RUIN: A M/M Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  Ryker gestures toward me with his hand. “If you won’t, I will.”

  I cock my head to the side.

  “What were you going to talk about?” Ryker’s voice is deep and smooth, like a perfect milkshake straight from the blender.

  Each word that resonates from his beautiful mouth does something to my insides, tickles my balls and makes my hand tremble way more than it should. I don’t think I’ve been this aggravated since they stopped showing Hello, Dolly! at the Schubert Theatre in Midtown.

  “I was about to talk about—” I start to say.

  Ryker frowns. “I’ll speak if he doesn’t want to, Doctor Azad.”

  I swallow back my breath, confused for a beat. He’ll speak? He just got here!

  Doctor Azad wiggles his thick brows. “You have the floor, Ryker.” He gestures toward it with his hand. “Please, go ahead.”

  An easy smile touches Ryker’s lips just as he folds his arms across his chest and opens his legs even wider. My gaze stays on his eyes—blue and confusing, telling me that there’s a complicated universe lurking beneath them. Maybe just as confusing as my own.

  I suck in some more desperately needed air.

  He still hasn’t spoken. His expression is brooding.

  Everyone waits.

  He inhales sharply, pretty eyes still on me. “I’d like to go ahead…” He narrows his eyes.

  “Griffon.” My name falls from my lips with a little more annoyance than was originally intended.

  I don’t know why I’m pissed.

  Maybe it’s because he’s showing me up. Maybe it’s because I can’t decide whether to focus on his face or his crotch. Maybe it’s because I feel out of my league! And I’m never out of my league. Ever.

  “Griffon.” My name echoes from his mouth, slow and deep as if he’s testing out how it feels on his tongue—each vowel and syllable.

  Sweet.

  No…fucking annoying.

  Everything about this guy tugs at me, digs at me, pesters me like a buzzing fly you just want to swat away.

  The corners of my mouth turn down into a ticked-off frown.

  “That is of course, unless you want to talk about Broadway shows, the latest episode of Project Runway, and the perfect way to make a vanilla souffle.” Ryker snorts out a laugh.

  Hold on a minute.

  I’m confused, really confused.

  Is he making a gay joke?

  He’s clearly gay himself…

  And he’s making fucking gay jokes!

  I shift in my seat. Grinding my teeth, I’m ready to hear what this prick has to say. I extend a hand. “No, please.” I smile. “Please go ahead. I’m sure we’d all love to hear about your life, Ryker. Especially since you seem so eager to talk about it.”

  He drags his fingers through his hair making it all messy. Doesn’t make him look one bit less attractive. When he continues the motion, his sleeves edge up to his forearms revealing the scars there.

  Horizontal marks, like his wrists got run over by a pizza cutter.

  Pink, red, flesh-toned.

  Some old, some new.

  My brows crash together, then relax before he notices.

  He lowers his arm.

  His mouth…A smile threatens. He gazes from left to right making sure he has the attention of every person in this stupid circle, then he lets us have that beautiful smile. “Well, get your tissues ready.” He laughs softly. “It’s one fucked-up story.”

  RYKER

  I’M NOT IMPRESSED THAT I’m here again, but I figure while I am I might as well share a little bit about myself.

  I need to impress Doctor Azad, show him that I’m serious about recovery.

  But these assholes truly don’t realize that in life there are just some things you just don’t recover from, ever. I really get tired of explaining that. So, in their quest to figure me out, to medicate me and to discover what my problem really is…which they’ll never understand, I give them something else.

  I slouch down in my seat, staring at the boy-man in front of me intently.

  He’s peculiar.

  Dark hair cut close to his scalp, pale skin, lucid gray eyes that make me dream of the Baltic Sea in the winter, high zygomas, and a sharp bone structure that makes him look like he could be a fucking model or something. He’s pretty. Untainted. Clean. I can’t say I see damaged.

  I cock my head to the side, breathing heavily, ignoring how my cock swells at the sight of his plump lips. I shift once more while the group looks on, no doubt seeing this eerie exchange.

