by Juli Valenti
Almost as if on cue, the sky opened and rain started to fall. Go figure – it always poured when it felt like my life was spiraling out of control. Mother Nature was a bitch. For a minute or two I debated the merits of walking home in the rain, but Brooklyn was a really long walk away from Manhattan, and, as upset as I was, even I knew it wasn’t the best of ideas. So, retaining just enough self-preservation, I dug my cell phone back out of my purse – swearing when it took forever in the obnoxiously large bag - and pulled the cabby’s card from my wallet. Ahmed answered almost immediately.
“Priority Taxi, Ahmed,” he said into the phone, his accent vaguely comforting though his words were short.
“Um … I don’t know if you remember me, but this is Ryen … Macek… You drove me to my apartment from the airport a couple weeks ago? You told me to call if I needed a ride while I was in the city?”
“Ah – I remember, the girl who wouldn’t accept help and advice. You need a ride while in the city?”
“I’m actually not in the city … I’m, uh, in Brooklyn. Do you think … Do you think you could come get me and take me home?” I asked him, not wanting to beg and trying to keep my voice from breaking. I would not cry, damn it. Nope. Not me. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s not water pooling behind your eyes – it’s just rain that’s falling into them, forcing its way down your face. That’s my story and I’m freaking sticking to it, damn it.
“…Are you okay, Ryen?” he questioned, concern evident in his tone. His kindness was almost my undoing, but I steeled myself. I didn’t really want anyone to be nice to me right now, but I didn’t want to yell at the poor man either. It wasn’t his fault that all I could choose in a man was douche-baggery.
“Yeah. Um, I just sent my driver away, not realizing I’d need him so soon. I would’ve called him and had him turn around, but I don’t know his number…” There, that was distant, vague, and completely not the truth, but truth enough to get away with. My dad always said I was a shitty liar, so I tried never to get away with it. I just didn’t want to be completely honest right now.
“Okay, tell me where you are – I’ll come get you.”
I rambled off the cross streets and the store I was standing in front of, some little mom and pop place. Ahmed demanded that I stand under the street lights and hold my purse tightly to me, not making me feel very safe. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to get freaking mugged. That would just be a perfect ending to my day. I mentally thanked my good cabby friend for reminding me of what a dangerous city I was in and what an easy target I was.
Doing as he instructed, I shut my phone off when it vibrated once again, Dane’s name flashing in bold lettering across the screen. The thought crossed my mind to throw the godforsaken piece of electronics, but I decided against it – I knew I would regret it later. I’m sure I’d have a lot of regrets later, but if I could avoid one, I would.
It took Ahmed about twenty minutes to get to me – not bad. He must’ve been nearby or on the outskirts of the city. He got the door for me, ushering me inside, despite being soaked to the bone. I’ll give the man credit, he never once complained about me dripping onto his seats. Even more points in his favor? He took one look at my face, I’m sure my makeup was running down my cheeks, and didn’t say a word – no questions, no probing, nothing. He simply drove me in silence, his radio playing softly through the speakers. I couldn’t even say how grateful I was for him, for his compassion.
He opened my door for me once he pulled up to my place, giving me a sad smile before patting me on the arm. I couldn’t help but wish, even for just a moment, that he was my dad, and that I could cry on his shoulder. It was moments like these, days like today, I needed him the most. I needed him to kick the boy’s ass who hurt my feelings. I needed him to pet my hair and tell me that there would be better out there for me, just as he had when I was stood up for the seventh-grade dance. I tried to smile for Ahmed, but failed miserably as I turned and walked through the doors, and up to my apartment.
Inside I kicked off my boots, leaving them by the door, and stripped out of my wet clothes. My purse landed in a dark heap alongside the mess, the sound loud as it hit the floor. I grabbed my most frumpy clothes I’d brought – an oversized sweatshirt that used to be my dad’s and a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms – and changed in the bathroom, wrapping my hair turban style in a towel. I completely ignored my reflection … no need to see what a mess I was physically too.
