Blue Dream (15 page)

“Which is what?”

“At this moment, about eleven bucks.” Laughter bounces back and forth briefly. “Kinda broke at the moment.”

“Parents cutting your allowance?”

Ryder's mouth twitches like he's about to confess something, but he shuts his lips quickly. Instead he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Even though money is tight, I got you something.”

Surprised at his words, I tilt my head. “You didn't have too.”

“I know. And it's nothing huge, but I wanted you to have it before I left.” He rubs his arms and tosses his head towards the jacket I'm wearing. “Check the pocket.”

Slowly, I feel around in it to find a little black box.

“Now it's not gonna compare to your kick ass present.” His hands lift in surrender. “But I figure, something is better than nothing.”

My finger thumbs the top of the velvet box. It's not like I got him the most amazing gift in the entire world. It was small. He casually collects Hot Wheels, so I found one from the year he was born for him to add to it. I mean, I thought it was thoughtful, the look on his face was one I didn't expect. It was a combination of admiration and question as if he couldn't believe someone would put that much effort into something for him.

“Go ahead,” he encourages. “Open it.”

Casually I comply, which is when a small, vintage pocket compass is revealed. In disbelief at what I'm holding, I question, “Where on earth did you get this?”

“I have my ways.” He winks. When I look back down to further admire it, he swiftly uses his finger to lift my chin back up. “You Presley Morrison, are my destiny. We may get lost in this world, but don't you doubt for one second we won't find our way back to each other. I may not always know what I'm doing or exactly where I'm going, but I do know...we belong together. This is one thing that will never change.” Ryder leans forward so his next words land on my lips, “I love you more than life itself...”

“I love you too,” I manage to say before tilting my mouth to meet his. While desperation and all consuming passion is what I'm expecting to take hold, I'm astounded when it's just the opposite. Ryder's hand softly lands on my cheek as the soft kiss remains light, hopeful, and filtered with unspoken promises of a brighter future than the grim reality we've fallen into. It's exactly the kind of Christmas promise I need.

Katherine touches her pen to her lips. “Do you still have that compass?”

My hand massages the back of my neck. “I do.”

“Why?” She casually questions. “Why did you never let it go?” When I don't answer she suggests, “Is there part of you that hopes his promise is still true? That you can use that to find your way back to him? That he can indeed find his way to back to you?” Her words are creating an unexpected cogitation. “Do you have anything else left from your relationship with him?”

In a whisper I admit, “No.”

“Is it possible you won't let the object go because it is the last remaining link to a person you're not sure you ever stopped loving?”

The series of questions has answers that almost ten years later after the turmoil and battle scars have stopped reigning in the forefront of my mind, are the epitome of bewilderment. After all this time, I'm just as clueless now about where Ryder should fall in my life now as I was years ago when I walked away from him one final time. Maybe we've weathered the storm. Maybe all this is putting us back on the same path or maybe...maybe I'll spend the rest of my life lost in logic and sabotaging my sanity with distant memories of unrealistic expectations.

Ryder

-“For the pain I caused you, I will never forgive myself.”-

“I don't wanna talk about it!” My voice reverberates around the room until it pushes my back against the wall. “Just...just fucking let it go.”

Doc denies the request. “No.”

Shaking my head profusely I snap, “I don't wanna go back there.” I don't want it spoken out loud. I've spent so much of my life replaying that one regret. It's enough it's carved in my consciousness, permanently incarcerating me in the cell of contrition every night in the shadows, but to let it free? To let it gallivant in circles while cackling at the opprobrious excuse my life has become as a direct correlation of those lurking horrors from the first moment I truly let drugs triumph over the only thing I thought in my life untouchable. No. I've discussed lots of shit here. I draw the line there. 

“And that's why you need to.”

“No.” I demand, “Drop it.”

“Alright,” Doc says to my surprise. Skeptical, I stare. As I should've predicted, he stands to his feet. “This session is over.”

“You're serious?” His head tilts at the stupidity of my question. “You can't be serious. These are
my
sessions! I discuss what
I
want. What I deem fit for conversation.”

“If you truly believe that, then our time together has been pointless.”

My eyebrows wrinkle. Doc doesn't stop his actions. He moves the chair back to the table, tucks his clipboard under his arm and heads for the door.

