hate // ryllon

two

Ryan continues to seemingly panic as he stumbles over his words with repeated apologies, hands shaking but working quickly to dry both of us off. I grab the towel from him, trying to get him to stop, but he still continues to talk.

"I should've looked where I was going. God, I'm so sorry, I'm... I'm not usually like this, I just..."

I scoff and dry off a bit as he sinks to his knees to clean the floor. I block out his apologies and throw the towel back at him. He flinches.

"Forget about it," I say. I walk towards the drink, deciding on a cup of lemonade as Ryan stutters for a response. I grab a cup and hold it beneath the nozzle, and I swear lemonade couldn't pour any slower.

"I'm really sorry, I—"

"I heard you the first six times," I say, voice full of annoyance.

"I—"

"Listen, Ryan." I turn around and look into his glossy eyes as he stands. "I am gonna be honest, okay?"

His eyes are slowly filling with tears and he looks guilty and scared. He goes to speak, but I beat him to it.

"I hate everything about you, and I don't want a thing to do with you, so get out of my way, don't bother me, and leave me alone. You've already done enough damage."

I break eye contact and harshly bump his arm with mine, now more annoyed with the terrified look he tried to give me. Now isn't the time to try and act oh-so innocent when I've seen what kind of person you really are.

I walk back into the crowd and maybe, just maybe, I can finally catch a break. No suicide, no Ryan, only a night where I can go home and relax and sleep.

  
 

  
Sometimes I wonder if the universe decides, "Let's make everything that can go wrong for Dallon, go wrong." I wonder if I will even catch a break at this point.

Because now Ryan is in my car.

He is sitting in the front seat and Jon is in the back, and I wish he wasn't, but Jon's house is closest and he told Ryan to sit up in the front. He's been quiet. I can't complain, though, because I don't wanna talk to him anyway.

The littlest things he does are annoying me right now and I don't even know why. I'm annoyed when he is quiet, when he is talking, about him not being happy, about him smiling, about the way he is holding his hoodie sleeves, how—

"Do you think people would still be a fan of me if I were dead?" Ryan suddenly asks. His voice is quiet and sad. A+ acting there, buddy.

"People are still fans of Freddie Mercury," Jon answers, but Ryan doesn't seem satisfied with the answer. Why? You got your question answered, why are you acting all upset?

"I'm nowhere near being as cool and talented as Freddie," Ryan says.

"That's for sure," I mutter quietly. Ryan looks at me, then looks out the window. He heard. Good.

"Dallon is probably the closest thing to Freddie," Ryan says. Is he seriously trying to be nice?

"Yeah, except for the fact that I don't really play guitar, piano, I'm not super famous, I'm not a lead singer, I don't have an accent, I don't look anything like him; shall I go on?" I ask him, sending him a quick glare. He shuts right up and his grip tightens on his sleeves.

"I guess not," he says quietly.

"How are the boys treating you? Is Spencer as nice as he promises he is?" Jon asks. He's friendly, even friendlier when you give him a few drinks.

"You guys have-"

"Been a little hectic, but I think we've all gotten ourselves together and are perfectly fine with how things are," I say, cutting Ryan off. I pull into the driveway after Jon gives a satisfied hum with my statement.