53. Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Two
Rye
Jake did snore. Softly, though, and it was rhythmic and soothing. And Rye found himself appreciating it a lot that night as he lay awake, staring up at the ceiling.
Every time he closed his eyes, it was too dark, and he felt himself slipping off into somewhere cold and filled with terrible memories just waiting to haunt him.
He was so tired; he’d exhausted himself worrying about the GED exams, even though he’d passed easily, and although he’d tried to convince himself he was okay with the news they’d received that morning about the man being seen in Arizona, he wasn’t really okay.
Jake had encouraged him not to look at the news, and when he’d texted briefly with his mom earlier, they hadn’t even brought it up. Rye understood. He’d also wanted to just forget it. But he couldn’t, and so now, however late it was, he was still lying here in bed, still unable to even let himself try to sleep for fear of having to relive that very first day.
He turned over onto his side until he could see Jake, who lay on his back, his head tilted in Rye’s direction and his mouth slightly parted in relaxation.
He’d told Jake. Hadn’t he? About the day he’d disappeared? He’d told Jake about it, and Jake had helped him tell the police. But maybe he hadn’t given a lot of detail. He was sure he hadn’t told Jake the man’s exact words, how the man had said, “I know where the fuck you live,” like he’d been watching Rye for a while.
Was the man doing the same in Arizona? Was he... watching young kids leave school? Trying to pick one he liked ? Getting ready to steal another childhood? Ruin another life? A cold shiver crept up Rye’s spine, and he whimpered as the memory he’d been avoiding for hours replayed. And then replayed again and again.
And it was like he just couldn’t get away from it. Like he was trapped there, in that moment, in that awful decision, in that car.
“Shut the fuck up, kid. I know where the fuck you live. We’re going somewhere else. You just be a good little boy, keep your fuckin’ mouth closed, and I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
The fucking biggest lie in the history of lies.
He scrunched his eyes shut again, and the darkness immediately invaded, tugging at him, reminding him. And even when he tried to open his eyes, even when he gripped onto the blanket covering him, it was still there—the dark and cold of the basement, someone coming at him, a rotten breath cursing in his ear, a rough shove against a hard wall.
His head hurt. And there were more curses, more hands grabbing him, more dark and cold and pain. And he just wanted to go. He wanted to go home. Back home and back to—
“Rye?”
That was his name. Rye. Ryan Henry Davis.
And the voice was soft and kind and right nearby. And it came again.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
Fuck, no. Nausea rippled through him at the involuntary curse in his mind, and he clutched to whatever was surrounding him, something warm, and pulled it up over his head. Shaking. He was shaking. And his heart was racing. But then there was a gentle touch on his arm over the top of the blanket.
“Rye?” A light squeeze. “Hey, you’re okay, Rye.”
He buried his head into the warmth. A blanket. He had a blanket. And the voice was his friend’s. The touch was his friend’s. Jake’s.
He made some noise, wanting to say something, but it came out as another pathetic-sounding whimper.
Jake’s hand rubbed up and down his arm, still over top of the blanket. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
God, he didn’t feel safe. Nothing felt safe. Nothing. He wanted to move. To retreat. To run away and bury himself in a corner somewhere. Alone.
Or no, no, no, not alone.
Another shiver ran through him. A lonely road stretched out in front of him, a white car pulled up alongside him, a—
“J-Jake?” he mumbled into the blanket.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay.”
No, I’m a mess.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m right here with you, okay?”
Don’t go. Please don’t go.
He concentrated for a moment on the soft touch of Jake rubbing his arm over the blanket, and he took slow, deep breaths, trying to steady himself. But his heart still raced with a rising panic that wouldn’t let him go. And shame bubbled up in his chest, dark and hot.
He’d held himself together all day , through everything that had been thrown at him. Having to walk past those reporters at the college had nearly sent him over the edge, and then he’d somehow recovered to take his exams, and he’d somehow done well.
So why had tonight been so ridiculously difficult?
For the second night in a row now, Jake had even left the lights on in the hotel room so he wouldn’t have to sleep in the dark, since he was scared of the dark. Like a little kid. And yet, just closing his eyes, just letting himself start to drift off to sleep, just thinking at all about what was happening—or what had almost happened—down in Arizona, and he was gone. Lost and trapped and no longer in control of himself.
His hands still buzzed, and he felt clammy and lightheaded. And so, so tired.
“S-sorry,” he said, his voice catching on the single word. “Sorry to wake you up.”
Jake’s hand stopped rubbing his arm but gave a gentle squeeze. “No, no, it’s fine. You didn’t wake me up.”
And suddenly Rye laughed. Actually laughed. Just once, and not because he actually thought it was funny. Although maybe it was, a little. He shook his head with another laugh and then rolled over onto his stomach, burying his head into his pillow but letting the blanket fall away from his face. Then he turned his head just slightly and opened his eyes to glance up at Jake.
