Afire: Entire Blinded Series (13 page)

"Yeah.” He laughs again. “Yeah."

We lay in silence for a while, and I watch Ryan,
still
unable to believe he's here. Such a surreal feeling. His eyelids droop, and I think about how he got here, the long journey north.

I smile. “Reckon it's bedtime. I didn't get a chance to ask. How did you get here? You passed your driving test without telling me?"

Ryan yawns and sits up, undoing the belt. “No. I got lifts, then walked the last couple of miles."

Jesus Christ
. “Shit, no wonder you're half asleep. Come on."

Belt removed from my wrists, and us still naked, I lead him upstairs and climb into bed. Ryan gets in beside me and nestles his cheek on my chest, his leg draped over mine. It's like he's always done it, always been here, and I shake my head and smile at the way we just fit together like this. His breathing grows deep, and I wonder if he's fallen asleep already.

"Need you here,” I whisper, praying he answers that he needs to be here.

He doesn't respond, so I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes, my breathing pattern matching his.

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I wake to an empty bed, sure for a minute that I dreamed last night, that Ryan hadn't arrived, but a divot in the pillow next to mine soothes my fears. Memories of the previous evening flood my head, and I smile, thinking Ryan must be in the bathroom. I snuggle beneath the covers and wait, savouring the images, remembering how it all felt. My eyes close, and I have to force myself not to fall back to sleep. I want to be awake when Ryan comes back in. Five minutes of waiting passes, and I sit up, my heart thrumming, thoughts of Ryan having left seeping into the edges of my mind. He wouldn't just go, would he?

I get out of bed and slip on my pair of joggers, worn and bobbled but an old favourite. Making my way downstairs, I contemplate how I'll feel if he
has
gone. I'll be crushed, I know that much, but...no, he's here somewhere. I feel it.

In the kitchen entrance, I stare through the glass in the back door. Ryan is outside, coffee cup held to his lips, steam from it billowing over his face. He's put on the clothes he arrived in, crumpled from being on the living room floor all night, and he looks so vulnerable out there, so...fucking mine. He turns and spots me, comes inside.

"Thought I'd dreamed it when I woke up to find you gone,” I say.

"Couldn't sleep. Always the same when I sleep somewhere other than my own bed. You all right?” He tilts his head, studying me.

"Yeah. Shut the door, will you? Bloody cold!” I wink and walk into the kitchen, switching on the kettle. “You all right?"

Ryan closes the door. “Yeah, thanks. Got anything planned for today?"

I yawn, the remnants of sleep still clinging on. “I was going into the next town over to do the weekly shop—nothing exciting—but I think I've got enough to last the weekend if you'd rather not go."

Ryan shrugs. “I don't mind either way. Whatever you want."

Is he all right? He seems pensive, worried about something. Fuck, I hope it isn't us. I couldn't stand that
. I pour boiled water into a cup. “We could go to the pub for lunch. Give the villagers something to talk about.” I smile at him and return the kettle to its base, then hold up my hands, flapping my fingers against my thumbs to show him people gossip down the hill. Small place—it's bound to happen.

Ryan smiles and moves closer, propping his elbows on the worktop beside me. He stares out the window, that pensive look intensifying on his face. “Could do.” He pauses, then, “How long did it take you to get used to living up here?"

I stir coffee and sugar into my cup, watching the liquid circle into a whirlpool. “About six months. It was quiet at first, but then again, that's what I needed. Peace to think. Now, I don't think I could go back to a town to live. Too many people wanting to know your business. All right, there are a few here who are the same, but for the most part they avoid me. Phobic, see. That has its uses.” I smile and sip my coffee. “Come on. Living room. Bloody nippy in here.” I lead the way into the living room and switch on the electric fire. By habit I put my coffee on the little table beside my recliner and go to sit down. Changing my mind at the last minute, I flop onto the sofa, looking up at Ryan. He frowns, and my stomach rolls over. Something's really off. “You sure you're all right?"

Ryan nods and sits at the other end of the sofa. “Yeah, course I am."

He doesn't sound certain, and my stomach bunches some more. “Any regrets?"

"No. Fuck no! It's just..."

