Blue Dream (17 page)

Slowly shaking my head, I whisper, “I'd rather not talk about this, Katherine. Can we...pick a different subject?”

Intrigued she leans forward. “No. We talk about this one.”

Anxious I tilt my head at the recorder. “Could we at least do it off the record?”

“Wow,” she whispers out, amazed. “Even now, even after all this time, your first instinct is to protect him.  That's incredible, Presley.”

My jaw starts to tremble. I battle away the tears that are choking me. “I would just...I would rather not have it on record.”

“This is confidential.”

“Katherine-”

“Presley,” her voice gets firm. “What did Ryder do?”

“He...He wasn't himself that night...”

There's an ache in my head like no other. It's throbbing. A ringing in my ear or maybe that's the school bell. Wait. Is that...is that beeping? What could possibly be beeping? Did my alarm clock reset itself?

Groaning, I force my eyes open, the fluorescent lights blinding. The sharpness to them amplify the excruciating pain. What the hell?

“Thank God, you’re finally awake!” My mother rushes to my side, tissues clutched in her shaky hands. “I was so...we were so....terrified.”

My eyes shut from the annoyance of the light. “Of what?”

“You not waking up,” my father's voice answers.

“Why wouldn't I wake up?” I ask. “And why am I here? Why am I at the hospital?”

“You were found passed out at the house….” Her voice trails off as the tears return.

When my father's voice returns my eyes open. “The paramedics say you hit the back of your head on the coffee table. Apparently you landed at the right angle to miss any major damage. If you would've fallen the other way, you could...you could've....”

Died. It's the word they wanna say, but don't. I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth. One wrong move and I could've been dead. What...what happened?

“Do you remember what happened?” My father clears his throat. “The police suspect it was a robbery and you got caught in the crossfire. Do you recall what happened?”

Images of Ryder coming by for dinner quickly fill my brain. There was something so different about him. Ever since I heard he started to do drugs, I would read up on them late at night from my phone. There were articles about irritability when coming down, strange paranoia when coming down off of coke. Anxiety. There were also articles about MDMA, having some of the same responses. Apparently a lot of drugs can cause the behavior he had when he showed up. It's not like he's been honest with me about what he's been doing when we're not together, so it makes it hard to say
what
exactly caused his actions, but it's safe to say it wasn't his fault. He was high. He didn't know what he was doing. Ryder would never hurt me. Not in a million years. The throbbing acts as reminder that he did. He hurt me and destroyed my parents’ house.

“Presley,” my father calls out to me. “Are you with us?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Sorry. I was just...thinking.”

My mom sniffles. “Do you remember anything, honey?”

“The police say any little detail about the intruder can help.”

For a moment, my eyes oscillate back and forth between my parents. I should tell them the truth. I should tell them that I was still seeing Ryder and he came over. That all this is a huge misunderstanding. I should be honest and confess that he's changing and hurting and needs help. God, he needs help. Real help. The kind I don't think I can give. I mean, first he bruised me, now he put me in the hospital? Sure, he may never intentionally hurt me, but if I keep up like this, if I keep up with him like this, I'm going to keep feeling the side effects of his addiction. I may not be able to help him fight that, but I don't have to make his life any harder than it's about to be.

Confidently, I lie. “No. I don't.”

“No worries, pumpkin,” my father assures and plants a kiss on my forehead. “It's over now...it's all over.”

The words cause tears to unexpectedly crawl into my eyes. It is this time. It really is.

“I didn't speak to him again until Prom.” Swallowing the developing tears, I shake my head. “He was too far gone at that point. As much as I didn't wanna abandon him, as much as I wanted to rescue him, Katherine, I just couldn't.” More tears fall from my eyes. “I was just a dumb teen. What did I know about fighting drug addiction or abuse? I couldn't save him from himself, so I did the one thing I could. I saved him one final time from the rest of the world.”

Katherine clears her throat. “Did he ever acknowledge what he did? Apologize?”

“I missed school for a couple of days. During that time he sent me flowers and cards. A stuffed animal. Candy. He sent them all from his alias in case my parents opened some of the cards-”

“What was his alias?”

“Sean Hunter.”

Katherine looks at me blankly.

“From Boy Meets World. Rider is his real name.”

“Clever.”

I smirk. “We used to watch old reruns together on Saturday mornings while eating big bowls of sugary cereal. He'd come over super early, crawl into bed, and it's how we would start our day when we could...”

“Why, did your parents open some of the cards?”

On a sigh I answer, “The police decided to rule out robbery and put in their heads that maybe I had a stalker. As a result, they opened some of my stuff looking for death threats. I suggested changing my phone number.”

“To separate yourself from Ryder?”

Slowly I nod, wiping away more tears. “I knew any time he called, I would come running, so if he couldn't reach me, I couldn't go. I didn't have the will power to say no to him. He's my other half.”

“You mean
was
,” Katherine corrects.

My eyes shut tightly more tears arriving. I'm not sure I do. I've been teeming with a mixture of so many emotions, but one thing has been steady. The love I have for Ryder Collins may be dormant, but it is by no means dead. Merely lost. Can I spend the rest of my life with anyone else when I know they'll never have all of me?

