Summer Camp (Ryllon)

Two: Run in

-Ryan-

Walking around with Mikey was not a good idea. Several people began to talk to him, and next thing I know, he's gone and I'm alone. I mumbled a few hey's and nodded, but none of it stopped Mikey seemingly forgetting about me as they all walked off.

Dan and Z would never allow me to be alone back home. They made sure there was always someone with me, and that meant I always felt kinda protected. Now I'm vulnerable, open, scared. I wish they could've come with. Jokes on me for being the only one out of us three to not have a job and be busy working all the time.

I turn and begin to walk the other way, looking to the side at the lake that I don't think I'll ever swim inside. I'll figure this out myself. I'll walk myself, I don't need Mikey, I don't need Josh. I just need-

Slip.

Falling.

Body. 

Fear.

The second time I've run into someone today. Except I didn't just run into someone. I crashed, and I began to fall. I was caught, but we fell together down from the slightly steep hole in the ground. My side hits something and it begins to feel weird, almost wet.

"Fuck," he says after we hit the ground. 

"I-... I am so sorry, I didn't mean to- I should've watched where I was going, I-" I stop, crawling off of him and shamefully looking away as we stand.

"You're right," he says, dusting the dirt off of himself. I look up at him and that's how I notice his really attractive features. "You should've watched where you're going." He sighs quietly. I feel guilt and embarrassment bubble inside my stomach. He looks at me, and his pretty ocean blue eyes stare into my scared brown ones. He stops a bit, but they soon fall down to my leg and my side. 

"You're bleeding," he points out. 

"What? No, I'm-" I look down. My leg must've gotten cut from the rock pretty bad, because there is a short tear in my jeans by my ankle, revealing blood rushing. There is also a tear in my shirt. "I'm fine, It doesn't even hurt." 

I take a step and immediately regret saying it. I gasp very quietly, wincing slightly in pain. Here's to trying to be normal on my first day.

The guy rolls his eyes and places one hand behind my knees and one on my back, swiftly picking me up. My heart drops and fear fills my mind.

"Wh-... What are you doing? I told you, I'm fine!" I argue. 

"Oh, shut up already." He completely ignores me as he carries me somewhere. I hide my face whenever I see someone as he carries me, not wanting to draw attention to the new kid. The guy brings me into a cabin, closing the door behind him and he sets me down on his bed. His cabin only has one bed. He's lucky. He doesn't have a temporary roommate who accidentally forgets about him. 

He steps into the bathroom, I hear the sink running, then it stops and he walks out with a box of bandages you could purchase at a drug store, four Band-Aid's, and a now wet washcloth. 

"Take off your shirt," he says so casually it's nearly terrifying. 

"What?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly from the anxiety.

"So I can clean your cut. What did you think I was gonna do?" He asks. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm never sure. Last time I trusted someone's instructions inside a locked room, I could hardly sleep or eat for weeks. I still can't. Dan and Z had to both comfort me into falling asleep.

I slowly slide off my shirt, making sure that it covers my arms. He sits close and the cut is worse than I thought. It stings, no matter how numb it is. 

"Lucky for you, we don't have anything on the schedule today," he says while gently dabbing the cold, wet cloth onto the cut, cleaning it. I bite my lip to hold back the wince itching to come out. I guess he notices.

"Sorry," he says. "Not trying to hurt you more."

More.

Hurt me more. 

Maybe that's not what he meant, but I heard it and it's stuck.

"No, no, I... it just stings a little but that's my fault," I say, trying to laugh a little to convince him I'm okay. There's a long silence as he continues to clean up the wound. 

"You're an idiot." His voice is serious. 

"I know," I say immediately. It catches him off guard, even I know that. 

"Why were you even alone? You're new, you should've had someone with you." He reaches for the roll of bandages.

"I did. For a bit, but... I guess Mikey forgot about me..." He wraps the bandage around my waist until it's covered, staring into my eyes. I can't look away. Fear settles in and horrible thoughts begin to flow through my  mind.

"Well, he's an idiot too." 

"If he heard you say that-"

"He wouldn't do anything. It would be dumb if he actually spoke up to me," he cuts me off, and it makes me more confused. He gets down on one knee, rolling up my pants to clean the other cut. The one that hurts more. "I'll lend you some of my clothes, yours are now covered in blood," he says, quickly bandaging my leg. He stands again and lets me cover the small scrapes on my fingers with the Band-Aid's.

"It's fine, I can just-"

"Take off your pants." He turns and opens the dresser, pulling out some clothes. I feel my face heat up but anxiety rise at the same time.

No, no, not like that, Ryan. Fuck, not like that. 

He turns, sees me blushing, throws me the clothes, and frowns slightly. I'm fine. There's a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that says 'WEEKES' on the back. I guess it's his last name. I hesitantly take my shirt off, attempting to put the hoodie on as fast as I can so he doesn't see anything. I slide off my jeans, my shaky hands struggling to get them off. He notices, and kneels in front of me.

His hands feel cold against my skinny legs, slowly sliding my jeans off, making sure to be more careful around the cut. I place my hands on the new scars on my thighs until he looks away from my legs. I put the sweatpants on quickly. He takes my clothes.

"I'll be back, just gonna go have these washed."

"You can throw them away, they're ripped. I don't really have use for them anymore," I say. He nods, leaving with his key. I sit on his bed, leaning against the wall. I hug my knees to my chest, closing my eyes.

If Spencer were here, we would be laughing everything off and figuring it out ourselves. I haven't seen him in two years. I had to move and he stopped talking to me. During the summer I would call and his parents would say he is at a summer camp. Spencer never liked summer camps. Maybe me agreeing to this is just a huge 'fuck you' to him.

It's around 4. I can tell. Z would call this "the golden hour". If I had a dollar for every time she made Dan, Nick, and I go out so she could take pictures, I would probably be able to buy myself a car.

But something about the way the sun glow and the dust mixing makes me feel sleepy. The pain has boosted now that the numbness has subsided, and I try not to focus on it. I focus instead on the warm glow filling the room. My eyes close, the fear fading, the comfort rising. Z's voice flashes in my mind.

"You'll be golden during the golden hour one day."

It won't be today. I know it won't. Maybe it'll be during this summer, maybe it won't. 

I ignore the questions as I slowly fall asleep. Maybe some day.