Bittersweet Symphony (Bittersweet #4)(16)

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 * 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 *. 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 f*cking 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.





Ryder


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 f*ck-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.