Bittersweet Symphony (5 page)

He watches me intently, waiting for me to spill my guts to him. My deepest, darkest secrets. His eyes pull me in, wrapping me in a lush, green blanket.

“There’s no reason to be scared of me, Kennedy. I would never ever hurt you, nor would I ever allow someone else to do so. I know it’s hard to believe, even more so coming from a guy like me, but you can trust me. I swear.”

I almost want to laugh, and I almost do. Trust, coming from someone who told me the other day that allowing others in leads to nothing but heartache. What does he know about trust? Nothing, he knows nothing. Suddenly, the anger I had towards what Sam did is now directed at Ryder.

“What do you know about trust, Ryder? You’re the one always speaking in poetry riddles and shit. Blah, blah, blah, heartache, and all that crap. Tell me what is it that you know about trust?” I’m spewing hate, and I know it. My words are like a slap to his face, and if I were him, I would’ve already kicked me out.

“Trust…” he says the word like it’s not something that he says often, as if it’s foreign to his tongue.

“Yeah, trust. That thing we both know you have for no one. That thing you’re speaking about right now even though you have no experience with it.” I’m angry and sad, and I just want to be left alone.

His body leans into mine more, crowding me into the couch. A dark look passes on his face, and I can see him trying to keep his emotions in check. I can see him trying not to unleash the beast on me.

Strangely though, I want him to. I want him to let me in, so I can tear down all of this walls.

“Trust is something I had a very long time ago. Something that was kicked, punched, and yelled out of me. To trust someone is freedom. When you’re a child you trust your parents to love you and protect you, but what happens when they don’t, Kennedy?” Ryder’s breath is hot on my face as his words hit me. The coldness, anger, hate, and distaste are evident in every single word he speaks. I should be scared, but I’m not.

“I trusted my dear, ole dad to be the man of the family, to protect me, and teach me the ropes. But, he taught me more that.” His voice takes on a sinister tone, and I feel a shudder run through me as his finger wraps around a lock of my hair.

“When someone beats you, takes away your choices, and forces you to do things you don’t want to, you lose trust. You lose hope, and you lose the idea of love. I don’t believe in fairytales, Kennedy… but if I did… If I fucking did, it would be with you. “

One single tear escapes my eye, all the emotions of what he went through swarm me. I feel absolute guilt for the things I just said to him moments ago.

“I… I…I’m sorry, Ryder. I didn’t know. I swear if I did, I wouldn’t have ever said such things.” With our faces so close, I can feel the heat in his stare, the passion that he feels deep down inside.

“I don’t want your pity; just remember next time you assume someone doesn’t know something, think about where they may have come from. Assumptions are nothing but judgment. Ask questions, and if you don’t get an answer, imagine walking in their shoes for a day.” The anger vibrates off of him in waves as he stands up and stalks off into the kitchen. I hear the banging of cupboard doors and drawers shutting. A moment or two later, he appears in front of me with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I take the bowl in my hands, watching him as he takes the seat next to me. Is he bipolar? Literally a moment ago he was pissed, now he’s all lucky charms and crap.

“Is this a peace offering or does it have cyanide in it?” I joke. The spoon clanks in the dish loudly as he drops it in surprise.

“Do I look as if I would poison you?”  Right then and there I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but as I let out a weak laugh, I can tell he’s serious.

“It was a joke, jerk, learn to take one.”

“Word to the wise, sweetheart, I don’t do jokes,” he declares all matter of factly and shit.

“Word to the wise, Ryder, you need to learn to.” He eyes me and then bursts out laughing. His smile is genuine, and a warmth fills me as the conversation fills with a small amount of happiness. I don’t know all of his secrets, but I know enough to know that whatever happened in his past broke him the same way mine broke me.

“Your turn,” he says, his attention back on his bowl of ice cream. I watch him as he swirls the spoon in the creamy goodness and then dips it in his mouth, licking the spoon in a more than rated R way. Lucky fucking spoon.

“Mine is way too long of a story, it would bore you and then you would fall asleep and your ice cream would go to waste and… just no,” I ramble, unable to form a coherent thought. I want to be that spoon…

My spoon glides across the bottom of my bowl, gathering a glob of the minty mass. I shove it into my mouth quickly, relishing the minty, creamy goodness. I let out a loud moan; the taste is amazing. When I open my eyes, I realize Ryder saw the whole thing, and now he probably thinks I make out with spoons in my free time.

His eyes are wide and hooded. I realize the effect I have on him, and the one he has on me. I know that if we allowed these feelings to grow that they would eventually grow into a wild, fiery inferno burning everything in its path.

We’re both too damaged for love, or at least I am. I have faith, and I believe in love, but I need someone to equal me out. I think we both know that taking that step forward is more dangerous than anything. Plus, I hate to admit it, but Ryder is right: if I let him in, I know he could rip me to shreds. It’s impossible for the unloved to know how to love.

