Dorky Green Eyes (BXB)

~ The Morning After ~

All I really remember about that weekend waking up in the guest room I lived in. The box was in one corner, and Ryan was sitting in one of the chairs in another corner, asleep. Head hurting and feeling worn out, I wiped my face with my hands in an attempt to wake up. God, I feel shitty.

I was kinda hoping, deep down, that it had all been a horrible, anxiety-ridden dream.

I got up and went to wake him. "Ryan," I whispered. "Ryan, wake up."

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Good morning, sunshine," he said, leaning forward to kiss me. No. Morning breath. You smell.

"I had the worst dream that my dad – " I didn't need to finish that sentence. Watching Ryan's face at the mention of the man who had caused me so much misery yesterday assured me that I didn't need to finish the thought. He sighed, and frowned. "What happened?" I asked.

He forced a smile and said, "It was a hectic day. I'm actually glad you don't remember it." I glanced over to the box in the corner and began moving towards it, my nerves growing. "No!" I returned to him and began to speak, but he got up and dragged over the box from the corner. "Just, please be careful when you look in there." I nodded. Ryan tossed off the lid and turned it my way.

My stomach sank into my nerves; a shaky sigh escaped. I remembered everything that had happened.

The cut-out pictures of me.

The letters I send Dad from camp.

My homemade birthday cards.

Every single drawing I ever drew.

My dad had deleted me from his life. Without any sense of remorse, either.

As I fished through the miscellaneous papers, finding doctor's forms and school leaflets and feeling more and more overwhelmed, I turned to Ryan and, hoping he'd say "no", asked, "Wasn't there more?"

"No," he replied bluntly.

His answer did nothing to reassure me. "Ryan," I began, but was unable to finish the sentence; the words threatened to choke me. But Ryan shook his head quickly, looking incredibly upset. My breathing became erratic. "No, please tell me that it wasn't there and that everything's okay." He got off the chair and hugged me silently. "Oh, God," I whimpered, and began sobbing into his shoulder.

Ryan didn't let me see the letter until I had recovered. I now keep it as a memento, to remember why he shouldn't be forgiven. It said:

Adrian,
I find that this is a difficult but necessary letter to writ. I hope your telling us your lifestyle didn't put any ideas into your head about accepting this; I find it sickening. I have failed as a parent in raising you properly, and now I need to erase my failure and move on. No communications at all will be accepted between us from this point on. I am truly ashamed of you, Adrian.
Goodbye,
Daniel Murphy.

The paperwork was a copy, to be filled out in completion and filed when I turned eighteen, since it's illegal to disown a child under that age. It turned out Ryan had read the letter once we arrived home yesterday, right as I apparently blacked out, and he hid the papers in his room. But I was just so upset that I cried so hard that I eventually fell asleep from the emotional exhaustion of the whole thing. I just kept weeping over and over, "Be here with me, please."

When I stopped crying, Ryan didn't let me move. He lifted me/pulled me onto the bed and just sat with me while I calmed down and eventually fell asleep again. I didn't really mind; this wasn't the first time he had comforted me in a time of need. He was really good at that.

I fell asleep, obviously. When I came to, it must've been after six. I walked upstairs to find no one home. Pots and pans had been laid out, but nothing was cooking. Plates were set out, but nothing was done.

I heard Ryan groan behind me. "You're up."

I turned to see him coming down the stairs. I sneered and pointed out, "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"I guess I thought you'd be out for longer." He crossed me and went into the kitchen.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"They all left to go see the Prince of Persia movie."

"And they left you?"

He looked at me. "I told you I'd be there for you." I smiled – he constantly reminded me that his promise was legitimate. His eyes looked me over. "Aren't you cold?"

I suddenly realized I was only wearing boxers. I shook my head and said, "No." As he scoffed at me, a thought momentarily occurred. "Why am I in my underwear?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, you've kicked off your clothes while you've slept, before. You've also kicked me before."

I shook my head in agreement. "I do not like sleeping in pants that aren't pajamas." I glanced down at my sockless feet. "Or socks, apparently. Or shirts."

He chuckled briefly and said, "Go downstairs and put on a shirt and shorts. Then you can help me cook, okay?"

"Wait, you can cook?" I asked, surprised.

"Ye – a little. I'm not good, but I'm not great, either," he replied. Ryan suddenly became aware that I was staring at him. I began wondering what other marvelous talents my boyfriend was keeping from me. "Go. Get. Dressed."

I walked back downstairs, and threw on a t-shirt and shorts. When I returned, the kitchen was alive with activity, and the Beatles was playing over the surround sound speakers.

I grinned and hugged him from behind while he rolled raw meat on the island counter. "You sure know how to treat a guy, don't you?" I remarked. He smiled and told me to go stir the pasta.

Ryan had prepared spaghetti and meatballs (the latter burned a little) with marinara sauce. We had just served ourselves when Ryan asked me to stop.

"What? I'm hungry."

Ryan dashed over to the butler's pantry, and brought back two candles. Wrapping the base in tin foil, he lit them both and dimmed the lights before sitting back down. In the new, romantic light, Ryan simply looked marvelous. The candlelight really accented his green eyes. I also noticed how good his face structure looked, because I notice these things apparently. Despite that, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand, and asked, "Is this really necessary?"

"No," he admitted, taking his fork in his hands. "But it's a nice touch." He looked at me and smiled.

"Yes, it is," I chuckled, picking up my fork to eat. "Dork."

He had even gone through such lengths that he had rented my favorite movie, the first Indiana Jones, and even rented Twilight so we could scream at it because it's a terrible movie. Arguably, it was one of the nicest, hell, even one of the best, evenings I ever had with him.

Years later, Ryan would tell me that that night was the night where he fell in love with me.