  I check Griffon over once more.

  Nope, I don’t see damaged.

  I think I just see an asshole.

  A big, big, asshole.

  Trust me I know damaged when I see it.

  Can’t say I understand why this dude is even here.

  I’ve never seen him here before. He’s a newbie. Fresh meat. Some kid that picked up a new habit. I’d ask him what’s his poison but it’s clear it’s the blow. The coco. The holy powder. There’re so many goddamn names for the shit these days, you must be careful when you’re asking for it. Some Joe on the street corner could sell you Drano by mistake.

  He presses his lips tight, waiting for me to speak, clearly annoyed that I’ve stolen the floor from him…the one he didn’t want in the first place.

  Everyone is still waiting for me to speak.

  And they wait, and they wait.

  I chuckle.

  Doctor Azad checks the platinum watch on his wrist. “Ryker, please, we don’t have all day. Either you are going to share, or we are going to move on to the next person who wants to speak. We’re running over time as it is.”

  The clock on the wall isn’t as I imagine it would be. The hands spin counterclockwise confirming that this session should indeed have long been over.

  “Yes, please.” Griffon breathes and looks in the direction of the girl sitting next to him, completely ignoring that she’s been staring at him hard ever since I sat in this heavy metal chair.

  Soon, her eyes are on me.

  Her name won’t enter my brain…Can’t say I care what it is.

  She offers me up the same smile she’d given Griffon with her pink glossy lips.

  Dirty bitch.

  I fix my eyes back on Griffon and start to speak. “It all started when my mother, Bella, left me that one time.” I sigh. “She had a bad heroin habit. She’d be up all late hours of the night shooting up.” I sniff the air. “I hated seeing it. Her arms were like red-dotted pinboards. I dream about it often. She smoked crack every now and again too. I smell it on the streets sometimes when cars skeet and motorcycles pull off and the tires hit the pavement. Burning rubber. Yeah, that’s the fucking smell.” I press my index finger to my temple and leave it there for a moment.

  Griffon’s gray eyes are attentive.

  I have every section of his heart in my palm.

  He pities me, severely.

  “I was seven years old, so that was exactly thirteen years ago.” I smile.

  Griffon nods, slowly.

  “Anyways, Bella, as I said, used to love smoking crack. That was her second habit. I was curious so one day she offered me some.”

  Griffon’s brows knot.

  Leaning forward, I make a gesture with my fingers as if I’m measuring something. “Just a little bit. Just one smoke.” I sit back in my chair. “I smoked crack that day.” I drag my fingers through my hair, ignoring how tired I am and huff. “And since then, I’ve been like this.”

  Doctor Azad gives me a blank look, then adjusts the glasses that sit on the tip of his nose. He snatches up his notepad and scribbles something down, and as always, I want to know what he’s writing. Maybe his grocery list for later this evening…Steak or chicken? Asparagus or fucking green beans. I’m quite assured that nothing he’s writing down has anything to do with me.

  “So what kind of drugs are you on now?” Samantha tosses me a pissy smile that begs for a boot in the face. I remember her
name now…She’s been here before. I’m honestly a bit tired of seeing her face.

  I inhale sharply and toss her a bullshit smile. “Not crack.” As if that’s any better. As if it puts me on some superior drug plane than everyone else here who enjoys a little smoke of the glass pipe sometimes and the burnt purple lips which follow. “A little blow, a little prick in the arm, those wonderful yellow pills every now and again that’ll keep you high from Monday to fuckin’ Sunday.”

  Doctor Azad’s hand moves so fast across the pages it’s a wonder how he manages to hold on to his pen.

  I laugh a bit.

  Griffon’s brows are knotted.

  “I’m a drug addict because my mother made me one.” I tsk.

  Griffon’s lips part slow as if he’s about to say something then rethinks it.