Originally I’d planned to go back downstairs, maybe have a drink or something, but my bedroom was as far as I made it. I sat on the bed where Dane and I had laughed so much just the night before and stared into space. I briefly debated the merits of turning on the TV, watching the news to make sure no one had spotted me walking in the rain, but thought better of it. No good would come from that.
Instead, I decided to self-mutilate myself with my own thoughts. I thought back to meeting him at the airport and what a jerk I thought he was. I thought back to bumping into him at the white carpet charity gala, how handsome he looked and how, despite his confidence and cockiness, he’d made me smile. The dancing we’d done, being photographed. I thought about us bowling and his excitement when one of us hit the pins, how dapper he’d looked on the red carpet, and how my smile had been completely real that night. I thought about his dad, his threats, and Dane’s reassurances to me. None of it made sense to me … but there was no mistaking what I saw. Just like with Aaron - a fucking girl, all but naked, in his house, who wasn’t me. I hadn’t imagined her, nor had I imagined the way his brows pinched when he’d found me on his doorstep.
No, I definitely hadn’t imagined any of it. A part of me almost wished I could rewind today. If I’d never gone to his apartment wanting to surprise him, I never would’ve found him with her. But that’s not quite right. I wish I could go back and he not actually have a naked girl in his house. Who was she? What the holy hell was she doing in his apartment, naked and dripping wet?
In a stroke of genius, I got my weary legs to stand and made my way back to the entry of the house where I’d left my purse. Hanging by a thread, I dumped the bag on the floor, letting the contents spill where they would until I found my phone. I plopped myself on the floor, crossing my legs beneath me, and pressed the button, panicking slightly when the screen didn’t light up, but remembering I’d shut it off. I waited impatiently for it to turn on, ignored the twenty-eight missed calls and thirty-three text messages, and fired Google back up.
The biggest downside to stupid smart phone technology? They save your browser history. Like a slap to the face, pictures of us filled the screen – the product of a previous Google search of our names. My eyes were drawn to the red carpet gala event … where my smile was real, the sparkle in my eyes matching my gifted shoes. Dane’s arm was around me, my hand on his chest; we looked like two people in love, if that was even possible. No wonder we were such cannon fodder for the gossip magazines. I was an easy target and didn’t stand a chance with that man on my arm.
Shaking my head to clear it, I closed the tab and opened a new one, instead searching for ‘Brian Ranucci’ and ‘girlfriend.’ The images that popped up were of him and me – hey look, I was apparently his girlfriend – and a few of him alone at business events. Grocery shopping, mall hopping, bar hopping with some co-workers, coffee runs. There were pictures of him with different kinds of expensive cars – the result of his penchant of renting them when in the city – and a ton of him outside my apartment. I was getting frustrated. I’d expected past exploits of him with other women, some sort of chronological dating timeline, but there weren’t any. Well, none that weren’t me.
“Well, that’s no help,” I said aloud to the room, my words echoing across the living room. The phone in my hand buzzed again and I put it down, face down, so I wouldn’t have to look at it. I really should change the phone settings on messages and alerts – sometimes a girl doesn’t want to read the message and it’s unfair that the dumb iPhone forces you to. Of course
I’d caught part of the message before blocking out the memory of how to read:
*Dane: Call me. I’m worried. It’s not---*
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know the ending of that sentence was going to be “what you think.” Why did guys always say that? Aaron had tried that line and, ironically, it had been exactly what I’d thought. Dane wasn’t going to be any different. Except … except Dane was different.
I sighed in relief as I walked through my front door. It was good to be home, in Atlanta. My house was stuffy so I opened the windows as I passed them, not really paying attention to what I was doing.
I’d booked the next flight back home, packed in a hurry, and hauled my weary ass to the airport. It wasn’t a red-eye flight, so it hadn’t been at two am, but it may as well have been. I hadn’t slept since I’d intruded on Dane’s private world I knew nothing about. Every time I tried, I was bombarded with the same images burned into my thoughts. I was a heartbeat away from slamming an ice pick into my ear just to make it stop. So this is how the good ones go crazy, the voice inside my head spouted and I hit my temple with my palm. That’d better shut her up. I was in no mood, though I was slightly grateful she’d left me alone during my mini meltdown.