“Just....just wait!” I shout with my arm extended at him.

Doc stops and folds his arms across his chest. “Talk.”

“But-”

“Last chance.”

With my fingers threaded through my hair I pull as I slide down to the ground. “I'll talk...”

“Start,” he reprimands still standing.

“Will you sit?”

He bluntly refuses to toss my mercy away. “No.”

Helpless, as the disdain for myself begins its forceful choke hold, I beg, “I need....I need you to sit.”

“Tell me what you did to her,” his voice is stiff and parental, commanding absolute submission for the crimes I have yet to be held accountable for in the light. “Tell me what happened when your drug habit overlapped with the very thing you were getting high to cope with losing.”

“It was...” the words drips down the back of my throat, the dismal nature of them so foul my stomach churns. “It was an out of body experience. I was so fucked up, I honestly don't know how I made it to her house that night....”

Getting out of my car, I slam the door closed, cigarette on my lips still burning. Damn it. I need to put this fucking thing out. She hates when I smoke. She hates when I'm high. Uppity little bitch hates a lot of things I really enjoy. I'm glad we won't be together for a few more months. Issac's pill hook up is way better than Thomas'. Those blue and white ones he calls 'Diamonds' are quickly wiping me out. But damn. They're so fucking worth it. Every pretty little penny. I toss the still burning thing into the street and jog up to her front door. With a heavy pound I impatiently rock on my feet. Fuck. I'm hungry. Wonder how pissed she'll be if I just suggest just ordering pizza or feeling her up on her parents couch instead. Maybe I'll take her back to her room. Strip her out of those useless clothes and show her why we shouldn't wait to bang like we have been. Fuck! What's taking her so long to open the goddamn door?

Suddenly it swings open and she smiles wide at me. “Ryder.”

I know I should be as thrilled to see her, excited to hear her say my name, but that's not how my mouth responds. “Who the hell were you expecting?”

“I-”

“Are you fucking someone else?” Paranoid I start looking over her shoulder. “He here? He fucking here?”

“Whoa,” she whispers out and touches my chest. “Relax baby. It's just us.”

“Good.” My body pushes past her. “I'm fucking starving. Can we get this shit on the road?”

After shutting the door behind me she sighs, “Yeah, just give me another minute. I need to grab my phone and purse.”

“Whatever.” I reply following behind her, my eyes scanning her living room for the little shit I doubt her parents would even notice was missing. Pawning some of this shit could get me big bucks. A nice order from The Candy Man. I wonder what her mother wouldn't miss. Ugh. If she's anything like her twinkle toes daughter she probably notices when an extra pump of goddamn toothpaste is missing. Leaning against the door frame of her room, I grunt, “Can you pay? I'm broke.”

“Again?” her voice half-heartedly questions.

“Sorry princess, but maintaining two girlfriends is pricey.” I try to keep myself from adding anything else, but fail. “Besides you're mommy and daddy can still afford to give you cash. Mine are a little tied up with divorce lawyers. So...just fucking deal with it.”

Presley leans against the edge of her bed. Her face looks concerned. I don't fucking care. I'm not getting divorced. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I wanna eat goddamn it!”

“Ryder, are you okay?”

“I just told you I was fucking hungry!”

Her mouth trembles. “Are you...are you high right now?” After a very small pause she pushes. “Did you...did you come to take me to dinner,
high
?”

“So what if I did?” A shrug escapes me as I approach her. “So what if I get high to numb the pain?”

In disbelief, Presley remains speechless.

“So what if I get a little fucked up and then do a little fucking?” My rambling starts to build rage inside. “I'm a fucking adult! I can do whatever the fuck I want! Deal with it bitch. It's the new me!”

A sadness creeps into her eyes as she whispers, “Get out. Get out of my house, Ryder.”

Grabbing her by her upper arms I squeeze tightly. “Or what? You're gonna call mommy and daddy and tell them how you've been seeing the guy you swore you'd never see again?”

“Let go,” she softly urges.

“You gonna call the cops? Tell them I'm trespassing?” Irrational anger builds further and I toss her backwards on her bed. “Fuck, if you're gonna do that might as well make it worth the call.” I take a couple steps back and knock her T.V. to the floor. The noise makes her jump. “Oops.”