  Honestly, I’d love to hear what he has to say but it’s written all over his face, so there’s no need really for him to speak. Those pretty eyes of his give him away every single time.

  It’s curiosity.

  Silence falls over the room, thick and heavy.

  I’m all grins.

  “Where are you from?” Griffon asks.

  “The city.” My grin dissolves.

  A muscle beneath Griffon’s left eye twitches but he maintains the same stone expression as before. He lifts his chin, tilting his head, observing me down the line of his perfectly straight nose.

  He’s easy on the eyeballs.

  Tall, I can tell from his outstretched legs and slightly muscular.

  He exhales.

  And I smile, rubbing my jaw when it’s clear he’s also someone I should stay the fuck away from.

  He keeps his slate grays on me that I swear have darkened in the last few seconds to the hue of concrete.

  Fitting.

  Hard. Impenetrable. Solid.

  Something about this guy encompasses all three of those adjectives—not sure why I get that vibe. I just do. The V-neck of the ratty T-shirt he’s wearing slides off his right shoulder a bit revealing the cross tattooed there.

  Interesting.

  He believes in God, or used to, I guess.

  Can’t say I do myself.

  Or have any reason to.

  Samantha makes a face—lips tight, nose wrinkled. “So, who did you assault this time, Ryker, to land your ass back in here?”

  If you don’t shut up, soon—you.

  I won’t bore you with the details of my statement about God or the nonexistence of him. We can get to that bullshit later.

  Life hasn’t exactly been grand.

  It’s been quite shitty.

  I suppose I can consider that being here in rehab is sort of a vacation away from the monotony of my regular life. It’s better than jail after all, which is where everyone seems to think I’m headed.

  I don’t even know why I’m here.

  I’m not some washed-up meth head like all the other losers who sit around this jerk circle.

  And I might just be here again but it’s only temporary as it always is. I never stay here for very long unless someone decides to press charges.

  This…what’s happening right now is a condition of my hard-earned unofficial probation. One set in place by the powers that be.

  I huff and look out the window at all the green in the distance and the well-kept gardens here where my favorite red roses grow.

  Samantha’s hard eyes stay on me while she waits for me to answer the question that’s none of her fucking business but....

  I do anyways with a dramatic huff. “An ex-boyfriend.”

  “Okey, dokey.” Griffon smirks.

  GRIFFON

  PLAY TIME HAS BEEN over for the last three hours.

  I walked out of that cool room, leaving the hiss of the air-conditioning behind as I did when Ryker began to talk about his daddy dearest and his own penchant for raising his fists and beating down whatever and whomever is in his path. I couldn’t take anymore sharing so hightailed it out of there right when Ryker paused, and Samantha started to talk about how many times she OD’d and had failed to take her own life.

  Jaysus Christ.

  Often, I wonder why I’m here.

  I’m not as fucked up as these freaks.

  I just like to get high, too high. So high, I think I’m on Neptune.

  It takes my mind off shit.

  But, as you know, being a “once in a blue moon” user makes you a full-time, full-blown addict and after months or years of snorting blow, you depend on it. It becomes as crucial to your life as air and water and food and sex. You need it. It becomes your everything! And no matter how much I’d told myself over the past few months that I didn’t need it…I always went back to it, always. Those long nights sweating it out after work, walking the hot streets of Hell’s Kitchen until I got home…After a horrid week trying to keep up with getting an education I’m still not sure I’m made for…And the rowdy nights of arguing with Giovanni about the “drugs” then the echo of his sobs when he cried himself to sleep at night. All of it always made me want to use again.

  A tiny breath escapes my mouth.

  I’ll never get along with Giovanni.

  Nothing makes him happy anymore. Only Giulia does even though she’s dead. He celebrates her birthday religiously along with their wedding anniversary each year. He keeps her pictures all around the fucking house, her clothes, and all her favorite trinkets.

  Poor bastard.

  I won’t do the same. I refuse to breathe life into a woman who left us.

  Who left me.