“Do you always watch people lick their spoons?” I ask, dipping my spoon back into the bowl for some more sugary goodness.

“Do you always lick spoons like that?” he retorts.

“Normally, yes.”

“Tell me, Kennedy, has Sam always bullied you?” Wow, that’s a fast subject change and not something I really want to talk about. Then again, bullying isn’t really the word I would use, more like harassed or tortured or made my life a living hell.

“No, not really,” I lie.

“So why does he find amusement in doing it then?” He’s asking questions he wants answers to, and from the determination in his eyes I know he’s going to push with everything he’s got.

“Probably because he’s an asshole who gets off on hurting people.” That’s only partially true. Anyone who does what Sam does, does it because of their own insecurities. Plus, he has wanted me since the beginning of time. We used to be best friends; I still know things about him that no one else does. Some things never leave you.

“Oh, I know he’s an asshole. What I don’t know is why he’s like that to you.” His eyes are prying, his words like daggers to the squishy walls that surround me. I contemplate telling him something, even if it’s little, only because he opened up to me.

“We used to be best friends. He’s wanted me since grade school, but as we got older, he wouldn’t stop and eventually tried to have his way with me. He’s tortured me every day since, never trying to touch me again, just insulting my every movement.” My sentences slip out with ease, and I can feel the pressure coming off of me in layers. As soon as I get the courage to meet Ryder’s eyes, I wish I hadn’t. There’s an anger so red hot, that I slowly push away from him.

“He touched you as in… rape… he raped you?” he asks as if baffled by the thought.

“No. It never got that far, thank God; he just touched me. He would squeeze my boob in passing or slap my ass. He would push me and shove me. It was verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. I thought coming here would free me of my past, but it seems to have locked me in a deeper hell.”

“I don’t fucking care if his dick went in you or not, or if his finger touched you. If you told him no to anything, then any unwanted touching is the same as rape to me. When a woman says no, it means no; obviously someone needs to teach him a lesson.” Ryder’s anger is boiling over, and I’m afraid if I don’t say or do something, he will walk out the door.

“It’s okay, Ryder. You don’t need to fight my battles for me,” I say, trying to soothe him.

He looks at me as if I’m bat shit crazy. He jaw clenches and his fists tighten. The cords in his neck and the muscles in his arms constrict, and I feel like I’m about to watch a volcano blow.

“I didn’t think….” I mumble, staring at the ground.

“Leave,” he grits out. I automatically look up in complete shock. Did he just…

“What?”

“Leave! Get out! Go!” he yells, pointing to the door. I don’t stand there one more second before leaving; my mind completely blown by what just happened. I confided in him and he told me to leave. He let me down, breaking that tiny shred of trust I gave him. Guess he knows more about trust than I thought. I can’t help but let the tears escape my eyes. They ease the pain of my slowly beating heart.

My fist pounds into the punching bag over and over again as the sweat pools down my face. I force myself not to call or text her to make sure she’s okay. She told me her feelings, and I told her to leave. I shoved her out the door, breaking our freshly paved bond.

It’s not her fault though, I am so angry by what she said about that douchebag did to her, how he touched her. It caused an eruption of something in me, made worse by her trying to be protective. That beautiful, abused girl tried protecting the bully.

I can feel the skin of my knuckles cracking and the burn in my back and arms, but I push through it. It’s either this or find fuck-face and beat him into next year, and I don’t think Rex wants to come and bail me out of jail.

I pull myself off the punching bag and wrap a towel around my face to wipe the sweat away. I need a shower like no other. I make my way to the back of the gym and into the locker room. It’s quiet and calming, just what I need with all the shit running through my mind.

Turning the water on, I wait for the area to steam a little before getting in. I rip off my work out gear and jump in. I let the water beat on my face and chest for a while, pondering if I should go to Kennedy and apologize. I know there is no way I can live without her in my life. I share something with her that I share with no one else. To most people that might seem like nothing, but to me it is huge. It is everything.

Turning around, I reach for the soap; just as my hand lands on the bottle, I feel a hand land on my shoulder. I look down and notice the perfectly polished, red fingernails. 

“Chelsea,” I hiss out. It’s been awhile since I’ve slept with anyone. I have been trying to be a good boy and keep my dick out of everything with a hole, because it shamed me to associate myself with Kennedy while doing such disgraceful things. But right now, Chelsea’s hand was looking awfully nice along with her mouth which was turned up in a sneaky smile. She knew exactly where to find me. This interaction in this very shower stall has happened on numerous occasions.

“I want you,” she purrs. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Chelsea isn’t ugly; she’s beautiful in her own way. She’s no K, but she has something going for her.

“How badly?” I ask, tempting her. I want to see her beg. She knows how I like it, and I won’t give her shit if she doesn’t give me what I want.

