. “That was weird.”

  I shrugged. “He’s had a really rough day.”

  They all sat down and we talked about random nonsense, George thanking me again for his care package. He made me promise that I’d send one to him every year, so I agreed. Everyone avoided talking about why I was there. I appreciated it; I just wanted to move on with my life. The nurse came in a while later with my discharge papers, and a prescription for eight hundred milligram ibuprofen. I ignored her sympathetic looks while signing the papers and listening to the care instructions for my wounds. Relieved to finally go home, I kissed George and Max good-bye, thanking them for coming as Brian hailed a cab. The cab driver, upon seeing me, cringed. I realized I must have looked God awful.

  When we stepped inside our apartment, I asked him if I could take a shower. He nodded, sitting down on the couch exhausted. I wondered how much he had slept or what day it even was. I walked into the bathroom, closing the door, stripping my clothes off. I’d burn that outfit before ever wearing it again. It would just be a reminder. I glanced in the mirror, and gasped horrified. I looked hideous with bruises all over my face, cuts and gashes. The wound on my cheek has been stitched close. I stepped into the scalding hot shower, because I was suddenly shivering, closing the door behind me.

  I kept washing myself, because I still felt dirty. I scrubbed myself raw, my skin red and agitated, yet I still didn’t feel clean. Ryan was gone, completely out of my life now. And yet…he lingered. I did not feel free of him yet, haunted by my memories.

  I broke down, leaning against the tiled wall, crying hysterically. I couldn’t believe that this had happened, that my life had taken this turn. I was just a normal, everyday girl from a normal family. I couldn’t deny this one and pretend that Ryan didn’t try to rape me. The pounding pain in my face wouldn’t let me forget. I was still standing, though. I was the one who left the hospital, and he was the one stuck there.

  He didn’t break me, just left me permanently scarred.

  Heartbreak was tricky business, I realized. Deciding to sever my heart and soul from Ryan had made me ache in inexplicable ways. I was so angry at him for making the inevitable pain I would have felt from our breakup much worse by adding betrayal to the mix. It hurt not touching him anymore or loving him after we ended it, and I didn’t know what to do with all of that need. It had been spiteful and childish of me to mess with Ryan’s head, but part of me wondered if he even cared. Would he be apathetic if I told him that he had gotten me sick? What I really wanted, and went about in the wrong way, was acknowledgement that at one point during our relationship I had been important to him- that I had meant to him at least a fraction of what he had meant to me. After our conversation, however, I realized I had, in Ryan’s own way, been important to him. My need for revenge died out somewhere last night. But, I had already started us down a dangerous path- toying with his heart, messing with his head, and then leaving after my ‘work’ was finished. Sometimes when you get the ball rolling, you can’t stop it in time before it crashes.

  If life was a road to travel down, I had tripped and had fallen face first into the asphalt. I should have just walked away like Brian suggested, instead of being petty and vengeful. I thought I had a handle on it all. I realized too late that by spending my life trying to hurt Ryan, I only hurt myself more, allowing the anger to consume me to the point of nearly taking me over. It also kept me from moving on…to bigger and better things. My revenge was a double edged sword and in my short sightedness, I cut myself deeply with both ends. I just hoped eventually this pain would disappear. Maybe it would be like a wound that even when it healed, a scar would always remain.

  I heard the bathroom door open, but I couldn’t stop crying in time. The glass door of Brian’s shower opened, and he stood there staring at me, looking troubled. He stepped into the shower fully clothed in basketball shorts and a white undershirt.

  I muttered, “I’m still dirty. I can’t get clean.” He took the bar of soap from me, putting it back on the holder. Brian turned towards me, his eyes never moving from mine. He held his hands out and moved very slowly towards me. He didn’t need to close the space, however, because I grabbed his shirt pulling him to me. I cried hysterically into his now sopping wet shirt and he slowly encircled his arms around me.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured into my ear. I cried harder, thankful to have him in my life, thankful to have all of my friends. I knew that when it came to friendship, I hit the jackpot because the true test wasn’t when your life was good; it was what they did when your life fell apart. And my friends were right there, having my back.

  When I finally regained my composure, I said, “Sing to me.” It’s what my mother used to do when I was a child and would wake up with nightmares. It always calmed me, even though she had a terrible singing voice.

  “What do you want me to sing?” he asked.

  “Anything,” I replied.

  I closed my eyes, resting my cheek on his chest, his heart thumping wildly against my ear. The water sprayed my back as I heard him begin to sing. By the third word, I started to smile. By the second chorus, he and I were dancing in the shower.

  “How do you do it?” I asked as he swayed my body back and forth, my head resting on his shoulder.

  “Do what?”

  “Always know how to make me happy. How do you know how to make me smile?” I asked.