The Quirky Tale of April Hale (Quirky Series #1)

23: A Major Display of Affection

recap: Ryder has a bad relationship with his parents and he gets thrown out from the house. He then asks April to let him sleep inside her room. In the last chapter, Quentin finds out that Ryder has been sleeping in April's room and he wants April's parents to know about that.

23: A Major Display of Affection

The moment the three of us arrived at the end of the stairs, I knew that letting Mom and Dad know about Ryder's existence in our house wouldn't be a good idea.

Especially since Ryder hadn't successfully wiped clean the unibrow on his face.

"How old are you, five?" Ryder hissed at my brother. "Who the hell draws unibrow on a guest's face?"

"You draw a dick on my neck, dickhead," Quentin's reply came aptly fast.

"It's on your back. You can hide it. The unibrow is stamped on my face! You fully know I'll be talking to your parents face to face and then you decided to ruin my face!"

"Just cover it with your hair or something," Quentin refused to acknowledge that he was in the wrong. "Dickhead." That last bit came out softly.

Just five meters away, our parents were chattering about the subject of Mom's homemade pesto in the kitchen. A lot of cheeriness oozed from their chattering, that pesto must have tasted so good.

"Or we can eat first, and then tell Mom and Dad that Ryder's been staying here," I said. "You know. Breakfast is sacred. You don't ruin breakfast."

Quentin didn't even bother to hide the groan. "Seriously, sis? Seriously?"

"That's actually a good idea," Ryder was glad to postpone any kind of confrontation to my parents.

"It's not a good idea. They need to know."

"Or we can just pretend me staying never happened," Ryder said. "I'll give you a free shot on my face."

"Dude," Quentin sighed. "Dude. You haven't gone home for a month. It's not right. Aren't your parents looking for you?"

At the subject of his parents, Ryder actually shut up and cast his gaze to the floor. He had been holding my hand all this time, and he squeezed it harder.

"Hey Mom," Quentin called out. We walked together to the kitchen, and upon seeing Ryder (he had already rearranged his hair so that most of it fell on his forehead), my Mom's eyes brightened.

"Look who we have here!" she grinned. "You visit April very early today, Ryderkins."

He even had been assigned a petname. This wouldn't end well.

"Yeah, about that," Quentin started, but it was Ryder who continued it.

"I haven't visited April early in the morning, Ma'am."

Both of my parents didn't know what to make out of this. They only simultaneously chewed out the pesto (it was the perfect color of green and yellow) while silently encouraging for Ryder to elaborate.

And that, Ryder did.

"I've been sleeping in April's room for about a month."

That statement, that very honest, very to-the-point statement, was the abrupt start of what I'd like to call The Red Breakfast*.



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The Red Breakfast consisted of three parts.

The first part was the utter and complete chaos in our kitchen.

In fact, I'd say that it kind of resembled what the Black's family argument would be in the morning. But with less cussing. And more repetitions.

"You've been sleeping in April's room for about a month?!" my mom was the first to repeat Ryder's statement.

And then, as realization sunk into my father's consciousness, he opened his mouth. "You've been sleeping in April's room for about a month?!"

A lot of repetitions.

"He's been doing that," my brother, thankfully provided some variation of the word-choice.

My mother's mouth flapped open and close and open and close for about 5,60 seconds, but no words ever came out. Her eyes were a mix of anger and shock as she glared/gaped/leered towards Ryder and after a while, her mouth just froze in the state of a big O.

"You should have let me handled it," Quentin whispered to Ryder, damned not if my parents heard him. "I could have been... subtler."

Ryder only responded in a form of a shrug, but his hand kept holding mine.

I was in a total shock myself. My parents were two of the most easily-overreacting human beings that I ever knew, aside from everyone else, but I had never seen them to be this speechless. Now I knew where the saying 'shell-shocked' came from, and how a person being shocked could possibly be related to being a shell.

