Well everyone, this will be the last story I write about Ryan—there are three total, if you would like to check them out. I'll have to look elsewhere for inspiration if I wish to write more; all these memories of him are starting to get to me a bit. All that girly stuff aside, I hope you enjoy this one. It's a little slow to start off, but it's got the heartache you wanted to read about. Send feedback!
The strangest thing was the fact that I had been dreaming about him when he called me.
Ryan and I had been broken up for almost 2 months, and the less I saw or heard from him, the better. Truth be told, my heart was broken (as usual), and distance served me well in mending it again. Distance was exactly what had broken us up, ironically. Ryan had transferred from my college to one clear across the state, and neither of us wanted a long distance relationship to maintain. Thus was the end of us. I hate to say that I was bitter, but it's the truth.
He broke it off with me a month before the end of the school year, making the situation between us for that last month tricky at best. Every time I saw him I wanted to run into his arms and kiss him with fervor, the way I used to do when we were together. Things became awkward between us, and we more or less stopped talking for that month. He came to say goodbye to me before he left town for the summer, and I felt broken for weeks afterward. No one could console me or understand why he was so hard to get over. I shrugged everyone off, usually murmuring something about this being for the best. Either way, it was out of my hands now, and so was he.
I hadn't even thought about him in the last four or five weeks, and this was progress in every sense of the word. I was finally feeling like myself again--and even stronger than I was before Ryan and I started seeing each other. At last I began to feel whole again--I could sleep at night, I was eating better, and my friends were glad to have the old me back. This is why it was strange that I had just lain down to take a mid-day nap before class and found myself dreaming of him. Alas, truth is stranger than fiction--I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing beside me, and it was Ryan calling me.
"Look, is there a reason why you called me or not? I have to go to class in a few minutes." I was being short with him as I paced around my apartment. I didn't really care what he had to say, but then again I never could say 'no' to him.
"Yeah," he said with sincerity on the other end of the line. "I'm actually on my way into town right now, and I wanted to come see you."
"You're what?" I said, making sure my annoyance was distinguished in my tone. "When did you think we were going to get together? I have class all night." I pulled my book bag over my shoulders and started to head for the door, when someone knocked. I slouched at the sound of it, because I already knew who was on the other side. I hung up the phone and opened the door.
There he was, in the flesh, and twice as handsome as I remembered him being. He took my breath away, but I hid it well with the flash of anger in my eyes. He was wearing a collared shirt over a plain white t-shirt, and had it buttoned half way up. He was also wearing blue jeans, and for a moment it felt like he had never left. His eyes were the same deep dark blue, and his dirty blond hair hadn't changed much at all.
"Hey, kiddo," he half-smiled at me, but his happiness was unreturned. I wanted to brush past him and walk away when he called me 'kiddo'... it was his nickname for me. I hated it, but he loved to joke with me about it because I was a year younger than him. I saw in his eyes that he had called me by that nickname by mistake, perhaps out of habit, so I let it slide.
"Hey. I'm going to be late for class." I said, with no feeling in my voice.
"What class?"
"Arthurian literature," I mumbled.
"Sounds like fun," he chided, and I scoffed.
"Do you have a place to stay?" I had slipped out my apartment door and was just closing it behind me while I asked him this. He shook his head, and I sighed in exasperation. "Take my keys," I said as I rolled my eyes. "You can sleep here on the couch tonight and head back tomorrow. I have class til 9; will you be here to let me in?"
"Of course," he answered. I nodded, and walked past him down the hall to the elevator. I didn't look back until I heard him go inside and shut the door. Then I headed to class.
I sat through four hours of classes and didn't learn a thing because I was so distracted. At nine o'clock, I dragged my ass back home slowly; I was dreading stepping into my apartment and knowing he was there waiting for me. I got to my apartment and knocked on the door.
"Who is it," he answered in a falsetto voice. I had to grin, because he knew it was me.
"Hey, it's me," I said, and he opened the door. Before I could see him or anything else, two dozen red roses were shoved in my face as soon as he opened the door. The sight of them made me want to cry, and the gentle scent of them floated out into the hallway where I was standing. He put them down so I could see his face.
"Hey there, cutie," he smiled as he stepped aside to let me in. I choked back emotion and went inside. All the lights were off, and every candle I had in the room was lit. He was sending me pretty clear signals, and if that was all he wanted from me, he had another thing coming.
"What's all this," I asked, blowing out the candle nearest to me and fanning the smoke away. "Do you mean to burn the place down?"
"Yep, I'm an arsonist now. That's actually why I transferred—they don't have a good arsonist program here." I stood in the semi-darkness and stared back at him. The slight grin left his face, and he handed the flowers to me. "Here; these are for you."
"Thanks," I murmured, taking them from him and heading into the kitchen to put them in water. What he didn't know was that no man had ever given me flowers before—no one besides my own dad, when he brought them to the closing night of my high school plays. The sight of them stirred something deep inside of me, but I suppressed it with all my might.
After putting the flowers in water, I went around to blow out the rest of the candles. This was my subtle way of telling him that nothing was going to happen here tonight. I would be more direct if I needed to.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
"So talk. It's a very small apartment, you know... I can hear you just fine." I blew out another candle. "The phone works, too," I mumbled.