“You were asleep. You were snoring,” he said, very, very glad when his words came.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were!” Rye cut in. He huffed another tiny laugh and then buried his face back into the pillow. “It... was helping me,” he admitted, his voice now muffled. He turned his head so Jake could hear him, and his chest tightened. “But then I started thinking about... him and—and what he’s doing in Arizona. And I got lost. And... and I...”
At least, that was what he thought had happened. He still felt nauseous and dizzy, and his heart still thrummed unsteadily.
“You’re safe now. It’s okay,” Jake said softly, and his hand came to settle on Rye’s back, that place where it always did. But its weight seemed to push into him—holding him down. Holding him down on the bed so he couldn’t move so—
He muffled a sob into the bed and shook his head as fear froze him in place.
“Jake.” He forced the word out, needing to know. Needing the reminder that it was still his friend here and not someone else. But the weight pressed down into him and didn’t go away, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.
“I’m here, Rye. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t and it wouldn’t be. And he wasn’t and he wouldn’t be. Jake’s hand pressed into him again, and the rational part of his mind—the bit of it that could somehow still think a little—told him Jake didn’t know. Jake didn’t know he was so on the verge of panicking again , and—and he probably even thought he was comforting Rye. Normally, his touch would be comforting, but right now, it was the opposite.
He muffled another whimper into his pillow and scrunched his eyes shut. “Please... please don’t,” he begged. “Please don’t.”
Not that those words told Jake anything about what not to do—about the fact that Rye felt trapped on the bed, terrified. He couldn’t force out anything more, though.
“Please don’t . . . ?”
Rye nodded, and he tried again. “Your... hand.”
Instantly, the weight disappeared, and Rye found his body moving on its own, shifting away from Jake, over to the other side of the bed. Nothing stopped him or grabbed him. No one yelled at him or cursed.
In fact, the next thing he heard was Jake’s quiet voice apologizing with a gentle, “I’m so sorry, Rye.”
“It’s—it’s o-okay,” he mumbled, his face still buried into a pillow.
And Jake said something else then. Something about how it wasn’t okay and he’d do better in the future, but that just made Rye’s face heat up with shame. Because it usually was okay. He usually found comfort in Jake’s touch. This had been too much, though. Too much and the wrong timing and his brain was playing tricks on him. And it felt awful.
And he could hear it in Jake’s voice how awful Jake felt, too. And he didn’t want that.
He turned onto his side, facing Jake, who sat at the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed with worry, and Rye’s stomach lurched.
He’d put that worry there.
Him and his stupid brokenness. Him and his broken mind that wouldn’t let him sleep or close his eyes or be alone or not be alone. Or be touched on his back by his friend—who was more than just a friend.
He hated it. And in that moment, he hated himself, too.
But then Jake’s expression softened, his frown turning into a gentle smile, and Jake spoke to him slowly and clearly. “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Rye. I’m sorry, and I should have asked before touching you. I shouldn’t have assumed that it was okay because I’d touched you there before. I’ll do better. Okay?” Jake paused, like he was searching for the right words. “It’s... it’s not a burden on me to have to ask for your consent. And you’re absolutely always allowed to say no.”
God, if only that had always been the case. Rye closed his eyes tightly and nodded, and he felt the bed shift slowly, carefully. A moment later, Jake’s heavy, uneven footsteps moved away from him, in the direction of the TV. Rye opened his eyes and followed as Jake stopped and picked up the remote control.
“What if we watch a movie, huh? You’re up, I’m up. It’s late, but, well, you know.” Jake glanced back at Rye over his shoulder with a small smile and shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help you get to sleep. Unless you want to try to talk?”
They should. He should tell Jake about everything that had been on his mind. But right then, he was still much too close to that deep, dark abyss of terrible memories that wanted to swallow him up. And he knew he couldn’t.
Maybe a movie would be just distracting enough that he’d manage to fall asleep. Probably not, but maybe.
He pushed himself up to sit and scooted until his back was against the headboard, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Jake was still standing there, watching him, and Rye pursed his lips and gave a small nod.
Jake’s eyes brightened just a little at that, and he grinned and turned back to the TV, clicking a button on the remote.
“Alright, let’s see what they’ve got, huh?”
They settled on some silly animated movie that Jake said Phil had recommended—something that seemed lighthearted enough—and Jake grabbed each of them a bottle of water from the tiny fridge in their room before he settled back on his own bed.
Rye scooted closer to the middle of his bed and propped himself up on a pile of pillows. Then he tried his best to get lost in the movie and let himself forget all the things that had been keeping him up.
He didn’t quite succeed, but when he heard Jake snoring softly from the other bed an hour or so into the movie, at least he was able to smile a little.