My father, in particular, was now sporting a very dangerous mix of red and purple on his face.

While my mom spurred into a lot of wordless actions through this discovery, my dad stayed still on the chair, but I couldn't fail to notice the way his fingers were pressed against one another in a very tight grasp.

"I'm really sorry, Mr and Mrs. Hale," Ryder tried again. His voice was a little shaky, but otherwise it was a really good try for him, considering how nervous he was. "I swear when I told you that I've been sleeping in April's room, it wasn't anything like you two have imagined."

And why was it when a guy slept in the same room with a girl, everyone assumed that they were doing the dirty? It didn't make sense to me. But certainly, Ryder's words triggered major effects on my parents, and to an extent, Quentin, too.

Because my father was now stalking out from the room.

The rest of us, both boys and me and my mother, could only practically gape as we watched the patriarch of the Hale family walked over next door, rapped loudly at the Black's front door, and then standing face to face with the patriarch of the Black family.

I was pretty sure that Ryder was now in the verge of fainting, because he wouldn't stop hissing 'shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit'.

To be quite honest, I was totally thinking the same visual, too, inside my head.

Poopoopoopoopoopoopoopoopoopoo.

Poo.

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The second part of The Red Breakfast was even chaotic than the first, if it was even possible.

Because in the Hale's hallowed breakfast table, where we discussed a lot of the world's up and down and also the Blacks' daily clashing, sat the complete set of the Black family.

Ryder Black. Gregory Black. And Mary Black.

All of them were wearing a variety of countenances.

We started by my father and Ryder's father asked Ryder to recount on what happened. Ryder told them the story, on how he'd sleep in my room, on my floor, and then slip out on the morning. He told them everything succinctly, but never leaving out the important details, like how he got the food or how he managed to not get caught.

After he finished telling his story, all of us were quiet for a very long time.

Ryder was easily the most distressed out of three. He constantly shook his head, as if trying to kick himself inwardly in every chance that he got. Gregory Black was livid, that much was evident. And Mary Black, she wore the expression of a very disappointed old woman even though she had to be the most beautiful woman I'd ever met in the age of 45.

And the disappointment, for some weird, possibly feminism-related reason, was also directed to me.

Across the table, my father, my mother, Quentin and me perched nicely on our respective chairs. Aside from Quentin and me, the Hales looked furious too, although I had to admit that with our naturally compromising nature, Mom and Dad had a hard time trying to match the Blacks' fury.

And then it happened. The worst breakfast of my life.

"How come you let him sleep here and not tell us?" Mr. Black started.

"I would have told you if I knew about it," my father responded.

"Didn't you check on your kids' room?" there was a tongue flicking inside his mouth, a sure sign of derision. "You don't even know what's happening in your kid's life. What kind of parenting is that?"

"Excuse me?" my father's voice rose. I realized that he was angry, but this time, the anger wasn't for me or Ryder, it was for the Blacks. "Did you forget the fact that it is your son who slept on my daughter's room?"

"Actually, Honey, did you remember how I used to go to your room when I was upset?" my mother strayed away from the subject. "You know that's when we started dating."

"It's good when it happened to us, but I don't want to have the image that our teenage daughter with-" there was a pause as the unsaid word lingered in the air. Dad then resumed as if he hadn't screamed 'mentally challenged' out loud with his silence. "Having sex at seventeen."

"No no no no, Sir," Ryder was quick to respond. "When I said 'sleep', I literally mean sleep. Nothing else."

Dad's eyes narrowed to him. "You're saying that you haven't been kissing my daughter or dating her while you stay in her room?"

Ryder blushed ten shades of red and kept quiet about this. I too, at the memory of our shared kisses and make-out sessions, blushed.

"It's that good, huh?" my mother asked me.

I could only nod, which brought Mrs. Black to shake her head again in a deprecating fashion.