“So bad… “she replies, gripping my cock in her hand. Her grip is tight just how I like, and I reach out to reward her with my touch.

“I’ve fingered myself with the image of you pounding into me from behind.” Of course she has, I know how she likes it too.

“Knees, now. I don’t have any condoms on me, sorry,” I say giving her a wink, hoping it’ll lower the blow. She’s never walked away from giving me a blow job, and I know she won’t now. A satisfied smile plays on her lips as she settles herself onto the tiled floor.

Her hand grips my balls, and I groan. Fuck, it’s been way too long. The moment she hears my groan, her lips descend over my dick. My hands grab her hair, and all I can picture is Kennedy’s sunshine blonde hair, and her blue eyes pleading with me to pump into her mouth faster. My eyes pop open immediately as I try and get the visions of Kennedy’s pink lips wrapped around my throbbing dick out of my mind.

Chelsea takes me deeper into her mouth, making sure to hit that spot I like so much. My fingers dig harder than needed into her hair as I pump with all my might. The blissfulness takes over as I feel myself floating, my legs tingling, and I feel above myself. I feel Chelsea’s tongue swirling over my cum as she chugs every ounce down. That alone turns me on enough to give one last push. But just as I close my eyes, images of Kennedy assault me again.

Then I realize Chelsea may have been giving the blow job, but I was thinking about Kennedy the whole time. Fuck, this girl has managed to get under my skin.

“Can you do me now?” Chelsea’s voice interrupts my high and I growl out in anger.

“No. I didn’t say I was going to give you shit in return. You snuck in here willingly and got on your knees for me. Maybe next time.” I give her a nice wink, hoping that will lessen the blow, but it’s doubtful. Chelsea is dramatic and I won’t hear the end of this.

“You mean to tell me I got you off and I get nothing in return?” She sounds as if she’s shocked such words came from my mouth, that she can’t even fathom me saying such a cruel thing. Meanwhile, in reality, there is no agreement stating I had to help her reach hers. She came here and immediately sank to her knees. When a woman sinks to her knees in front of me, I take it as an invitation that I won’t decline.

“You know the rules, Chelsea.” I was annoyed with her, beyond annoyed. I came here to lessen my stress, relieve my tension, but with her yacking, I was going to have to go back out there work my ass off again. Not worth the pussy.

“You know what this is about!” she yells. Her fingers dig into my shoulder trying to turn me to face her. I whip on her faster than expected, gripping her wrist tightly in my hand.

“Don’t touch me, unless I let you,” I snarl at her. Her face contorts in fear, and I release her wrist with a flick. Last time I fucking allow her in here.

“This is about that Kennedy girl, isn’t it? I’ve seen you with her a couple times. Does she know you’re doing me on the side? She looks like a naïve little thing, bet she’s not as aggressive as me. You take your little nun and have your way, but don’t call me when she’s not submissive to your dominate nature.”

Her spew of word vomit doesn’t affect me as much as hearing Kennedy’s name. We are not dating by any means, so technically I’m not cheating on her, but the fact that Chelsea noticed my interest in Kennedy makes me reevaluate my friendship with her. If I fall for her, it would be over, and I would be doomed.

I’m not capable of loving or giving my all to someone. It isn’t that I can’t keep my dick in my pants because I can, but I’m not emotionally stable. Sometimes I have nightmares, and sometimes I’m aggressive by nature. Having Kennedy is like giving a bear that’s been in hibernation all winter its first taste of fish after months of nothing.

One taste of her and I know I will destroy her. Hell, I have the potential to destroy her now. If I’m going down, I’m certainly not going to be bringing her with me.

“Dude, what the fuck did you do to Chelsea?” my friend, Mike, asks across the shower stalls. I shake my head, running my fingers through my dripping wet hair.

“It’s more so what I didn’t fuck,” I respond, getting out and wrapping a towel around my waist. No way am I going back to that now, not after the way she acted and marched out of here making a mockery out of herself.

“I would’ve fucked her. Why would you pass that up?” His question hits me harder than I thought it would. The initial reason I passed up the chance is because I didn’t have a condom, but the more I think about it, the more I know it has everything to do with K. As much as I dread it, I need to go find her and talk to her.

“She’s all yours bud,” I mumble while putting on my shirt and shorts. I slip my feet into my Nikes and head out of the gym. I have no idea what dorm room she’s in and that scares me. I didn’t pay enough attention to detail.

My father’s words form in my mind immediately: Pay attention, Ryder. Attention to detail is important. It can be the difference between life and death. A failure, that’s what you are. A failure. A disgrace to this family and society.

I shake away the horrifying images and the words once spoken to me, willing myself to forget the hurtful things if only for a moment. I need to find K, so I text the only person who would remotely have a clue as to where she is… Mimi.

***

I pound on the door of Corey and Mimi’s apartment waiting for one of them to find their way to the door.

