Fight or Fall

15

It's been over a week since Marcus and I made the decision for me to stay with them. I've settled into a strange new routine—one where I'm not constantly on edge. My bruises are fading, and for the first time in a long while, I'm waking up without the gnawing anxiety that I've grown used to.

I remember that day so clearly—Marcus throwing punches at my dad, the way he barked orders at me to grab my things. I packed in a daze, barely registering the noise of glass shattering and the thud of my father hitting the ground. But once I was in the car, with Marcus's fierce protectiveness glaring through every word he said, I felt a flicker of hope. The car ride was quiet, and the next few days felt like an odd blur. But now, a week later, things are settling.

Today, I'm in the kitchen. Marcus is making breakfast, something he's surprisingly good at, and Ryan is leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone with that trademark disinterest. I'm wrapped in one of Marcus's oversized shirts, the only thing that fits comfortably. It's like wearing a tent, but it's clean and soft, and right now, that's all that matters.

I'm pouring myself a cup of coffee, letting the warmth of the mug seep through my fingers, when Ryan looks up from his phone. He studies me for a moment before raising an eyebrow.

"Morning sunshine. You look like you're actually human today," he says, his voice laced with that familiar sarcasm.

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Oh sweetie, you cannot even imagine the immensity of the fuck i do not give."

He smirks, and I can't help but enjoy the banter. It's been nice to have a sense of normalcy, even if it's just teasing Ryan about his never-ending bad attitude.

Marcus looks over from the stove, catching the end of our exchange. "Hey, if you two are done taking jabs at each other, I could use some help with these pancakes."

I groan dramatically. "Oh, the agony of it all. I'll help, but only if you promise not to make them too fluffy."

As I join Marcus at the counter, Ryan watches for a moment longer before pushing off from the counter and heading out of the kitchen. His footsteps are lighter now, not weighed down by the same anger and frustration they once carried.

Marcus and I work in companionable silence for a while. I'm in a better place now—more comfortable, more myself. When I feel Marcus's gaze on me, I look up, and he gives me a small, approving smile.

"How's everything going?" he asks, his voice softer than usual.

I glance around the kitchen, taking in the calm and the warmth. "It's good. Better than I expected. Thanks, Marcus. For everything."

He nods, looking a little embarrassed. "Don't mention it. Just glad to see you smiling again."

I'm about to respond when Ryan bursts back into the kitchen, looking slightly more animated than usual. "I found something you might want to see."

Marcus and I exchange a glance before heading over to where Ryan is standing by the fridge. He's holding up an old photo, the corners bent and faded.

"It's from a while ago," Ryan says, handing the photo to me. "Thought you might like it."

I take the photo, and a small smile tugs at my lips. It's a picture of me from when I was younger, standing next to a birthday cake with a big grin on my face. I didn't ask how he'd managed to get it, because he had gotten it and that's all that mattered. I don't remember much from that time, but seeing the image brings a bittersweet comfort.

"Thanks, Ryan," I say, my voice catching slightly. "It's nice to remember things like this."

He shrugs, trying to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. "Just thought it might help."

Marcus claps his hands together, breaking the moment. "Alright, breakfast is served. Let's not waste it."

We sit down, the conversation flowing easily between us. It's strange, but comforting, to feel this sense of normalcy. I'm surrounded by people who care, and for the first time in a long while, it feels like things might be okay.

*

The evening has settled in, and the living room is bathed in the soft glow of the TV screen. Caleb, Ryan, Marcus, and I have sprawled out on the couch, blankets draped over us as we settle in for a movie marathon. Caleb's at one end of the couch, absorbed in his phone, and Ryan and I are sandwiched between him and Marcus, who's lounging on the other end.

I'm feeling unusually content. It's a rare feeling these days, and it's so comforting to be here, surrounded by warmth and familiarity. The movie's plot is a mere backdrop to the easy camaraderie that's flowing between us. The gentle hum of laughter and casual conversation fills the room as we watch, and I find myself sinking deeper into the cushion, feeling more at ease than I have in a long time.

About halfway through the movie, as a dramatic scene unfolds on the screen, Ryan's hand brushes against mine. It's a fleeting touch, but it sends a shiver through me. I glance sideways at him, but he's focused on the movie, his expression relaxed and calm.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding as the warmth of his hand lingers near mine. I don't dare move, afraid to break the delicate moment. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, our hands inch closer together under the blanket. There's an electric charge between us, something that feels both thrilling and comforting.

My fingers, almost involuntarily, reach out, and soon Ryan's hand is gently encircling mine. It's a simple touch, but it feels like a silent confession, a shared secret between us. I glance at him again, and this time, our eyes meet for just a heartbeat. A soft smile tugs at his lips, and I can't help but return it.

The movie plays on, but the real story is unfolding in this quiet, intimate moment. Ryan's grip on my hand is gentle, yet firm, and I feel a sense of connection that I haven't felt in a long time. It's as if this simple touch is a bridge between us, something that speaks of understanding and unspoken promises.

The room is filled with the gentle hum of the movie's soundtrack, and Caleb's occasional commentary, but it all fades into the background. All I'm aware of is the warmth of Ryan's hand in mine, the way our fingers intertwine comfortably beneath the blanket.

As the credits start to roll and the movie comes to an end, Ryan and I remain like that, hand in hand. There's no need for words, no need for grand gestures. This small, quiet connection says everything that needs to be said.

Marcus looks over at us with a knowing smile as he reaches for the remote to turn off the TV. "That was a good movie," he says, his tone light but his eyes thoughtful.

I nod, still holding Ryan's hand. "Yeah, it was."

Ryan glances at me one last time, and I can see the warmth in his eyes. "You okay?" he asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I squeeze his hand in response, feeling a wave of emotion wash over me. "Yeah," I say, my voice equally soft. "I'm okay."

As the room settles back into the comfortable quiet of after-movie relaxation, I know that things between Ryan and me have changed. It's a new kind of understanding, a new kind of connection that feels right. For the first time in a long time, I'm not just surviving—I'm actually beginning to live again.