You Before Me (28 page)

I do call Ryan twice. She doesn't
answer, so I leave a simple voicemail, asking her to call me back.
She doesn't. Just in case she calls at a late hour, deciding she
does want to talk, I try to stay up. My eyes start to get heavy
during a late night talk show, and before long, I drift to
sleep.

* * *

My phone blares loudly as my eyes
squint open. A pain shoots through my neck thanks to falling asleep
on the couch. I sit up, look around for my phone, and find it on
the floor under the coffee table. It must have fallen while I was
sleeping. My hope is that it's Ryan, but one look at the unfamiliar
number diminishes my hopes.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Gabe? It's Vivian. Is Ryan with you?”
She sounds a bit panicked, which immediately brings me to
attention.

“No, she isn't. She's not with you?”
I'm positive she told me that they were going shopping
today.

“No. I just got to her apartment to
check on her because she cancelled on me yesterday and her phone
keeps going to voicemail. She's not here, and I wondered if she
might be with you. Oh, God!” She screams.

“What is it?” My body tenses waiting
to hear what's going on.

“There's broken glass all over the
kitchen floor! What-”

“Ryan did that yesterday while I was
there. It wasn't a good day,” I sigh, remembering it all. “You
don't know where she might have gone?”

“No. She's never disappeared
before.”

“I'm sure she's fine, but I'll try to
get up with her, okay?”

That soothes her as she demands I call
her the moment I hear from Ryan. As I get dressed, I wonder where
Ryan is. She didn't clean up, like she told me she needed to do.
Instead, she left. Where would she have gone? I'm not sure what I
should do, so I drive around, looking for her car, and feeling a
bit on the stalker-ish side. But then I spot it in the parking lot
of the art museum. It's kind of hard to miss because there aren't
many cars there in the first place.

She was fascinated with the fire
painting, and I bet that's where she is. That's my first stop. Sure
enough, she's standing before the wall, staring at the flames.
Quietly, I walk up behind her and clear my throat.

Ryan glances back, her eyes watery
before they harden at the sight of me. She faces the painting again
and in a harsh whisper, she tells me, “Go away.”

“Ryan,” I try. It kills me that she
won't even look at me. I reach out, my fingers brushing her hips to
bring her closer to me. The need to touch her and feel her is
overwhelming now that she's right here. As soon as the tips of my
fingers are on her, Ryan steps away to be out of my reach. The
message is clear. She doesn't want me here with her. “I'm sorry. I
should have-”

“It doesn't matter,” she interrupts.
“I don't want to hear whatever you have to say. Leave me alone,
Gabe.” With that last sentence, she doesn't sound angry anymore. It
reminds me of when she asked me to leave before, and she only
sounded tired.

“Will you let me-”

“No,” she curtly cuts me off, the
anger flaring again with my attempt.

“Okay,” I relent as a terrible feeling
of despair grasps me. “I'll go.” That's the last thing I want to
do, but I won't force her to talk to me. Her shoulders relax
slightly, just enough to make me realize that they were tense. “If
you change your mind-”

“I won't.”

I ignore her and continue, “Call me.
I'll be working, but we could talk when I get off. We need to talk,
Ryan. I need you to talk to me.”

She doesn't acknowledge me anymore,
and it breaks my heart. It hurts even worse to know that she loves
me, I've inadvertently hurt her, and she doesn't know how I feel.
She's not in the mood to talk to me. I have to respect that as much
as I don't want to do so. Turning on my heels, I leave her behind,
wondering how long I'm going to have to wait before she'll hear me
out.

Ryan

There aren't many people here, thank
goodness. Two lone tears, one on each side, run down my face. Just
as I'm about to turn around, to give in to the plea in his voice, I
hear Gabe walking away. Too late now. I'm not going to chase him,
even if I'm dying to talk to him. He's leaving, and I'll let him
go. I told him to anyway. This is okay, I think as I stare at the
painting.