"I think Ryder is just very stressed," I said to anyone who'd hear me. "I mean, I don't think he had the notion of kissing or making me his girlfriend when he started sleeping in my room. He was just drunk and hurt that you threw him out of the house," I said to Mr. Black. "I could confirm this, because I could always hear you guys fight."

The rest of the Hale family looked at me as I spilled our secrets.

Mr and Mrs. Black looked even angrier, and I had to cast my gaze down to the table because I didn't like looking at such angry person right across me.

"Lash out to Ryder please not," my inner Yoda unexpectedly came in such wrong time. "Innocent he is."

"Why are you doing this to us?" Mr. Black decided to ignore me and then turned the attention to his son.

Ryder flinched at the sudden attention, and he sank even lower on his seat. "You did throw me out."

"And you hadn't come home for a month."

Ryder was incapable of answering. He only glared long and hard at the table. I almost sighed in relief as I realized that I wasn't living in the X-men world, because with the accumulated hatred that was glowing on Ryder's eyes, he could have burnt our table into ashes. This was a very expensive oak table that Mom bought after a lot of discussion with Dad.

"Why can't you be an easier child, Ryder?" Mr. Black continued. "Why can't you just be nice and less troublesome? Every month, there will be complaints from school because of your fighting. Every month, there will be at least a big trouble from you. And right now, you're sleeping in a girl's room. I thought that you had better sense than this."

Each word stabbed my chest, even though Mr. Black clearly crafted the words to hurt Ryder. Everything that Ryder was insecure of, his tendency to attract troubles, his hatred for the school's authority, was being attacked head on.

"A nice guy Ryder is, Black Mr." I said.

Mr. Black was even more infuriated when I was the one answering for him. He transfixed his glare to my father and spoke. "I don't know how to taught your children, but your daughter let a boy slept in her room and she can't even talk right. My son has been living here for a month, and you didn't even notice until your son brings that into your attention."

"What are you suggesting, Gregory?"

"I'm just giving you the facts. I don't think you quite know how to educate your children well, Martin."

"You don't tell me how I raise my children!"

"Honey," my mother put her hand on Dad's shoulder in an attempt to placate him. "Honey."

"They're good parents, Dad!" Ryder shouted, the first time he raised his voice in the breakfast. "And don't talk about April like that. She's the best girl I've ever met."

"Oh, please," Mr. Black was seething now. "You have a habit of picking the worst of the lot. This girl could barely string her sentences, you have just outdone yourself, kid."

My mother reacted fast to this. "You will not demean my daughter under my roof!"

"She's demeaning herself the moment she lets a boy sleep in her room."

"She's just trying to help," finally, Quentin spoke up, and it was in Ryder's favor. "And Ryder needs help, obviously, because as far as I know, he won't ask for one if he's not desperate."

"You guys didn't even try to call me while I'm gone," Ryder dropped the bomb.

My mother was especially affected with this. "You guys didn't?"

"Clearly, we have our own ways on teaching my child," Mr. Black retorted.

"Clearly, you guys don't know how to make your child comfortable enough to live in your own house," my mother said.

"Muffin," my father whispered to my mother. "I think you've gone too far."

"Damn hell if I went too far! These guys just came here and demean our daughter and put down their son faster than me swishing my hair!" Mom swished her hair. "My children and your son was brave enough to tell us about what was happening. Us, not you. They trusted us enough to tell us about it!"

"Mrs. Hale," Ryder's gaze on my mom held a newfound respect and fondness.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome here," Mrs. Black said as she got up from her seat. She grabbed Ryder on the arm, but before she could pull at him, he flicked his hand away.

"No."

The look at both Mr and Mrs. Black were what you'd call a 'death glare', because if this had taken place in a world where magic or the tiniest bit of science fiction exist, their combined glares could kill someone. Predominantly Ryder Black.

"I'm not ready to go back home," Ryder took a stance.

"Ryder," Mr. Black was saying his name very slowly. "I'm sick. I very probably only have less than half a year to live. Don't do this to me."

