skinny love | shyland

fifteen

ryland's pov

the rough linen of the cream bed sheets i'd managed to tug over the mattress this morning scratched at my thighs as i rolled over for the third time, stealing a glance at the clock. a quarter past two on a saturday night and the father of my daughter was absolutely no where to be seen. phone presumably off, or dead, no sign as to when he may be home or his whereabouts or whether he would be okay to drop madison at her swimming lessons in the morning. just a mere heads up that he was heading to a friend's gathering for one or two drinks, a birthday celebration of some sort, and that he wouldn't be home any later than nine. over five hours later and there wasn't a sign of him.

part of me was certain that this was entirely down to my absence several weeks ago, where i'd drunkenly slept with shane — unbeknownst to him — and ended up staying the night without so much of a warning. whilst he'd somehow absorbed the feeble lie of a fake heteronormative relationship between my boss and his girlfriend, evidently conor was desperate to duplicate how he had felt and inflict the emotions back onto me. i swallowed uncomfortably as i turned back onto my stomach, feeling the back of my neck begin to prickle with sweat.

my eyelids grew heavy as the hand of the clock slowly crawled on, until i was jolted awake by my phone ringing. i grappled at the fraying charger, pulling it out as i stared at the screen confusedly. i had mentally prepared myself for it to have been conor calling to reassure me that he would be home soon and that there was some reasonable explanation for all of this, but instead shane's name flashed brightly on the screen. i brushed this off and ignored the call, burying my face in the pillow. he was prone to working through the early hours of the morning due to struggling with his sleep, and i was more than used to waking up to an abundance of texts from 4am where he would ramble on about different meetings we had over the next couple days.

but then he rang again, and the sleepy haze i was finally succumbing to faded with no mercy. i fumbled for the mute button to stop the loud ringtone. i swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear, utterly confused as to why he was calling at such a strange hour.

"what?" i whispered aggressively down the receiver, rubbing my eyes and pulling the comforter up to my neck.

"well that's not a very polite way to greet someone." shane's dry sarcasm dripped through his words, muffled slightly by the heavy beat of a drum and bass song that made me pull the phone away from my ear hesitantly.

"it's two in the fucking morning shane, i'm not feeling very polite." i groaned, stumbling to shut my window and prevent the cool air slipping under my sheets. the cool metal of the handle sent shock waves through my skin as my body adjusted to the light of the room; i'd reluctantly hit the switch before sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed, well aware that after this interaction sleep wouldn't be the easiest thing to come by.

"is there any way you can come pick me up? i'm at garrett's bar." i heard him loudly yell at someone to shut up, clearly eager to hear my response over the noise. his tone was slightly slurred but still comprehensible.

"get a taxi and go home. i'm hanging up now." i ordered sternly, going to end the call but stopping when he blurted out in protestation.

"wait! ryland, wait. i tried to get a cab but there's paparazzi everywhere and i've been in a fight-"

"you what?" i sat up bolt right, a wave of nausea washing over me.

"i promise i'll explain everything when you get here. please. i really need you right now."

i stared at the my reflection in the mirror in front of me, carefully analysing the dark circles under my eyes. i looked a mess and was far more grateful than i should've been that madison was spending the evening at conor's parents tonight, in the hopes of the two of us having some down time. that had all gone down the drain when he'd upped and left without so much of an apology, leaving me alone in a double bed, sleepless and worried at his absence. the wallowing loneliness at the pit of my stomach led me to agree and hang up the phone, slipping a pair of baggy black jeans and a white t shirt on before tugging on my vans, sat at the bottom of the stairs.