“You know I’m getting really sick and tired…” I hear Mimi’s voice on the other side of the door as she swears up a storm about having to answer the door.

But honestly, who else would answer it? No one would.

“Are you coming in or not, because if not, I just wasted valuable time getting up and walking over here.” Ahh, the typical Mimi. I throw her a smile before strolling in.

“I actually didn’t come here to talk to Corey or anything. I came here to talk to you.” I scratch at the back my head, nervous about the next words that will come out of my mouth.

“I will not set you up with any of my friends, so if you’re here for that, I can show you out the same way you came in,” she snarls. She actually fucking snarled.

“She always like this?” I ask Corey, looking over her shoulder. Mimi slaps me across the chest softly to bring my attention back down to her.

“Down here, buddy. Now speak or get out because I’m not sharing my cookies.”

“The answer to your question, man, is yes she is.” Corey responds, smiling at us. Just when I think Mimi can’t get any more violent than she is, she picks up a pillow, smacking Corey right upside the head with it.

“Take it back. Now,” she growls at him. I can see the chemistry between them, the love. I can see it in Rex and Jenna too. All this time I sulked thinking that I wasn’t cared about, but looking around now, I realize I have some amazing friends.

He shakes his head at her, and I know I’m going to have to step in here real soon. Mimi might be a short little thing, but I’m positive she can hold her own in a bar brawl.

“What is it that you would like to discuss?” Her scrunched up nose and wrinkled forehead tell me she’s on the verge of a serious explosion.

“I need to find Kennedy and talk to her, but I don’t feel like going through in knocking on every single door in the west, east, and south wings.” It’s not really my thing to draw attention to myself, so I need to at least get a general idea of where she is.

“Wait a second… What are you doing with her, Ryder? Because so help me God, I will kill you if you hurt her.” Her finger pokes into my chest as she tries to make herself seem intimidating. Funny thing about Mimi is that she’s like a small, ankle biting dog; the initial bite might hurt, but her bark is nothing. And she does a whole lot of barking.

“I won’t hurt her, Mimi.” I remove her hand from my chest. I know that statement is a lie. I won’t try to hurt Kennedy, but there’s never a guarantee in life that you won’t hurt someone. Sometimes things happen, and you have to let life runs its course. That’s what it’s all about: the pain, the love, the joy, the hurt. All those emotions make up life, and I’m ready to live.

“You’re lying.” She questions me with an evil look in her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest. She clearly doesn’t believe me, and I can’t really blame her. I’ve never done anything to prove I’m worthy of her trust. Plus I’m honestly not all that trustworthy.

“I swear to you, Mimi, that I will never lay a hand on her. I…” I grit my teeth trying to make myself say the words. Did I care about her? Yes. Did I want to admit it? No. It is a weakness. However, to be weak in the presence of someone who cares about K as much as I do to get the answer I need is worth it, right? 

“I… I care about her deeply. I want to make sure she’s okay.” Mimi can see the anguish in my eyes, the vulnerability I expose by saying such a thing. If Corey’s listening, he doesn’t say anything, thankfully.

Her mouth gapes open as if she’s in a state of utter shock. Her hand lands over her heart, and I wonder if she’s going to be okay.

“Did… you just say you care about her?” I nod, gulping the saliva that has now built up in my throat. I’m totally being a pussy assed bitch right now, but I don’t care. I just want to find her and make it better. I don’t want to lose the one true friendship I have with someone before it even starts.

“Uhh…” Mimi says grabbing at her head. “She lives in the east wing, room 212, I think.” The minute she rattles off the numbers, I send her a gracious thanks over my shoulder and head out the door.

I take the stairs, burning off some adrenaline. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I regret very few things in my life, but I regret telling her to leave. She poured herself out to me, and I fucked up again.

When will you get it right, son, when? How many times do I have to pound it into your head?

I clench my teeth together as I clobber my fist on the wall. I hate him. I hate that he’s made me this way, and that I don’t feel like I’m good enough for anyone, that every choice I make isn’t right.

“Why can’t I just live?” I roar out, my voice echoing off the walls. My breaths are heaving and my knuckles are busted open again. Fucking great.

“You can if you let go of whatever it is that’s holding you back.” Kennedy’s voice vibrates through my body, singing to me. I turn around startled to see her, but happy at the same time. What’s she doing here? Probably coming to see Mimi.

She gives me a shy smile as she walks down the remaining steps. Before I realize it, she’s directly in front of me, and it takes everything in me not to hold her to my body to hear her shallows breaths and feel her heart beat next to mine. Pussy… my ego taunts me.

“You really should think about punching something much softer next time you want to lash out!” she exclaims, taking my hand in her small one to examine it.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” She peers up at me over the rim of her glasses. A frown mars her beautiful face, and I hate to see it there. I especially hate that I put it there.