  Now, I sit in one of the leather chairs to the opposite side of Doctor Azad’s desk.

  Night has fallen.

  I find myself more antsy than ever at these hours when the world is quiet, and my mind is sprinting a million miles ahead of itself.

  Doctor Azad leans forward and observes me. “Anxiety is a side effect, Griffon, when you stop using.”

  My gaze drops.

  I take a deep breath and clutch both sides of the chair, forcing myself to be still.

  “What’s on your mind?” Doctor Azad’s brown eyes are soft.

  The asshole I met today…

  I puff out some air, then inhale the cedar scent which floats around this large office. When I glance to my left, I eyeball all the certificates and degrees on the wall belonging to Doctor Azad.

  A thick platinum band adorns the wedding finger on his left hand.

  I never would have guessed…

  Looking around the large oak desk, I don’t see any photographs, no trail of this man’s life that tells me anything about him. But there is a stack of books there without covers, all brown and dusty-looking.

  Doctor Azad catches me looking at them. “Are you going to answer my question, Griffon. I mean really this time? What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”

  I get tired of this bullshit, talk-about-your-feelings crap.

  It’s not me.

  “You know when my mother, Giulia, was alive, she’d always complain that the soaps came on too early in the day. Every day she’d bitch and bitch and bitch about how many episodes she’d missed.” Shaking my head, I let out a long breath. “It was annoying.”

  Doctor Azad’s eyes narrow.

  I gaze out the window for a beat. There’s nothing out there. Just the gravel-covered parking lot and a cream Bentley parked near the water fountain where Cupid, who’s posing in the middle of it, pisses twenty-four seven.

  I meet Doctor Azad’s eyes again. “Anyways, I got tired of listening to her complain about these TV shows she’d watch constantly that were only filled with drama and lots and lots of crying. So, I broke the TV.” I gesture, showing Doctor Azad my palms.

  He smirks. “That was your solution, Griffon?”

  I sit back in the chair, stretching my legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “Sometimes, there are no solutions, Doctor Azad. Sometimes, the only way to rid yourself of a problem is to ensure the problem and the thing wherefrom the problem manifests itself is completely
eliminated.”

  Doctor Azad scratches the back of his neck and glances at his watch. When he lifts his head, his brown eyes are big. “I expected you to be able to talk about your mother by now, Griffon. Like really talk about her. Not like this. This thing you do.” His mouth is tight. “This bullshit, man.”

  I jerk my head back at his profanity. “What do you want me to tell you about my mother, Doctor Azad?”

  He stares.

  I suck my teeth and gaze out the window for a little while.

  “My mother, Giulia, was a cow, Doctor Azad. She was horrible. She never cooked. She hardly ever cleaned. And she always smelled like cologne. And Babbo never ever wore cologne.”

  Doctor Azad bites the inside of his cheek.

  “And I don’t ever remember a day Giulia did a damn thing with me besides slapping me in the head for something dumb I’d done. I’m glad she’s fucking dead.”

  Doctor Azad makes a face. “Wow, Griffon, just fucking wow.”

  “You happy now?”

  “Are you?”

  I scoff.

  He taps on the manila file atop his desk, then clicks on the mouse near his hand, nudging the massive screen in front of him awake. It albeit lights up the low-lit room. He types away ignoring me for a while, flicking through the pages of the file.

  I tap my teeth with my finger when I read the yellow label on the side of the file: Griffon Luca Russo. He’s still banging away at his keyboard. My eyes dance over the other files on his desk and I stop when I come across another which reads: Ryker Solomon Benedict.

  The month and the birth year are the same. We were born only a day apart.

  Bizarre.

  Doctor Azad stills completely, and the room falls into silence once more. “If you can show me that you’re at least making a little progress, Griffon, all parties monitoring your situation would be agreeable with me that you can leave here in a week.”

  I swallow.

  Doctor Azad relaxes, sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “You’ve completed every piece of this rehabilitation process except for the counselling part. You must talk about your problems, Griffon.”