The mention of his life expectancy put a frown on my parents' faces. Quentin could only stare at Mr. Black with widened eyes and cursed lowly under his breath.

"Ryder," I tried to find his hand, but Ryder was also already grasping for mine.

"You're sick, Dad," Ryder said, his eyes were glossy due to the combination of hatred and god knows what. "But you're still an asshole."

And with that thrown to the room, Ryder released my hand and stormed off the room. Before he was out of the earshot, however, he managed to shout a 'Thank you' salute to both of my parents. And me. And Quentin.

Even Quentin.

He really was distressed and confused, that boy.

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Part three of the Red Breakfast consisted of me running off towards Ryder as he reached his (Linda's) car on the front of our house. He had already started up the car when I snuck in the passager seat.

"You don't want to be with me right now," he warned me.

"You look like you're ready to murder something and quite frankly, I can't look at your face right now without wanting to piss myself involuntarily," I stated the truth. "But yes, I want to be with you right now."

"I won't be nice, even to you, I don't know if I can afford to be nice right now."

I nodded as I buckled my seatbelt. "I'll try to understand."

Ryder spared me a glance with his bloodshot eyes, and then, silently, he drove the car in an alarming speed.

I watched the street went by quickly, the white streaks became dots with the velocity that Ryder was going at. It was an advantage that the car had a manual stick, because it allowed him to swerve and change lanes while maintaining the speed.

My whole body was on the seat, my legs tucked against my chest and one of my hand was inside my mouth to prevent me from asking (for the fiftieth time) regarding where were we going.

The whole time, Ryder was silent and the seething look on his face never quite faded.

Maybe he was right, maybe I didn't want to be with him right now. Because I was confined in a little space with an angry, hurt version of Ryder, and he'd expect me to do something to comfort him. That's something that I was lost at. Because right now, all I cared about was to get to wherever he was taking me safely, more than anything. Because right now, I was going through a cycle of hate in which I blamed myself for not thinking more about my boyfriend, and yet not wanting to forget the rule of survival.

"R-Ryder," I tried again. "Um, can you please stop looking so angry?"

He responded to me by adding another 10 in the MPH. I should have stayed quiet.

I didn't want him to drive alone in this state. I didn't know what he'd do, I didn't know where he'd end up, and usually, usually when he left home very angry, he'd bring back home a a girl and have an intimate time with her.

I certainly didn't want him to bring back home a girl who wasn't me.

It was Sunday, and not even nine in the morning, but we were parked at the bushes near the church that was seven miles away from my house.

And Ryder was looking at me with those cold brown eyes.

He didn't ask right now, as he tried to kiss me in the mouth. Surprised, I gasped. He noticed my unwillingness, and backed away from me, his lips stretched in hurt.

"My family's dysfunctional," he finally said something. "I tried to drive to the place where I usually buy alcohol, but I don't want you to see me like that."

I nodded to indicate to him that I had been listening.

"Can you say something?" his voice came out as a rasp. "Can you at least comfort me?"

"I-" I brought my knees closer to my face. "I-I don't know how."

"Christ, April," Ryder groaned as he smacked at the side window. "Goddamn it. I'm the one getting obliterated by both of our parents, I'm the one whose bestfriend just died yesterday, and you're the one crying now. This is not fair."

I felt my whole cheeks soaked in salty tears. "I'm sorry."

Once again, Ryder punched the side window. I didn't know if he could hear me or not, but he stared away from me, his hair falling into his face, framing his eyes and nose.

We stayed like that for a very long time, and during that, I tried to suppress the impending bad thoughts that started to cloud my mind. Bad thoughts that included Ryder not wanting me anymore, bad thoughts that included me berating myself because of my incapabilities. I regretted my decision to run to him an hour ago, because it just highlighted how very incompetent I was into providing him something that he needed the most: a clear display of love.