Mom (8:46 a.m.): Change of plans! I got stuck working the later shift today, so I won’t be home when you get here. But if you and Jake want to stop in at the store on your way home, I’d love to see you and give you the biggest hug. I’m so proud of you. I know I told you that yesterday, but I’m gonna say it again and again
Mom (8:46 a.m.): SO PROUD!!!!
Rye sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his mom’s texts. He could feel her joy, and that made him happy, despite all the unease still lingering with him from the night before.
“Sure you’re not going to join me?” Jake asked, and Rye turned to look at his friend, lifting his eyebrows skeptically. Jake lay on the floor on his stomach, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he grinned. “I’ve only got the push-ups left. You can do those, yeah? Well, I mean, I’ve got my PT stuff, too, but you wouldn’t be doing those exercises anyway.”
Rye shook his head. “I’ll just watch you, I think,” he said, and when Jake huffed a laugh, Rye managed a smile, which felt good.
He quickly sent a short text to his mom, telling her he’d ask Jake if they could stop by on their way home, and then he set his phone back down on the nightstand and scooted back on the bed to sit cross-legged, watching as Jake finished his morning exercises with a long, long set of way too many push-ups.
He found himself watching maybe a bit too intently, staring at Jake’s upper arms. The muscles bulged and rippled underneath Jake’s short-sleeved T-shirt as he slowly lowered and raised himself with each push-up. And it left Rye almost a little dazed, an odd warmth growing in his cheeks.
Minutes later, Rye was still staring when Jake blew out a long breath with his final push-up, then collapsed onto the ground and rolled over onto his back.
“Ugh, those weren’t easy today,” Jake complained.
Rye tore his gaze away from Jake’s arms and laughed lightly. “Are they easy any day? ”
“Well, I mean, sort of?” Jake turned his head to look in Rye’s direction, and he lifted up an arm to run his hand through his hair. His arm muscles did that thing again. Rye’s cheeks felt even hotter.
“I don’t know that I believe you,” Rye quipped, though his voice caught.
“Hah, fair. I guess it’s just usually easier to push through the last few?” With a grimace, Jake pushed up off the ground, pulled his good leg under him, and stood. “Sorry I’m not ready to go yet. I can probably get everything else done in fifteen or twenty minutes if I hurry, then I’ll need to take a quick shower before we leave. Is that okay?”
Rye nodded in response, and Jake moved to place his hand on the wall. Then he stood on one foot—his bad leg—linked his other foot behind his ankle, and raised his heel up off the ground. He continued repeating the motion, but Rye noticed his jaw was clenched, and he’d looked away, his eyes trained down at the ground and his expression taut.
“Are you okay?” Rye asked quietly. “Does it hurt?”
Jake almost flinched a little but then cleared his throat. “Nah, um, I’m just a bit stiff.” When Rye raised his eyebrows, Jake shook his head. “Sorry, uh, I keep doing that, don’t I? I keep telling you a... half-truth because I don’t want to worry you or anything. I shouldn’t do that.”
Rye shook his head and scooted to the end of the bed to be closer to where Jake was.
Still doing his heel raises, Jake corrected himself. “I am hurting a bit more than I normally would be. That’s the truth. But I’m okay. I’m not sure why I’m feeling a little self-conscious about it. I usually don’t.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t watch you,” Rye suggested, starting to scoot back again, but Jake let out a short laugh and lowered his heel back to the ground.
“It’s okay. Really.” He sat down on the floor and lay on his back with his knees bent up. Then he turned his head sideways to look at Rye as he started doing his second exercise, some sort of whole-leg lift. “It’s not like you haven’t already seen me at my worst.”
Rye narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Jake turned his head away to stare up at the ceiling as he continued his exercise.
“That day when you were still stuck at my place because of the rain, and I fell,” Jake explained. “You had to help me up. And you made us tea and got us breakfast and everything.”
An emotion that Rye couldn’t identify rippled through him as the memory of that day almost a year ago came back, and he swallowed and nodded. “I remember. You... you were hurting so much. ”
Jake stopped and set his foot back on the ground, frowning. “It was bad, and I’d run out of my meds. I was so grateful you were there.”
With a nod, Rye lowered himself off the bed and onto the ground so he was sitting more level with Jake. Jake’s frown turned into a tight smile.
“So, uh, you know, this is me,” Jake said, motioning to his bad leg. “And it’s not going to get better. I hope you won’t ever have to haul me up off the ground again, but I can’t guarantee anything.” He obviously tried for another smile, but Rye could see the strain in it, his uncertainty.
And so Rye shook his head. He didn’t really know what to say or how to say it, though for once, maybe, it wasn’t because his words were stuck. He looked down at Jake’s bad leg, which was now stretched out flat on the floor.
