You Before Me (15 page)

Ryan has stopped, frozen, her eyes
glossy with unshed tears. “I'm fluent in Spanish,” she says calmly.
“My tattoos aren't awful or ridiculous because they mean something
to me.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

“What could they possibly mean?” Mrs.
Kavanaugh interrupts. “A dandelion, a hummingbird, and a seahorse?
Those things mean something to you?”

Ryan's lips part, and she looks like
her mother just slapped her. Hurt is in every one of Ryan's
features. Her lips quiver as she tries not to cry.

Adding another blow, Mrs. Kavanaugh
says, “I'll discuss with your father what degrees are acceptable.
This isn't like when you were a teenager and you can pick
something, lose interest, and quit. We will not waste money for you
to fail or quit or get more meaningless tattoos.
Understood?”

Ryan nods. Her fight vanished the
moment her mother said something about her tattoos.

“Good.” She turns and leaves without
another word.

The second the door closes, Ryan runs
into her room, a sob escaping. What in the world did I just
witness? I can figure it out later. Right now, I'm going to comfort
Ryan. She's lying on her stomach, her crying muffled by her pillow.
I sit on the edge of her bed.

“Go away,” she cries.

“No.”

Despite her protest, I lay down next
to her on my side and tug her against me. She doesn't fight me.
Ryan comes easily, burying her face in the crook of my neck as her
shoulders shake, her tears falling from her face onto
me.

“Shh,” I soothe, running a hand up and
down her back.

It doesn't do any good. She cries for
thirty minutes before sputtering to a stop. My shirt is bunched in
her hands and with her grip, I wouldn't be surprised if her hands
are cramping.

“I'm sorry I cried on you,” she
mumbles into my neck. “I'm fine now, though. You can
go.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask
carefully. She nods, but doesn't answer. “Then why are you clinging
to my shirt still? It's fine, Ryan. I'm not going anywhere and you
don't have to pretend that you're all better.”

She's quiet for a moment. Her voice
cracks as she whispers, “I hate them. I hate them so
much.”

“I don't understand it, Ryan, but I
don't want you to explain it to me. Not today. Unless you want to
tell me.”

“I don't.” She pauses. “But I do.”
Ryan pulls back to look at me, her eyes still glassy and her
eyelashes wet. “I'm sorry you had to be here for that. No one has
ever been around that before, and I don't know if I should explain
or pretend it never happened.”

“Who do you talk to about your
parents? Vivian?”

Ryan shakes her head. “No.
Not really anyway. I don't want her to know more than basics. I
mean, why would I want to subject anyone else to that? My mother
had no problem saying all of those things in front of you, and
she's never met you before today.” A tear spills over, and Ryan
quickly wipes it away. “I'm sorry I yelled at you in the car. But
do you see what I mean about everyone else not liking who I am? I
disappoint
everyone
every single time. I'm never good enough. Do you understand
now why I'm so damn confused?

“You're full of contradictions, Gabe.
You're good, but you want me, the opposite. You like me, but you
don't want to sleep with me again. You have a wonderful family, I
don't. You're too old, I'm too young. And now you've seen how my
mother is, and I don't want you here as a stupid knight in shining
armor. I'm capable of saving myself and taking care of myself. I
can do it. I don't need someone else to do it for me.
I-”

“Stop talking, Ryan.” She clamps her
mouth shut. “Just because you can do something yourself, doesn't
mean you shouldn't ask for or accept help.”

She nods, seeming to accept what I
said before she returns to my earlier comment from the car ride
over. “I'm truly not insecure. At least, not the way I see it. I
like who I am.” She sits up and folds her legs under herself, so I
sit up to lean against the headboard. “Do I have low expectations
about a lot of things? Probably so. I don't know if you overheard
that night, but I am sort of easy. And I know that by sleeping with
guys so quickly that they are less likely to stick around, which is
fine. That really doesn't bother me. It makes things simple for me.
Boys give me sex. Viv gives me friendship. College gives me an
education. What more do I need right now?”

I can't help but chuckle at the
seemingly absurdity of her words. “Sex, friendship, and education?
That's all you need?”

She frowns. “Well, the material things
in life too, but right now, yes.”

Placing my hands behind my head to get
more comfortable, I ask, “What's with your obsession with sex?”
I've never seen a girl talk so much, so openly about it.

“Obsession? It's not an obsession. I
love sex. And I'm not having nearly enough of it lately.” She perks
an eyebrow at me. “Might as well call it a passion of mine. Like
you with your job and your guns. Besides, sex is one thing that I
know I can do well.”

“Uh, huh. I see.”

Ryan narrows her eyes at me. “You see
what, Gabe?”

I shrug. “Sex is your way of getting
someone to tell you that you're good at something because you're
parents are idiots who think you can't succeed at the things you
do.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. Don't get
all psychological on me, Gabe. I know my parents are idiots. I know
it all too well. No one needs to tell me I'm a great lay or that
I'm smart or that I can do anything I put my mind to. I know that
already. It's not me who needs to be convinced. Sure, they messed
me up with all their 'You're such a disappointment' speeches, but I
know I'm more than what they see. What exactly that is, I don't
know. That's one point of college, right? To find out who you
are?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Who do you think
you are, Ryan?”

Her shoulders droop. “I don't know.”
She clasps her hands, dropping her head to avoid looking at me. As
she speaks, she glances up at me here and there. “For a lot of
things, I feel really indecisive. Like when you asked me about my
favorite thing to do or with my major or anything like that. I
don't know what's me. I've been trying to do what I like while
doing what my parents want me to do. It's not always possible for
those things to coincide.