Ryder

-“Letting you walk away was the hardest thing I've ever done.”-

Staring at Presley from across the room I admire her longingly. Last year, when we went to Prom together, she wore this classic black dress. It wasn't too tight, but was one of those sexy because it is subtle things. It was a French theme, so it fit. We danced in a room filled with Christmas lights to shitty pop music before grabbing breakfast at IHOP. The end of the night we spent, like we always loved to, fooling around and then falling asleep together, except I remember it felt different. Something inside told me at some point we would do this every night, for the rest of our lives. Something told me we would begin and end our days together, always. It was a romantic night. I wasn't wasted or in the process. I wasn't stoned or coming down. At that point the only high I wanted or even needed in my life was her.

Presley tosses her head back in laughter, the dangling strands around her face bouncing. This year she looks nothing like last year. Sure, she's still got the glasses I love, and the glow that makes her her, but subtly is not what she's offering. No. In that skin tight gold dress with a plunging neckline right between her tits, the only thing she's selling isn't even for sale. At least it better not be.

“Do you know how hard you're staring, bro?” Dennis, an acquaintance as well as Morgan's date tries to pull my attention away from Presley. He fails. “Hard. Your girlfriend is gonna notice, bro.”

My eyes flicker over to Bambi who is giggling with Morgan. The way their faces are leaned towards each other indicates they're conspiring. They're already tipsy, horny, and high, so the guesses of what the whispers are about are few.

“We're gonna go downstairs.” Bambi wiggles her eyebrows. “Wanna come?”

Unimpressed by her invitation, I reply, “For what?”

“Drink a little, plus Morgan needs a cigarette.”

I give Presley another glance this time just as she does me. Hope floods my system faster than any hit ever could. I adjust my tie. “I uh...I'm good. I'm gonna talk to an old friend.”

“Do whatever,” Bambi sighs standing. “But don't be pissed at me when you miss me and Morgan making out.”

“I don't wanna miss that,” Dennis volunteers.

“See.” My head tilts towards him. “Take Dennis. He'll be a great audience and make sure you don't get raped by anyone that's not him.”

She laughs an outrageous amount. I roll my eyes. Every moment sober with her is harder than it ever has been. After 'the incident' with Presley, I tried to limit most of my time with Bambi. I knew it would just be easier to break up with her, but I didn't want someone somehow connecting the dots of our break up to what happened to Pres. And everyone knew what happened to her. It was speculated for being everything from a robbery to a hate crime. The stories were so ridiculous it made it even more difficult for me not to just fucking confess. I knew if I did that it would damage her. Her reputation. Her word. She didn't need that. She didn't deserve that, so I stayed with Bambi. I spent a good hunk of my time trying to pass the classes I didn't realize I was bombing, helping fix broken cars for money with Issac, and getting fucked up enough to pass out without thinking about the disappointment I was becoming. With my parents pending divorce, Bambi makes for a safe way to get my dick wet when I take a harder combination of pills. She doesn't complain. She merely calls me 'the best boyfriend in the world'. It always makes me feel like I should fucking throw up.

The second the three of them are out of the room, I quickly hustle over to Presley. Not the dumbest thing I've done. Hell, not even the dumbest thing I've done today, but definitely the most desperate.

“Excuse me,” I interrupt the conversation she's having with the Taye Diggs look alike who has been sweet talking her all night. I'd know. The playful touches. The flirtatious giggles. The innocent looks. All those things once had my name inscribed on them. They always should. Who knows? Maybe they always will.

His bass voice answers, “Can we help you?”

Staving my jealousy that wants to cause a scene, I extend my hand. “Ryder.”

He shakes. “Kevin.”

“I was just wondering if you minded if I stole your date for a dance.” Or forever. I want forever, but one step at a time.

Presley shakes her head slowly. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Kevin leans forward. “It's just one dance.”

Her eyes twitch to glare at me before looking over her shoulder at him. “Are you sure? I totally respect you. You can definitely say no.”

With a light chuckle he adjusts his jacket and stands. “It's fine babe. I trust you. I'm gonna step outside to get some fresh air. All the club wanna be smoke is suffocating.”

“Will you actually have the limo come around?” Her request makes my heart sink for various reasons. That should've been our limo. She should be sick of this place with me. Sneaking away to have it drive us around town while we get drunk off of each other.  “I think I'm ready to go.”

“Sure.” He nods and leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Me. I make her happy. You know what doesn't make me happy? Someone trying to replace me. Blaze was...a pathetic joke to keep people from bothering her about us, but this guy...this guy has merit. He has potential. No. He can't. He can't be real.

Kevin strolls away as Presley stands. Reluctantly she takes my hand. I lead the two of us to a spot across the room, far from our dates’ immediate eyes if they unexpectedly return, and far from the judgmental eyes of our peers who would love one last juicy piece of gossip before graduation. Honestly? I don't fucking care anymore.

The D.J. announces the arrival of 'slow jams' along with some less than clever way of announcing shortly after they'll announce king and queen. Neither of us were nominated, so it's not like it affects us. We were king and queen in a different era, in a different way. I want that back. Part of me knows she does too.