My phone was still off. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, see anyone, nothing. I wanted to wallow in self-pity for a little bit. It would pass, it always did, leaving a small part of myself open and wounded, but it would pass. Until then, I just wanted to be left alone.
I dragged my bags into my room and left them – unpacking could wait. Instead I made my way into the living room and sat on my familiar couch. It smelled like me, like home, and I sank into the cushions, letting my eyes travel the room. They narrowed in on the old-school PlayStation II in the entertainment center, looking sad and neglected underneath its’ newest counterpart, the PlayStation Four. After a few seconds of deciding, I stood, went to it and turned it on, jamming Kingdom Hearts in the disc loader and sitting with both controllers beside me. I bypassed the older, previous played files, and chose a new one, letting myself get lost in Sora falling and talking about his weird dreams.
It was fun, even I had to admit, letting myself get lost in a different world, with different people and problems. Here, the only thing I could focus on was saving the world – from what, I wasn’t sure, but I was going to find out, dang it. I’d played before, but not a lot … I wanted to see what was going to happen. It was better than the alternative: facing my life. That, I was sure of.
I don’t know how long I played. Long enough to beat countless episodes and bosses, to see some of my favorite Disney movies in the form of a video game. The sun had fallen and still I played, losing myself. I snacked on some of my favorite munchies, but never stopped to have a real meal. I was starting to see what Chris had found so consuming, so fun, so life-affirming to play all day long. What an escape it was.
I was on part twenty-eight or something, about to enter the Platinum Match in the Coliseum against Sephiroth, when a knock sounded on my door. The sound was loud in my game-induced coma, and, I shit you not, I twitched, even scratching my arm a little bit. Okay, Ryen … put the controller down, I scolded myself. Maybe I’d gone a little too far.
Standing, I brushed crumbs off my pants and moved to the door, pulling it open much harder than it probably needed to. Seeing who was standing on my doorstep, I apparently should have checked the peephole first. Why do I always think of these things too late? I took a deep breath, ignoring my completely disheveled, gamer state, and lifted my head, meeting his eyes.
Dane stood there, looking as if he’d run a marathon. A very good-looking marathon, with little sweat to be seen. Okay, maybe not a marathon and maybe not running … but his face was red. From what I could see out of my peripheral vision, he was wearing nice-fitting jeans, a navy and white-striped Polo shirt, and sneakers. His eyes were the same emerald color, if not brighter, than I remembered. His face was scruffy, as if he hadn’t shaved since I’d seen him last. How long ago was that now? Three days? Four? I wasn’t sure.
He looked good and I hated it. I wanted to run my fingers through his facial growth, feel it prickle against my fingers before I kissed him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him that I missed him. But I didn’t. Instead I shook my head, moving to shut the door, but he spoke, halting my movements.
“Ryen,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. I glanced back up to his face, his eyes begging me to listen to him. I didn’t want to, but for the sake of being better than him, I didn’t slam the door. “Can I come in? Can we talk? We really need to talk.”
“So talk.” Yes, my words were short. I was hurt, angry, and slightly embarrassed about my newfound gaming addiction. It wasn’t what I wanted to be, it just was.
“You left New York.”
“Wow … observant are we? Yes, seeing as you are now standing on my doorstep in Georgia, I would say it’s safe to say we aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.” That was what he wanted to say to me? Really? He could have said a lot of other things, but that’s what he chose. Wow.
“Why?”
“Why, what?” I snapped back, my frustration growing by the minute. Why was he here? What could he possibly have to say? Actions speak louder than words and, him on my doorstep withstanding, his spoke volumes to what he thought of me. He knew all about what Aaron had done to me, how I’d found out he was cheating on me. I’d told him how it hurt me, how it made it hard for me to trust, and he’d done the exact same fucking thing. As far as I was concerned, he could pretend he was a character in Mary Poppins and go fly a freaking kite.