“You like me... even though I can’t always talk and even though I keep you up all night instead of sleeping and... and even though I can’t let you touch me sometimes. So I can like you... even though your leg hurts. And”—he looked back at Jake with a silly half-smile—“even though you snore.”
And just like that, all the tension left Jake’s eyes, and he laughed—one of those big, hearty laughs that always made Rye feel good. “Do I really snore?”
Rye nodded, grinning a little wider now. “But I was thankful for it the last two nights,” he said, and with a little more seriousness, he added, “Silence at night can be hard for me... like the dark.”
Jake’s smile faltered, and he reached out his hand in invitation. Rye scooted closer, but didn’t take his hand. Instead, Rye moved until he was sitting along Jake’s side, still facing Jake but about even with Jake’s knee. He lowered his eyes to Jake’s thigh, and a tightness in his chest had him inhaling deeply.
“Would it hurt right now? If I...?” Rye lifted his hand and let it hover over Jake’s thigh, just above his knee.
Jake cleared his throat. “Uh, n-no. No, you can.”
With another small half-smile, Rye lowered his gaze. Then he slowly set his hand on Jake’s leg. Even through the thin pair of sweatpants Jake wore, he could feel the muscles in Jake’s thigh tense up, and his smile faded into a frown as he slid his hand gently from Jake’s knee to partway up his thigh, where there was a noticeable indent in the muscle. Jake sucked in a breath, and Rye froze with his hand still on Jake’s leg. When he looked up, Jake had his lips pursed and his eyes closed.
“Does it hurt?” Rye asked quietly, and Jake just shook his head.
“No.”
“Then why—”
Jake shook his head again with a soft laugh, and he opened his eyes to look up at Rye. “It, uh, feels good, actually,” he admitted, and Rye thought maybe he looked a little more flushed than he had a few minutes ago. “And also, uh, I’m not used to anyone touching me like that.”
“Oh. It’s okay, then?”
Jake nodded but didn’t say anything else, and Rye glanced back down. He slowly let his hand drift a little farther up Jake’s thigh, feeling what must have been a huge scar several inches long. He frowned, pursing his lips, and then paused, his thumb rubbing back and forth a few times along Jake’s outer thigh. When he lifted his eyes, Jake was watching him again, staring at Rye’s hand on his leg.
“Still okay?” Rye asked.
“Yeah.” Jake sounded vaguely breathless, which Rye found he liked for some reason.
He wasn’t sure why he had the sudden urge, but he repeated the motion, letting his hand rub back down toward Jake’s knee and then up once more, still gently. And Jake sucked in another breath.
Rye paused and swallowed, wholly unsure about the reaction his body was having to both touching Jake and to hearing the changes in Jake’s breathing. “Sorry... I should let you finish your exercises,” Rye said quietly.
“Hah, no, no, please don’t apologize for that. I liked it. A lot.” Jake reached down slowly and set his hand on top of Rye’s on his thigh. His fingers were warm, caressing gently across Rye’s skin.
It felt good.
And Jake seemed to agree. He smiled softly up at Rye as his fingers continued caressing the back of Rye’s hand. Then he said a breathy, “Thank you.”
Rye had no idea what Jake was thanking him for, but he nodded anyway, and even though he’d intended to get up so Jake could finish his exercises, Rye stayed there for another moment. This place he’d found—this place here, sitting on the floor with Jake, sharing these soft touches—was so comfortable, and he didn’t want to move. Because he’d just realized that for the first time since the previous morning, his mind had actually settled long enough for him to stop being pulled toward that dark, awful place. He still needed to talk to Jake—to tell him about it, about why he’d been so upset the night before, about how Jake’s unwanted touch had made him feel and why . But finally, for the moment, he only felt peace and quiet, and he wanted to hang onto that for as long as he could.
He opened his eyes and smiled down at Jake. “Can I... do the rest of your PT exercises with you? You have a few more?”
Jake looked confused, but he nodded. “Um, yeah, yeah, sure,” he said. “Just a few more.”
“’Kay.” Rye grinned. “Just tell me what to do. ”
Jake stared at him for a few more seconds, then sat up slowly, his hand still on top of Rye’s on his thigh. “Okay, yeah. So, the next exercise is actually just a stretching exercise, and we’ll need to stand back up...”
Rye followed Jake, listening carefully to each of his instructions, and together, they completed the rest of Jake’s exercise circuit. The whole time, that feeling of peace stayed with Rye, especially when he “accidentally” brushed his fingers against Jake’s more than once. And the whole time, Rye kept thinking about how grateful he was for Jake’s friendship and for whatever else there was between them.
Because whatever it was, it made him feel like maybe he’d be okay after all. Maybe he wasn’t too broken, or maybe, even if he was, Jake didn’t seem to mind.