Oh, God. Don't tell me something I don't want to hear
. “Just what?” I sit up, my face tightening, a wince in readiness for what he's going to say. “Look, if you've got something to say, say it. Whatever's worrying you, we'll sort it out. You forget I
know
you. Know when something's bugging your ass. Some come on. Out with it.”
I don't want to hear it, do I? Don't want him telling me he does have regrets, wishes he'd never come here. Fuck!

He swallows. “Your mum..."

I frown.
Mum? What the fuck has she got to do with this?
“What about her?"

Ryan stares at me as though he has a massive weight that needs lifting. I'd expected something entirely different to come out of his mouth, and him mentioning Mum... What the hell's going on?

His eyes dart from side to side for a moment. “I don't know how to say this or how you'll take it, and I'm only bringing a message because I think you have a right to know. She's, uh, she's dead."

What?
My mouth opens and closes, the shock of what he's said a stinging slap despite me saying I wanted nothing more to do with her. For something to do I reach for my coffee and take a gulp, staring at the doorway. Do I give a shit? Really? I mean, she didn't give a toss about me, so why should I give one about her? I've managed the past four years by myself, no problems without her in my life, so why should her death affect me? It doesn't, does it?

"Right, and why did I need to know this? You know how I feel about her.” I glance at him then look away, unable to stand seeing his tormented features. Bringing this news has done that to him. Him knowing me has caused him this pain. I have the urge to explain. “It wasn't just her reaction when we were younger. She's always tried to manipulate me, treated me like I had to do what she wanted or suffer the consequences. It was never simple, my life. She was slap happy; you saw the bruises enough times to know that. Best thing I ever did coming here.” Am I trying to justify my leaving, is that it? Telling Ryan about my old dear so he'll understand my need to live by myself all this time? Probably. So why do I feel as though I've been tripped over and lay face-down in the dirt? Why do I feel her death
matters
, when my life never mattered to her? Anger boils up inside me, and I have a hard time suppressing it.

"I'm sorry. Look, I know how you feel, but it isn't like you think. She left two notes. One for whoever found her, and one for you."

Notes? Fucking
notes
? I laugh, a bitter, twisted sound that's alien to me, a laugh I've never laughed before. “Ah, she was still on form right until the end, then. Manipulating people to do what she wanted. Come on then, what did the note say? And who found her? And how the fuck did you get to hear about it?” And what do I bloody care? “May as well hear the whole sordid tale."

"Uh, she asked that the police not come and inform you that she'd gone—that one of your friends had to do it. Me, actually, though no one else offered anyway. Her next door neighbour heard the...noise and went to check on her. They apparently had each other's house keys. And she knew someone who knew me—knew me and you had been friends as kids. And, uh, she left you some money. It's in my bag."

Left me some fucking money? Like I'd want it. Like I'd touch anything she left to me. It'd be stained with her evil-assed taint. “Don't want it.” I stand, unable to sit any longer, and take my coffee to the window. I stare out at the village that has never accepted me, the houses like those on a Monopoly board, tiny homes to people who have no more compassion or tolerance than my old dear. Ryan's voice jolts me out of my thoughts.

"Didn't think you would, but I brought it anyway."

I sigh and sip my drink. “Suppose you're going to tell me she died in her sleep, all peaceful, no suffering. Not what I wished for her, I can tell you. And yeah, I sound a bastard, but you weren't brought up by her. You—"

"Hey!” Ryan gets up and stands beside me, his hand on my arm. “I know all this, don't I? No need to explain it to me. I understand, all right? I only came because if I didn't tell you, you've got to admit you'd wonder why. It's one of those situations where I can't do right for doing wrong, but that's okay. I expected that."

Fuck, I feel bad. It isn't his problem, and he's right, he did need to come and tell me. Finding out from someone else...no, that wouldn't have worked. I nod. “Sorry. Not your fault. It's just...when I think of her, all the bad comes back, know what I mean? Like it was all happening again, except I see it in my head. But I feel it inside. Still fucking feel it, as if it was fresh. God!” I sniff then sip my coffee again. Much as I've said in the past I don't care, I must do, because part of me wants to know how she went, what she died of. “So how was it? How did she go?"

Ryan hikes in a deep breath. “She shot herself."

