Unspoken

Chapter Twenty-Four: Ryan

I would like to say that my time away from her has eased the urges, that not talking to her has dulled my interest, but it's only done the opposite.

Last week, when she gave me back my jacket, it was excruciating. Speaking to her like she's just another stranger, looking at her and not kissing her, it's torture, sweet torture that revels in the pain it causes me.

My whole body felt like its atoms were pulling themselves apart just to get close to her, just to watch her skin flare in a devilish red as I slowed my words on purpose.

It was a minute, a mere second, and it was barely enough to get rid of the burning desire to taste her.

It's like it's infectious, it's growing and it won't stop. It seems that every time she sits next to me, it's like her body is calling to me even after her mouth has told me to stay away from her.

She's the path desired but forbidden. Anyone sane knows that the forbidden one is the one everyone wants to take.

Every girl who looks at me only sends disinterest down my spine. I will still kiss them, still lose my mind in their bodies just to feel those temporary highs again, but I imagine her face while I do so. I'm going crazy, and the only time my body is not on overdrive with testosterone are those sweet moments in class when she sits close to me. She's still a good two feet away, but I can feel her cold body shivering.

I think about her as I down another drink.

He sits across from me on the stained couch and studies me with just enough concentration that my grip on the cold glass tightens.

"What?" I ask angrily, fed up with his nosiness.

He holds his hands up in mock defense, a joint buried in between his long and slender fingers, sitting in between two clenched knuckles as his cracked lips turn upwards in a smile, he's enjoying my torment.

"Nothing, man. Why are you so pissy?" he asks, his green eyes dim in the cheap lighting coming from the kitchen. There's no one else here today, which is a tad surprising. Most of the time, he has parties on Friday nights, and especially since it's Halloween, I would have thought he would be tangled between two girls wearing lingerie and calling it a costume.

But it's just us tonight, and something about the way he studies me sets me off right away.

"I'm not, you're fucking staring," I shoot back, pushing my hair up off of my forehead and looking down into my glass just to ensure there's nothing else I can lick off of it. I need more.

"Yeah, because you're pissy," he continues to smile while I scowl at him and I inhale deeply so I don't crack his skull against the wall.

"And you think bringing up my attitude is a good idea?"

"Sorry, my bad. I didn't realize you were this big dangerous man, I must've met the boy, huh?"

My hand grows white against the glass.

"Look, I'm fine. I just don't want to talk about it."

He sits up, intrigued. "It?"

Damn. He can never know a girl is causing me trouble, he would ridicule me for years upon years until he inevitably overdoses on the drugs he consumes every day. I've seen the needles shimmering in the kitchen drawers before, seen the white powder still smeared on his counters, the joints stuffed into the couch cushions. I know he's a lost cause, and I worry for him of course, but it's not my place to tell him to stop.

I was just as bad once, and I was the only one who got myself out of it. I'm hoping he'll do the same.

But I know him, and with his past, he's never going to run far enough. He'll always have it on his heels, and I know deep down he taught me to lose feelings because he once gained them before, but I don't pry. I don't have the energy to do such things.