"Everyone seems to think that I'm taking advantage of you," Ryder said suddenly. "They make me think that they're right. Sometimes I think I'm just forcing you to be in a relationship with me. And you just agreed because you're afraid I might eat you if you refuse."

No. No no no. That wasn't the case. And yet, even though my mind was full of long-speeches on how special he was for me, all I could display to him was vigorous shaking of the head.

Ryder transfixed his eyes on me, and I was pained to see how very broken he was. "Look at you. You look like a scared little cat. Am I really that scary? I'm a bad guy now because I drove fast and tried to kiss my own freaking girlfriend without permission? Go on, just tell me that I'm a bad guy! Tell me that I didn't deserve-"

He didn't continue, because I pressed my lips against his.

He was surprised at this, that much was evident. His mouth was parted a bit in shock, and his eyes were still opened wide. I pulled away a little.

"Close your eyes, it's kinda awkward to kiss while looking at each other."

Ryder complied, and again, our lips met tentatively. It was chaste at first. Very chaste, in fact, as he seemed too afraid to make any move. His hands were frozen on the steer, and I was left in a very awkward position in which the upper half of my body was leaning on him, and the bottom half sprawled taxingly all over the place.

He seemed to notice this, and he surprised me by grabbing my waist and pulled me up so that I was straddling him. He lowered the seat, and he was lying on it, me on top of him.

Our mouths never strayed too far away.

I caressed his hair, his cheek, I caressed his shoulder and his hard stomach. I didn't know how else I could transfer all these feelings that were all pent up inside of me. I cared about him, and he didn't know about it. I wanted him to be happy and I wanted him to smile, and yet he kept being sullen.

Ryder's brown eyes met mine in a flash, but before I could look away, his calloused fingers cupped my face gently.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"I'm great." I paused. "I never asked you if you're okay with me kissing you without permission."

That lopsided grin appeared. "You never have to ask."

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It took us approximately an hour and nineteen minutes to actually stop making out. I was so distracted by him and the way he used his mouth (up until know, I never would have thought that being licked in the neck would feel like that) that I forgot to count the seconds. But we stopped when the church bell rang and he realized that it would mean literally blasphemy to make out in front of church-goers just out from a sacred ceremony.

And then we drove to Mc. Donald's, per my request.

I hadn't gotten the chance to eat that pesto that my Mom made, and with that much exercise early in the morning, I had gotten hungry. We ordered our meal, and Ryder insisted paying for my food even though I knew his family's financial condition was in the rut.

And then, out of the blue, he said to me,

"You're my saving grace."

Since I was expected to reply, I pointed at myself and asked for confirmation. "Saving grace?"

"You knew how I used to react to the fights in my family," he mused guiltily. "By fighting, drinking, and sleeping with any willing girl. But ever since you're here, I don't need anything else. What kind of magic spell do you put me, April?"

"I didn't put any magic spell on you," I said. But my ears were hot just hearing about his old habits. Just a few months ago, I would have considered this a juicy gossip to share with my mother. 

"I could hear it, you know. When you're doing it with someone else."

"And I'm sorry for that," he pressed at his burger. "I'm really sorry."

"It's ok, around that time, I would be too busy trying to make out what bizarre tattoo was on your side."

He grinned. "The Gear, you mean? That one was good-looking, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes. I really like it. I think it's cool and nerdy. I would never have thought that I could use the word cool and nerdy at the same sentence."

"Me, too," he said, as he looked straight at me.

And then, a few moments later, he announced.

"I think I need to go home. To set things straight with my father. He's still an asshole, but he's still my father. Plus, he's dying. So there's that."

And even though this decision meant that he wouldn't be staying at my place anymore, even though this decision meant that I would be lonelier and constantly worrisome of his whole being, I nodded. Because I knew that it was the best for him.

"I think you should."



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The Red Breakfast: Inspired by The Red Wedding in Games of Thrones

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