Don't Leave Me Here Alone

Chapter Three

Monmouth was the same as ever, an imposing brick monument sitting on the horizon like a relic from better days. It still looked quite broken down on the outside, and Riah assumed it was still oddly liveable on the inside. He pulled up in the Mercedes, skidding to a halt in a way that made Ivy whoop with excitement. A loose curl slipped out of his low ponytail and fell into his eyes.

"You sure you won't come in?" he asked with the thrill of speed still in his voice. "Everyone would love to see you."

Riah tightly gripped the steering wheel, twisting at it and letting the leather pucker in his hands. "Nah, Man. I've got plans to see them tomorrow."

Ivy sighed. "He misses you, ya know? If you'd just give him a chance, maybe you could be friends again."

"Get out of the car, Ivy."

The thumping of the pulse in his neck was almost painful. He didn't need to hear how Adam missed him. If Adam missed Riah, he shouldn't have broken up with Riah in the first place.

Ivy nodded, looking sad. "Don't worry about picking me up. I'll crash here. We all will."

"Happy fucking families and all that. Fuck off, man. You're not guilting me into staying." He revved the engine to make a point. "Now get the fuck out, because I'm leaving and you're either staying or coming with me."

Ivy finally unbuckled his seatbelt. "You're sure you're okay, man?"

"Ivy, please."

He nodded once and got out, "See you tomorrow, Riah."

The slamming door echoed in the quiet car. Riah blared his electronic music that his friends always teased him for liking, a beat loud enough to drown out the want pounding through his chest as he watched Ivy stroll up to the warehouse.

"Fuck them," he muttered to the empty car and sped from the parking lot with enough force to make his tires scream.

The farmhouse was cold and unwelcoming when he got home. It was lonely days like these where Riah could still feel the ghost of Adam's presence in the house. Having Ivy living in the second bedroom usually helped to dissipate the phantom echo, but not this time. Riah could feel Adam everywhere, as if a piece of his soul was stuck in the walls. Adam's plants were scattered everywhere about the house; only half of them actually in legitimate pots. The rest were settled in tin cans or coffee mugs or paint buckets— anything Adam had been able to find to contain them. The green front door Adam had fallen in love with hadn't yet been painted over. Books Adam had left behind were stacked haphazardly on Riah's nightstand. Riah could still imagine Adam dancing around the kitchen as he made breakfast. Or running around the living room as Riah playfully chased after him. Stripping down and splashing around in the creek just past the tree line. Lazily swaying back and forth  on the swing they'd strung up outside as he read a book. Fixing something on his motorcycle in the garage. Half hanging off the bed and laughing at something Riah had said to him.

But Adam wasn't really there, anymore, and Riah was sitting in the house alone.

Riah hadn't broken the way everyone had expected him to. He didn't fall back into anger, not into drinking. Not even into speeding around in his car. He hadn't tried to escape the pain. Instead, Riah had gone very quiet. He barely spoke. He let Adam explain it to everyone. Merely grunted his way through the sympathy.

He'd looked after the cats and the plants and then went back to bed. Every day, for six months. He'd laid in the misery and swam in the pain and tried to figure out what had happened. He'd known something was wrong, but he hadn't pushed it. He had been worried about Adam and he hadn't said anything to the boy.