In the Stillness(65)

Eric and Ryker stare at me with the same look of uneasiness.

“Okay,” Eric continues as he walks toward the living room, “then explain to me why this box has his name on it. I saw it yesterday, Natalie.” He picks up the box of war letters and I nearly black out from anxiety.

“Don’t f*cking touch that!” I run toward him and reach for the box, but in a second he has the lid off and has his hands all over them.

The letters. My letters. From Ryker. It’s like watching a f*cking car accident in slow motion to see Eric touching them. I know Ryker’s still behind me, but I can’t look away. He probably has no idea I’ve kept them.

Eric picks one out and starts reading it. Aloud. “Dear Nat,” with a chuckle, he pauses, “well, that certainly explains a lot, doesn’t it? Anyway, dear Nat, the last few weeks have been complete torture without you . . .” Eric continues reading with a mocking tone that pinches my eardrums.

“Stop!” Making contact with the letter, I try to pull it away when I hear it. A rip. Eric stares at me dumfounded, fear rising in his eyes as he stands with a piece of the letter. A wail deafens me from the inside before it comes out of my mouth. “Get oooooout!” I’ve never screamed so loud or for so long in my life, and I’m blindly pushing and punching Eric toward the door.

“When’d you start cutting yourself, Nat? Right after this letter? Or the one after that? When did that f*cking prick get inside your head and f*ck you up?” Eric’s yelling and barely acknowledging that I’m striking him at what feels like thirty times a second.

“You’re a goddamn bastard, Eric, and you always have been,” I’m panting in anger and tears, “get the f*ck out of this apartment and my life!”

“Yeah? And you’re a f*cking head-case—”

Ryker fills the space beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder and addressing Eric. “All right, you guys, it’s too loud, and I’m sure neither one of you wants the cops to come.” I don’t miss that his hand is shaking slightly against my skin. “I think it’s best for you to go.” The authority in Ryker’s voice wipes the smug grin from Eric’s unshaven face.

He eyes me in disbelief, as if he’s just come upon the scene, then lets out a childish breath. “Fine.” He throws the piece of the letter he’d been holding back into the apartment and marches sloppily down the stairs.

Salty anger fills my eyes as I pick up the shredded pieces of the letter and walk to the kitchen, searching drawers like a crazy person for tape.

“Nat . . .” Ryker closes the door and walks toward me. “Natalie,” he repeats as he molds his hand to my lower back.

Sniffing and sobbing, I find the tape and start piecing it back together with sweaty and trembling hands.

“I f*cking loved you, you know . . .” Slamming my hand on the counter, my skin starts to itch. I’ve never wanted to cut more than I do in this very moment.

“I know,” he whispers.

“I f*cking loved you, Ryker!” Turning around, all air leaves my lungs as I watch a tear leave the corner of his eye and stroll down his cheek.

“I know you did, Natalie.” As the tear reaches his jaw, he shrugs his shoulder toward his cheek and erases the tear with his shirt.

I can’t hold back anymore. Leaning forward, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and sob uncontrollably into the cotton that smells so much like the Ryker I remember that I almost pass out. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping his solid arms around my shoulders and squeezing me, tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair, and I think he starts crying, too.





Chapter 32





“Is he always that confrontational with you?” Ryker watches as I dry my tears. He let me cry for a good half-hour, leading me over to the couch after a few minutes and letting me cry all over his clothes.

“No,” I shake my head, “but I’ve never caught him cheating or left him before. Thanks for not punching him,” I snicker, staring at my skirt, “I don’t mean to imply that you wanted to, but—”

“Oh, I wanted to,” he chuckles as he stretches his arms across the back of the couch, “I wanted to tear his goddamn throat out, to be honest. But, that wouldn’t have really helped either one of us, now would it?” He smiles that sexy, confident smile that lured me to him on the Amherst common twelve years ago.

I can’t believe I don’t feel like cutting right now. I know I’m going to want to, probably as soon as he leaves, but I don’t want to right now. Maybe that’s why I’m not ready for him to go just yet; I don’t want to want to cut. I just know that it’s going to be there, waiting like a rusted-out truck sitting at the end of someone’s driveway.

“It was an accident,” I start without his prompting. “My last year of grad school and I get f*cking pregnant . . .”

Ryker gets up and walks to the fridge, grabs two beers, and sits back down, handing me one.

“Thanks,” I laugh. “Anyway, yeah . . . just imagine for a moment, if you will, the look on my mother’s face.” He laughs a little, and so do I. “I wanted an abortion. Immediately.”

Ryker picks at his beer label then looks at me. “You did?”

“I did. It wasn’t really even a thought to do anything else. Eric lost his shit, though. Not in the way you witnessed this evening . . . just . . .” I swallow hard.