“Stop,” Presley demands, the terror in her eyes oddly satisfying. “Just...stop.”

I kick around some more shit in her space before heading back into the living room where I start riffling through the entertainment center drawers. Her parents keep emergency cash around here somewhere. If I could just get a hold of it, it'll tide me over 'til I can get some more work or until one of my parents breaks and shells me some cash. I just need a few bucks to get by for a week.

Stepping on DVDs that I've knocked to the floor, I shout, “Where the fuck is the money, Presley!”

Her sobs should register as a reason to stop, but I can't. Something inside of my brain isn't connecting with that idea. “Ryder...please...”

“Once I get that cash.” Tipping over one of the side tables, I grunt at the remotes and IPOD that tumbles out. It could get me a few bucks, but nothing like that emergency cash stash. Fuck! Where is it? “Just tell me where it is!”

Unexpectedly, she tugs on the back of my shirt. “You need to leave!”

“Fuck you!” At that point my hand flies around, the intention to lightly push her off of me, but the force ends up flying her backwards. She slips on one of the DVDs on the floor and hits the back of her head on the coffee table.

Presley collapses to the floor.

Cautiously, I approach her still body, “B-b-b-baby...?”When she doesn't respond, I lower myself to my knees beside her. “Presley...Look Presley, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry...I-I-I don't know what's wrong with me. Just...Just get up, okay? I'll leave. I'll go.”

Nothing.

A new found terror creeps into my veins as tears appear in my eyes. Holy fucking shit. I've killed her....

“She wasn't dead.” I sniffle, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “But fuck I was scared.” Tears continue to seep out of me as the lifeless image of my soul mate, my other half, the only place I've ever called home, haunts me openly in the daylight for the first time in years. “I called 911, but bailed before they got there.”

“Why didn't you stop then?” Doc's voice is closer than I recall it being when I started. “Why was that not the catalyst to stop the destructive behavior?”

“I don't know...”

“You don't know? You almost
killed
her. You could've killed her. So you would steal and murder for your next fix? Where was the line, Ryder?”

“I didn't have one!” A scream comes out of me. “I didn't fucking have one! My entire life was falling apart and the only way I knew out of it was getting as high as I possibly could!” My face snaps up.  “I ruined my favorite high!”

“Being in love.”

“I ruined it! I let it go and then chased it until I literally ran it into the ground while trying to feed the very thing that was supposed to just be momentarily holding it's place! I didn't have any self-control at that point over anything. I didn't even know who the fuck I was any more. It was a goddamn miracle I got out of bed every morning! There weren't lines! There was no hope! There was nothing!”

Very calmly Doc, who is in the chair he is always in, questions, “Did she press charges?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shake my head.

“Did you two continue with your relationship?”

“No.” A sob is pushed back down. My composure desperately tries to return. “I uh...she um...We didn't speak again until prom.”

“Did you try?”

“She changed her number.” Another sniffle comes. “Avoided me at extreme lengths. She started to become withdrawn from a lot of things, buried herself in stupid school activities that she knew I wouldn't step anywhere near. She did everything she could to build a bridge to stay away from me.”

“Did you blame her for that?”

“Not. For. One. Second.” Wiping away the tears off my face, I shake my head again. “I should've been in jail. That was twice she covered for me when I was high. And that was twice I hurt her. I know neither were intentional-”

“But both were avoidable.” The bitter veracity in his words burn. “Ryder, you hit bottom. And once you get there, you have to acknowledge that is where you are or you will in deed go lower. After you committed the other unthinkable act of hurting the original high you were just trying to pass time for, all other activities were meaningless. You convinced yourself, you had to be at the lowest point and anything you did after it couldn't possibly be as horrible as what you did to her.” After a moment he states, “This is your prison term. You have held yourself in here long enough. Accept that you made a mistake. Accept that it was your fault. Accept that when you walk out of the front doors of this building your past is behind you. Forgive
yourself
even if you don't believe she ever will.”

My face falls back to the ground where the white mockery of a treat is nestled between my legs. How can I be expected to forgive myself for something like that? It's committing the ultimate treason. Presley was more powerful than any addiction. More satisfying than any high. She was a piece of my soul I eradicated and I don't know if I'll ever be whole again without her. I'm not sure I want to be.