Mending Ryan Falls ✓

19 | in which he becomes her anchor

'Let me take you somewhere,
Somewhere only we exist.'

.\.|./.

Ryan Falls

|in which he becomes her anchor|

The fear that flashed in her eyes moments ago has begun to subside. But the rage that soared through me only escalates.

I turn away from her, afraid I'm going to punch the image of that unknown man I have once seen but never met. The day I saw him whispering curses to her and glaring at her while she tried to calm him down, I knew he wasn't good for her. I didn't even know her back then and yet I could feel it in my bones. Some things are so obvious, you only have to look and see.

Now, I don't think I have ever hated anyone as much as I hate him. Okay, maybe I have. I hated that man who ruined my life and destroyed my sanity, turning me into a crumbling mess.

"Ryan?"

Her voice pierces into my heart, causing me to close my eyes and shift my expression before I look back at her. The uncertainty in her eyes, the defeat on her face, her slumped shoulders and pale face ... I don't want her to fear me like she fears him. I want her to see the difference. I want her to realize how he mistreats her and remember how she deserves to be treated.

No one deserves this.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she mumbles, looking unsure of herself.

I force a smile, sighing unnoticeably.

"I'm hungry," I say, trying to stay the upbeat Ryan she has always seen.

She isn't fooled, though, watching me closely.

"You won't like what I want to say," I add, averting my gaze and beginning to limp back to bed. Telling her I want to murder the man who has scared her into obedience isn't an option.

This time Crystal sighs. "I just don't get you, Ryan."

I sit on the bed again, looking up at her and smiling.

"I don't get me either," I joke. "But I do get you. Cool, right?"

She doesn't speak, not arguing and not refusing to accept my very general assumption. I can tell she's got a lot going through her head, her eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully and body stiff. Her hair, which is pulled back in a long braid, falls on both sides of her face, making her look thinner than she is.

"Did you have lunch?" I ask her, wanting to pull her out of her thoughts. I don't want her to worry when she's around me. She shouldn't have to think about things with me.

She says nothing, taking a deep breath and making her way towards the door.

"I'll bring it," she mumbles before walking out without a backward glance.

I let my smile slide, staring unseeingly at the empty space she has left. There is so much that I want to ask her, and so much that I want her to know. Rushing things is not an option though. Healing takes time. So does moving on. She needs to see her own worth and not have me mumble it in her ears. She needs to go at her own pace and reach her own conclusions, not have me push her to think what she isn't ready to think yet.

Slow and steady wins the race, and I'm willing to be as slow as she needs.

.\.|./.

Olivia is with me when my leg cast is removed. Apparently, a part of my brain has forgotten I have a second leg and has decided that limping is how I'm supposed to walk, because it takes me a while to get back to normal.