hotel ceiling ✔ randy

chapter six

We both sat silently. I was in shock. I never thought I'd see Rye crying.

I guess I've been a bit judgemental. It just seems that Rye has everything, what's his need to cry? He has money and friends and popularity and family... doesn't he?

Maybe his parents are like mine. Maybe not exactly the same, but maybe his parents... I don't know.

But out of all the people in the world, I never thought I'd find Rye Beaumont sitting in a park, alone, crying.

"Are you alright?" I asked and he glared at me a little.

"I'm sitting in a park, all alone, crying, and you ask if i'm alright?!" He snapped and I jumped.

"Okay, okay, not the best thing to ask, sorry. But, but why? Why are you sitting here alone, crying?" I asked. Rye turned his head and stared at the duck pond.

"It doesn't matter." He replied softly. I sighed.

"Rye of course it matters."

"But why? why does it matter to you?" He asked, turning to face me again. I shrugged.

"I told you Rye. It's just the way I am. If I know someone's not okay, I can't just ignore them." He nodded and looked back to the pond. We sat in silence.

"Y'know, I used to come here all the time, as a kid." I said, crossing my legs. I followed Rye's gaze over to the pond.

"Yeah?" He said and I nodded.

"Yeah. I never came to the pond, though, until I was about, I don't know, 13? Maybe?" I mumbled.

"Why?" Rye asked, and I could feel his eyes on me.

"Because no one else came over. I was more for the swings and slide." I said with a small chuckle.

"But then.. things changed for me. I wanted a quiet place where I could cr-come to be.. alone." I stuttered, almost telling him the real reason.

"Why did you want to be alone?" Rye asked and I shrugged.

"I just.. prefer being alone. I always have. That way, I can't get hurt." I turned to look at him.

"But if you do get hurt by someone, and you're all alone, you have no one to turn to, to make you happy." He stated. I stayed silent. I never thought of that before.

"No one's really wanted to be my friend, apart from my co-workers." I stated.

"I could be your friend." Rye suggested quietly. I looked at him.

"I don't know, Rye." I sighed.

"Andy, I know that I've hurt you. I know that what I say hurts-"

"So why do you say it, then?" I interrupted.

"Because that's who I'm surrounded by-" I frowned.

"That doesn't make any sense." I said, puzzled.

"Can you just let me speak, please?" He asked and I nodded:

"Yeah, sorry. Continue." Rye once again turned to face the duck pond.

"My parents have always been... like that. They always make fun of people who don't have a lot of money, who don't have a big house... they've made me be like them. They want me to be like them." He paused.

"But I feel guilty. I'm not like my parents. I hate making fun of people and bullying them. But because I hang around with my brother... He'd tell my parents if I was, y'know, nice to you...." His voice trailed off.

"So it's like you don't have a choice." I said, starting to understand. Rye nodded.

"Yeah. I've always kind of wanted, to be your friend."