“When I was growing up, I dabbled in a
bit of everything. I was really good at some of them, but by the
time I could enjoy it, my parents moved me on to the next thing
because my efforts weren't good enough for them to keep paying for
it. Or like with tennis and I quit because it wasn't fun anymore. I
overanalyze a lot of things and others not enough.

“Gabe, I can't tell you who I am
because I'm not sure. But I can tell you who others think I am.
That's the easy part. I don't agree with what they see, which only
confuses me more most of the time. I mean, I'm not the greatest
person in the world, but what they see as bad, doesn't always mean
it is. And I was truly looking forward to majoring in French
because that would be a challenge for me, and I would be learning
something new. God, I'm rambling again, aren't I?”

I nod. “I think it's kind
of cute.” She rolls her eyes at me, but it makes her smile. “Do you
know what I think you should do?” She shakes her head. “Make your
own standards for yourself. Decide who
you
want to be and ignore everyone
else.” Sitting up, I stare into her green eyes, making her listen
to me. “If people want to judge you, fine. That reflects more on
who they are. Not you. Because, if you ask me, I'd say you're a tad
bit on the crazy side and when you talk, you rattle on and on. You
think entirely too much about every single thing. You're a girl
trying to prove herself to people who will never be satisfied. I
think you've been pulled in so many directions that you don't have
a clue where you want to go. If you ask me, Ryan, I'd say that you
just need someone to guide and support you. You're absolutely a
beautiful, lost girl.”

A tear wells and falls over onto her
cheek. She lifts her hand, but I swipe it away with my thumb before
she can reach it. Ryan gives me a half smile before leaning forward
to kiss me softly. When she pulls away, she doesn't say anything at
all.

“Why don't you sleep over at my place
tonight? I'll cook you a good meal or two.” I don't know why I
invite her over other than the fact that I want her away from here
for a little while, and I want to see her in my house again. “I'll
even take you out tomorrow.”

Ryan laughs. “You had me with your
first question. You can't take the others back now, though. Do you
want to go now? Want me to drive my car, so you don't have to bring
me back here?”

“No, it's fine. Just pack your things,
and we'll head there.”

Ryan scurries off her bed, opens a
messy closet, and looks for a bag. I watch as she moves around the
room, tossing things into the pink bag. One thing that Ryan said,
that bothers me the most, is what she said about not wanting me to
be a knight in shining armor. I've been that guy in the past, and I
always saved the girl, put her back together, and she either
destroyed me in the end or left to find someone more suitable for
her new self. With Ryan, I can't help but want to help. Maybe I
don't have to save her, per se, but still be able to help get her
through her issues.

My relationship before last, in
particular, is the one that stands out the most and is probably the
one my mother thinks about when she worries about me. She was a
little younger than me. I was twenty-four, and she had just turned
twenty-one. She seemed like a good girl, a bit of a drinker
already, but she managed to have a coy, very seemingly innocent
personality about her. Truly, she was a deceiver, putting on
whatever face she needed to get what she wanted.

When she needed to borrow some money,
I loaned it to her. I trusted that she would pay me back, and we
had been dating for about seven months or so. That was my last
mistake. She liked to be taken care of, and I found myself wanting
to take care of her. So I would buy her things here and there and
before I knew it, I had spent a lot of money on this girl. After I
loaned her three thousand dollars, she disappeared. Big, stupid
mistake, I know. Not only was I out that money, but I was upset
that I had fallen for it.

Mom shook her head at me when I told
her what happened and brought up that I was too good and trusting
for my own good. I decided to put it all behind me and move forward
without another thought. So yeah, being that guy hasn't worked out
for me. It doesn't make sense to me sometimes, so I'll have to go
against what I would want to do naturally.

I won't swoop in and take care of
Ryan's problems, like the “stupid knight” she spoke of. No. I'll
simply be there to help her handle them herself. She can do it,
just as she said. She needs a little guidance is all. Ryan leaves
the room, heading to the bathroom, appearing minutes later. She
sits the bag on the bed, walks to her nightstand, and unplugs her
charger from the outlet. Once she puts it in her bag, she smiles at
me.

“Ready.”

On our way out, she grabs her keys and
purse. Ryan seems more like herself as we ride to my house. She
rests her hand on my leg as I drive, watching the scenery blur
outside the window. The bottom falls right before we get there. I
almost miss my driveway it's pouring so hard, and I can barely
see.

“Great,” I mumble, wishing more than
ever I had a garage. At least my driveway comes right up to my side
door, and there's an awning over it.

I rush to the door with Ryan's bag,
only a couple feet away until I'm covered by the awning, and I
still get soaked. I hate rain, hating getting wet, yet I don't own
an umbrella. I can't really complain about it since I haven't done
anything to prevent situations like this. Hurriedly, I unlock it
and push it open, expecting Ryan to be right behind me. But when I
turn to look, she's leaning with her back against the passenger
door, her head tilted up to the sky. Her red hair turns even darker
as it gets wet.

“What are you doing?” I yell over the
loud rain.

Ryan faces me at the sound of my
voice, and she's grinning. The water drips down her face, clinging
to her white t-shirt, revealing the skin underneath.

“C'mon,” she hollers at me.

“It's raining, and it's
cold!”

She laughs at my obvious response.
“You won't melt, I promise.”

Ryan walks around to the boot of my
car, pulls herself up, and leans back against my window, her arms
out. The rain pelts against her, and she seems to be loving it.
What is she doing? Does she actually like rain? Reluctantly, I set
her bag inside the door and go to her. Thunder booms loudly, but
Ryan doesn't even flinch. Her grin is even more present
now.

“You're drenched, Ryan, and you're
going to get yourself killed or sick or something bad,” I tell her,
standing in front of her legs hanging off my car. My clothes stick
to me uncomfortably, and I'm tempted to haul her over my shoulder
to carry her inside without waiting for a response.