I whip my head around to face Ryan, shocked, yet I almost laugh. I mean, come on! Mum killing herself? A woman who has always prided herself in being Christian and pious has
killed
herself? Gone against God and all the childhood Bible teachings and committed one of the worst sins? She can't have. Not Mum. No. “
What
? My old dear
killed
herself?” I let the laugh out. “How the hell did she get hold of a gun? You've got to be kidding me, right?” Mum with a gun? I don't fucking believe it."

Ryan squeezes my arm, shakes his head, and stays quiet for a moment. He swallows, then, “D'you want the money and the note?"

Do I fuck! “No. Reckon she'll have written a load of bollocks about what a disappointment I was. I already know that, so what's the point in reminding myself? And as for the money... Give it to charity or something."

"But it's twenty grand, Lee. I shit myself bringing it all this way. It's in cash. Her neighbour got it and the notes out of the house before the police arrived."

I narrow my eyes. “Doesn't matter how much it is. Don't you see? Anything from her is tainted. Even me. I can't even bring myself to forgive, can I?” I sigh and leave the window, the truth of my last sentence driving a deep spike into my gut. I can't forgive. Can't even see her as a human being, struggling to live her life the right way for her, believing things she was taught and using them in her daily existence. If she was taught being gay is wrong, taught not to spare the rod and risk spoiling the child, wasn't she just doing what she had to in order to survive? No, damn it, she had a mind of her own, was well able to differentiate between right and wrong. She was just nasty, raw-minded and bad and wrong. I feel suffocated by my thoughts, the pain inside me, and I say, “Look, I hate to do this to you, but uh, could you give me some space?” Much as I love Ryan, I don't want Mum's taint that lives in me to affect him. He doesn't deserve to see me while I get all my anger out and come to terms with how I feel.

"Sure. I'll, uh... Well, I'll go back home, all right? Give you a ring tomorrow or something."

Hell no. No, he can't leave. I just need...a little while alone. I stop pacing and turn to face him. “No. I don't mean... Not that far away. Don't go back yet."

Relief fills his face. “Oh. Right. Uh, okay. I'll go into the village for a bit then, yeah?"

I nod and stare down at my hands. My knuckles whiten as I grip my cup. “Yeah. Only for a bit, though. I'll ring you. Come and meet you after I've had a think.” I look at him, see the pain in his eyes and know he's hurting for me.

"All right. I'll, um, go and freshen up, then."

Ryan leaves the room. His footsteps pad in the hallway, telling me he's gone into the kitchen for his bag. I feel bad that I can't have him here right now, can't do this with him by my side, but my head's so damn full I worry what'll come out of my mouth if he stays. I might get angry, say stuff I don't mean, and he might take it the wrong way. Like I don't care for him, when I do. I fucking
do
. He passes the living room door, head down, and plods upstairs, each step creaking with his tread. The shower goes on, and I walk into the kitchen, the sound of the water hitting the tub above louder in here. I stare out the window, hearing the sounds of Ryan in the bathroom yet not; they're so far away, my thoughts louder and more persistent, shouting to be heard.
But I don't want to hear them, not yet. Just wait until Ryan's gone. A few more minutes
. I continue to stare outside, seeing nothing but images from my childhood, Mum bearing down on me, Mum's teeth bared, Mum Mum Mum...

I clench my jaw and sense Ryan behind me.

"I'll, uh, leave these here.” He places two envelopes on the worktop. “Just in case you—"

"All right. Thanks.” I carry on staring out the window.
Just go, mate. Please, just go so I can...do what? Rant, scream...cry?

"Um, I'll be off then. You, uh, you take care, okay?"

I nod, barely holding it together. “Will do."

The shift of his feet as he walks away tears me apart and eases my mind at the same time. I'm doing this for his sake. I never really grieved Dad's death, can't imagine I want to grieve Mum's, but it's best Ryan's not here if everything comes spilling out, isn't it? Yeah, it is.

I pick up the envelopes—
she touched them, they're tainted
—and also my phone. I go to the front door and open it, leaving it ajar. Turning, I walk upstairs and wonder if I'm just imagining Mum's touch seeping into me from the envelopes. That kind of shit isn't possible, but no matter how I try and shrug it off the feeling remains. She wrote on the envelopes, wrote the note inside one of them, when she lived and breathed and still hated me enough to kill herself and leave me a few words telling me how awful I am. Yeah, she wrote that, I'd bet on it. No way would she ever admit to being sorry. Not her.