“Why did you leave? Why’d you run?”
“I didn’t run, Dane. I went home – I was only in the city for a vacation, for a distraction. It was time to come home,” I explained, though I shouldn’t have. I didn’t owe him anything.
“You did run. You didn’t even stop and let me talk to you. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve called.” He ran his hands through his hair, longer now than when I’d met him. Now that I was paying a bit more attention, I could see dark circles under his eyes, redness around the edges of his irises. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as perfect as he seemed, but he sure as hell looked better than me. I was wearing the same yoga pants I’d worn on the plane ride home two days or so ago. The only reason I’d changed my shirt was because I’d dropped salsa on the other when I was in the Little Mermaid land of Kingdom Hearts.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, pulling me from my reverie.
“Um,” I answered, debating on whether or not to tell him everything he’d just said probably fell on deaf ears since I hadn’t been listening. I decided to go for honesty – hell, one of us needed to. “Nope. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Dane groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Can I come inside? It’s really hot out here.”
I thought about it for a moment. What harm could it do, letting him come inside? I could probably even offer him a beer … I’d run out of water and Kool-Aid yesterday. Going to the store had seemed too much work, so I’d broken into the Mich Ultra. Don’t judge me. My heart hurt.
Without answering, I stepped out of the way and waved him inside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes took in the room and I did the same, in a new light, seeing it as he did. Potato chip bags on the floor in front of the couch, empty beer bottles and glasses piling up on the end table. I swear I wasn’t drunk … if I was I wouldn’t have been kicking ass and taking names, using my Ultima Weapon. You are such a freaking loser! Stop it. Get a grip on yourself, the voice inside my head shouted. She had a point … I really was sort of a loser right now.
“Playing a video game? I thought you hated them,” Dane said, ignoring the mess and focusing on the pause screen.
“Um, I never said I hated them,” I tried, knowing it was futile. I’m pretty sure I did say I hated them.
“No, Ryen. You said you hated them, that you’d dated too many gamer boys who were too involved in their games to shower, or
eat, or pay attention to a real relationship.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding my hands up in placation. “Maybe I did hate them, do, even. It was just … nice to escape from the world for a while.”
“Well, while you were ‘escaping the world’ I was going crazy in it looking for you.”
“Why? I’m just one of the who-knows-how many in your harem of ladies … though you’re very careful to not be pictured with any of them, so good job on that front. Sorry I ruined your perfect record.”
“What are you talking about, Ryen? This is what I’m talking about. We need to talk, really talk. If you still want me to leave after then I will, but so help me, you’re going to shower before we do anything. You smell like fourteen-year-old boy right now.” Okay … this was very frustrated, starting-to-get-angry Dane.
I started to argue, but got a whiff of myself as I moved. He was right … I smelled. Moving toward my room, I waved him to the couch. “Make yourself at home. Wait, don’t. You’ve done that in my life already and I’ve seen where that gets me. Just stand for a while. I’ll only be a few minutes.” It came out cruel and meaner than I think I’d intended, but it was still the truth. Him just showing up, making the ‘grand gesture,’ didn’t change much of anything.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself as I went through the motions of showering. He had another girl in his apartment. His lips, kissing my neck, his strong hands on my hips. He had a naked girl in his apartment. His smile and laugh as we joked and played, how safe I’d felt in his arms. Another freaking naked, wet girl in his apartment!
Shit. I was going to be in trouble, wasn’t I?
Chapter Seventeen
Once I was relatively dry, my hair in a damn ponytail on the top of my head, and dressed in jeans and a gold gypsy-cut top, I felt more myself. And with the feeling of self returning, I was also slightly humiliated. Sure, why wouldn’t he see me at a low point – it wouldn’t have been fair to me for him to see me at my best, would it? Nope. My luck, I tell you, is shit.