I Would Have

Tennesee Orange

Song for this Chapter-
Tennessee Orange- Meg Moroney

"I met somebody and he's got blue eyes
He opens the door and he don't make me cry
He ain't from where we're from
But he feels like home, yeah
He's got me doin' things I've never done."

*Ryot*

He stayed upstairs, angrily doing laundry, until he was able to get his temper in check. He'd even soaked in the shower for a bit, for good measure. He'd seen Isadora flinch when he'd snapped at Zola, and he wasn't sure he could forgive himself for it.

He'd never been more thankful for her, though, for being so good with the kids, than when he walked downstairs to talk to them, and they were comfortable, comforted, and safe with her. He'd asked her to talk, helped her to move Simon, and had watched as she'd followed him quietly, almost obediently up the stairs. Every wall she had was back up. She was internalizing his outburst. Guarding herself from him.

He sits at the foot of the bed, watching her as she carefully tucks herself against the wall. Knees in her d-mn koala sweater he's grown to love, arms wrapped around her calves, trying to make herself smaller. She avoids his gaze, focusing instead on a frayed thread in her sleeve.

"I'm sorry." Ryot begins. "I'm sorry I scared you, and for snapping like I did. I'm sorry." Numbly, Isadora nods. She knew he was, she was just having flashbacks to her ex. Some wounds heal with time, that was one that hadn't healed yet.

"While the kids are down for their nap, I was thinking. If it's okay with you, I mean. I want you to read that one entry that's safe. You know which one." He keeps his voice gentle. He slides her the notebook she's grown to hate over the last several months, watching her reaction as she flips it open to the entry. Hesitant, reluctant.

He leans back, hands behind his head, listening.

"Him.

Out of all the topics you could have given me. Out of all of them, why did you think this would be the better one? Why? I swear to God Vincent, the next in-person-session we have, I'm throwing hands. If you think I'm name dropping, you got me f-cked up.

After... John, after... Caleb, I really didn't think I was good enough. I didn't think I could ever be good enough. I didn't think I deserved love, and I sure as sh-t didn't think it was in the cards for me. Not love, but anything good in general. I mean, come on. Up until now, I've only ever had trauma, or what my brain perceives as tragedy. Just as I had given up hope, I matched with someone.

We agreed right from the start. Just friends, friends-with-benefits, no strings attached. Nothing serious. I knew I'd get attached, I know how I am. I knew, and I accepted it with open arms. I would again, too. What I didn't expect though, was for him to start to give a sh-t, to start to care. I'm not someone to give a sh-t about. Sorry but I'm not. I can't be. I can't allow myself to be. I'm not going to be around long after Aden's eighteenth birthday. I'd like to minimize the casualties.

I knew I was screwed when I talked him down, and even though he was scaring me, I did it without hesitation. He said I saved him, that he wouldn't be here had I not have jumped in. I think it's the other way around though. I wouldn't be here without him. He saved me in so many more ways than he realizes. Before I met him, I was a shell of myself. I didn't know who I was, not really. I only knew who I was expected to be. "

Her voice wavers, and Isadora has to take a breath to steady herself. Her hands are shaking, he resists the urge to reach out and steady them with his own. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, willing himself to not cry.