Why do you pick fights with other boys? It's the question Ryan has been running from all his life. The answer will shock you.
For as long as Ryan can remember, he's always wanted to be someone special. Now, a promising high school wrestler and a po...
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The morning after the mushroom trip was somber and mostly quiet. As Cindy thought about the intimacy she shared with Ryan the night before, it no longer carried the same sincerity. Thinking further back, now none of their kisses, hugs or sexual embraces in the last year seemed genuine. The excitement and emotional satisfaction she got from thinking about them was gone. The image of his charming smile felt less attractive, his voice sounded less soothing, and his "I love you," he'd say no longer seemed moving. It was not because Cindy willed it to be that way. She wanted to feel all the wonderful things she felt when she was with him or thought about him, but they were not materializing.
Her morning after Ryan's nightmare neither felt real or fake. If she had to describe what she felt, "gray" seemed the most appropriate. It took her a little over an hour to get out of bed. For what reason, she was not sure, at first. Some of the time lying in bed was spent in a state of reflection, but for the most part, she just stared at her ceiling. For about an hour she stared unblinking at the white paint. Maybe she expected it to fall down and crush her. Unusualness and tragedy seemed more common now.
What does this all even mean? She wondered before getting out of her bed.
The house was silent as she ate her breakfast. Halfway through her bowl of corn flakes, she let the rest of the cereal become soggy. The home had the aura of someone who had just died. Ryan had come in and out of the house as different people. Cindy felt like she wanted to cry, but she also felt hollow and empty. There were no tears in her shell or life for that matter. She thought maybe what she was experiencing was shock. Maybe it was the aftermath of a traumatic event. Whatever it was, she did not understand how to process it.
The world was different last night while she was on the mushrooms, but it felt even more unknown to her now. It was as if she had just survived a cataclysmic event. The only difference was there were no earthquakes, no volcanic eruptions, no deadly diseases, or no great big entity to fear. There was only her boyfriend, the one person she thought she knew best. Moments that lasted minutes, but felt like hours went by as she dwelled on her thoughts. When her mind cleared, the tears finally came.
You're in love with a murderer... She wondered if she had made the right decision.
As Ryan drove back home around 4 in the morning, his body filled with a depressing concoction of feelings; disappointment, shame, and regret. Confessing his crime to Cindy was supposed to end with her acceptance. Ryan knew what he did was wrong. A part of him felt it was necessary, but even when he tried justifying his actions, there was an unavoidable push and pull. He was own plaintiff and defendant; seeing both sides of the argument and unable to reach any clear conclusion. Whatever ego still existed inside of him spoke inside his head like one of the lawyers. What if he had raped other people? What if he hurt other women? What if he would have never stopped?.. You had to. You had to do it. Maybe she doesn't understand that now, but she will. She should.
It occurred to Ryan that the only reason he was able to accept what he did was because he felt like a hero. He had stopped a bad man, maybe even an evil one. Hell, not even the town really cared about Frank's death. But Cindy did.