Presley wraps her arms around my neck while I slide mine around her waist pulling her closer. Her body tenses, which causes my stomach to clench. I'm not sure if it's from fear or repulsion. The idea that it's both has my body breaking out in a cold sweat.

When her eyes finally stop fumbling around, they land in mine. “Why are you doing this?”

“Dancing? It's Prom, Pres. It's in the brochure.”

She twitches a smile. “Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“I meant why did you ask me to dance?”

“I need to apologize-”

“Don't.” She shakes her head. “Just let it go, Ryder.”

“I can't,” I whisper. “Not just because I did something I never fucking thought I would, and for that, I again, am so fucking sorry, Pres.”

My words make her lips quiver. She looks away.

“I was so wrong for hurting you the way I did. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. I really didn’t know what I was doing. You have to believe me. I was so far gone I didn’t even know anything had happened until I started to call the cops. I-I-I don't even remember coming to your house that night-”

“Which makes it so much worse, Ryder.” Confused I dart my eyebrows. “You were so messed up you can't even remember the things you promised me that night.”

“I made you a promise?”

“You did,” she whimpers. “You promised me, we could go to dinner, we could talk about where we were going to move to and that at the end of the night you'd end things with Bambi. You promised me, you'd come back to me that night. You sent text after text declaring all the love in the world for me.”

Having no recollection of that sinks my shoulders.

“All those words, all those promises...lies. Pure lies.”

“They weren't.”

“They were,” she denies. “You have many addictions, Ryder. We shared the same one for a while.”

My jaw drops. Presley? Drugs?

“We both got caught up pretending to be people we weren't. We thought we did it for the right reasons-”

“We did!”

“At first,” Presley sighs. “At first, yeah. Between our families and friends, it seemed like the right thing to do. Pretend to hate each other until we could find a place to love each other without rules, but at some point Ryder we stopped pretending to be those people and started to actually be them. And honestly? I
hate
the girl I was pretending to be almost as much as I hate the asshole you've become.”

Hurt by the truth, my grip slips. “I hate the asshole I've become too...”

To my surprise her fingertips tug the hair right above the back of my neck. It's a method she's always used to soothe the pain away. Even now, it still works. “You're not the Ryder I fell in love with.”

I choke back a sob, “But I am...”

“You're not.” She tugs softly again. “Somewhere inside of you, I think he's still there, but he's being silenced by liquor, weed, coke, X, acid, mushrooms, and every other drug you're killing yourself with.”

Closing my eyes I drop my forehead to hers. “I don't want to any more, Pres. Please...please save me.”

There's a light sound I know, but hate. She pulls us together closer. Through soft sobs she pleads, “I can't, Ryder. I want to, so bad, but I can't. The only person who can save you is you.”

“But baby, please,” my own choked voice is now filled with sadness. “You’re the one person I need in my world. You're it for me. I can't lose you.”

“You already have.”

The words open my eyes to see her staring up at me, face stained with much more than tears. Her trembling hand runs down my cheek without another word spoken. Music tempo changes just as Presley backs away from me heading for the exit. The air in my lungs is robbed by the same person who's leaving with so much more than just my heart. She's leaving with my sheer reason for living. 

“She left you.” Doc states placing down the pen in his hand.

Twirling around the candy stick, I turn away from the window. “She did.”

“You didn't chase her?”

I shake my head. “I didn't see the point. She had given up on me.”

“Given up on?” Doc questions a little mirth in his voice. “You really believe she gave up on you?”

“What the hell would you call it?”

He folds his arms. “It depends on the angle you view it from, Ryder. She let you go and saved herself. She saved herself from getting caught in the shit storm she could see that lied ahead.”

The fake cigarette flies to my lips while the natural reaction to stifle the guilt rises.

“Blue Dream also knew you had changed. She wasn't wrong when she said you weren't the same person you were when it started. If you had been, you would've went after her at that moment. If you were the guy she fell in love with, you would've put your balls on the table, said fuck it, and kept at it. Fact of the matter is, she lost you long before you lost her.”

Alternating between anguish and awareness, my fingers run through the back of my hair. In that spot she always tugged. The same spot she used as her method of comforting me. For a moment my eyes drift closed. I can practically feel her soft hand pulling. Knowing it's not opens them back up.

“But something you need to accept is she had a point. She couldn't save you. And if she would've stayed, the only thing she would've done was given you an excuse, something to blame the constant need to get high on. Which you did. Post break up you continued to numb the original pain of her leaving, just like the first time you started with that first cigarette. All of that to kill the grief that came from being without her. The lesson you need to address is the fact it's alright to feel shit.” When I don't respond Doc says to me with a pointed look, “Pain is a necessity to feel. As is sadness. Emotions are not something to be buried six feet under, they are something to be embraced and felt. Emotions Ryder, are verification you are alive. Consider yourself fortunate. Not only for having felt things some people spend an entire lifetime searching for, but because you are indeed still alive. You look around this place and you see the other privileged faces who have survived. The reality is many don't. Many fail. Many die.”