Ryder

Chapter 14

Ever since the news about me throwing up all those years ago, my mum was constantly on edge.  It wouldn't appear so, not at first glance, but eventually you'd pick up on tiny things.  The way she rarely sat still.  How wide her eyes were.  How she taped "call 9-1-1 in case of emergency" cards all around the house, if I ever got bad again.  If you looked in her dresser, the top left cabinet, you'd find the numbers of old therapists and doctors.  She was always ready at a moment's notice. 

I hadn't broken down about forcing myself to throw up and never having friends since I sat at the table with Ryder.  But I stayed up later and later at night, my mind on a never-ending roller-coaster.  Sometimes, I wondered what would've happened if I hadn't been found in the bathroom.  Or if I had been found, but not breathing.  It scared me a little, but not as much as it should've.   

 There was no way around the great brick wall that was my abnormalty and vomit.  My parents had considered giving me more and more therapy, but, in the end, they didn't.  The doctors were afraid that, due to how much pressure I was already feeling in normal situations, my mind wouldn't be able to cope with it.  I was socially doomed either way.  It was odd to think about.  Yet it was inevitable, as all terrible things are.  When I first woke up in the hospital after being found in the bathroom, I cried for a week straight.  But now I was drained, emotionally exhausted, too numb to feel any more sadness towards the event. 

I mean, I wasn't NOT sad.  It was just....I felt like I was numb and empty.  I was almost completely done with everything, nowadays.  I couldn't bear to see mum like this.  Dad....well, I didn't even know how dad was handling it.  He refused to show his emotions around us, for "the sake of everyone's well-being".  It destroyed my mind to see my parents sad about my problems, however long ago they were.  Even though they treated me normally now, I still saw flickers of sadness in their eyes when I mentioned not feeling well, or when I occasionally talked about school(which, believe me, was not very often).  When Sarah was told, she was only under the impression that I was very sick.  So she made me cards when I was in the hospital, and brought this huge book of really pathetic jokes that I laughed at regardless, because I truly wanted her to think I was okay.  But I wasn't, not really.  She was the only person to visit me, besides my parents. 

Sarah meant a lot to me.  But I knew there was no evading death, no matter how hard we all tried.  As soon as it would happen, I would probably be cast into a pit of depression. 

I think Ryder was somewhat filling at least part of the gap in my mum's heart.  By simply being around when Sarah wasn't, Ryder offered mum more things to do.  Things that she and Sarah would never get to do.  Ryder wasn't even part of our family, though.  She was just....there.  Although, come to think of it, she wasn't just there....she was more like a kicking bag for my peers.  Another pang of guilt hit me in the gut.  I shouldn't have just left her there.  But I knew she'd find her way home, as all lost things do.  And after what she had done to me, what horrible things I went through because of her....didn't she deserve it?

When I got home, mum and dad weren't home.  I was used to this.  They worked a lot, though less hours since my previous incident.  I didn't exactly mind, but I sometimes got lonely in that huge house.  But we had the huge house because my parents worked so much.  Besides, they needed to focus on Sarah, seeing as she was getting into all these huge art things.  Awards, certificates, contests, classes.  She was offering much promise for scholarships, I was told.  So, yes, it was okay for them to be gone so much, because it benefitted everyone.  Well, almost everyone.  Not their first child.  Their only son.  Their past therapy-induced kid.  No, I was not as important as Sarah and her crayon art.  

I knew I was horrible for thinking all of this.  But hey, if you were in my situation, you'd be thinking it too.  I kicked off my sneakers at the front door, pulled my backpack off of my shoulders, and took off my blue Aeropostale hoodie.  For some time, I stayed on the overly-happy "WELCOME!" mat, and just observed the house in all of its glorious silence.