The bleak, black background is a stark
contrast to the orange-reddish flames. I feel the battle between
the flames as they try to stretch upwards, each lick of fire trying
to reach farther than the other. The longer I look, the more I can
feel the same battle against oneself inside me. This sucks. It's
not making me feel better, so I turn to leave.

I can and will be fine without him.
Part of me wants to fight to hold on to him, but I can't. I won't.
My damn mind keeps replaying Gabe's silence. Over and over. If he
had even an inkling of love for me, he would have immediately said
something.

He didn't.

So, he doesn't.

Besides, I should be more focused on
the disaster I call family. My parents call the following Sunday.
The conversation is much longer than I wanted, but I get my way in
the end. I can still hear the skepticism in their voices after I
calmly explained why I wanted to major in art. My mother was
thoroughly confused why I picked that. I'm pretty sure I scared
them with my outburst, and she was genuinely trying to understand
my decision.

After I told her, she seemed to accept
it. Mostly. Their displeasure was apparent, but it all came down to
one thing. If I was going to fail, then it might as well be because
of me and only me. Then she said that if I changed my mind or if my
grades slipped, they were cutting me off. They weren't going to
waste money on my indecisiveness or laziness. Overall, the
conversation was bullshit.

Nothing has changed. I don't even know
if I want things to ever change. The way our relationship is right
now is all I've ever known. It's a sucky one, but it doesn't have
to change because it would either be for the better or for the
worst. Hell, talking to my mom like normal was new, and I kind of
hated it. Explaining it to her was torture because all it reminded
me of was Gabe. He led me to the decision after all. Damn it. I
miss him.

None of that matters, though. The only
person I'm talking to is Viv. I told my parents I needed some
space, so they've stopped calling for the mean time. And I'm still
ignoring Gabe. He calls, leaves messages, but I don't listen to
them. I can't. If I do, I'm scared it'll wear me down and I'll call
him. My grudge against him is still there, and I'm still mad as
hell over it. Right now, it's easier for me to stay pissed off than
to face the music and listen to Gabe.

If I stop being angry, then it'll hit
me that I bitched at Gabe and he might have been telling the truth.
He could have been seconds away from standing up to his mother.
I'll never really know because I spoke up first. He should have
beaten me to it, but he didn't. Even if he was going to, I don't
want to become a wedge between him and his family. His mother
aside, Gabe has a wonderful family. They love each other to no end.
I don't want to interfere with that.

No matter how many times Gabe calls, I
don't answer. He calls at least once every day, and even a call to
Viv here and there. I was with her the first time he called. She
didn't tell him much, and after she hung up, I told her that if he
calls again, she better not say anything more than I'm fine. Gabe
doesn't get to know those things anymore. I almost want to give in
because he calls her to check on me, but then again, that pisses me
off too. If I wanted him to know, I would answer him
myself.

For now, Viv is all I need, and I'm
happy with that. Finals are coming up in a few weeks. Part of me
wants to go party, get fucked, and forget about everything. I don't
really want to do that, though. Besides, I need to make all A's, so
the only thing I have time for is studying. I don't need my
parents, Gabe, or that stupid four letter L-word on my mind to
distract me.

Gabe

I never went shooting with the guys,
and I've immersed myself in my work. My boss gets sick of seeing me
at the station, finding paperwork to do. If my brain is numb with
writing stuff down, then it'll be too tired to think about Ryan and
her silence. I've tried calling Ryan multiple times, but she never
answers. I don't even get to hear her phone ring and ring because
she hits ignore, sending me straight to her voicemail. Maybe she
just needs time to figure things out for herself. She's probably
having to deal with lashing out at her parents too. Ryan doesn't
need me adding to her problems.

Every day, I think about the night of
her birthday. When she told me in false confidence that she loved
me. I know that I have feelings for her, and I know the extent of
those feelings. Not once did I tell her before Thanksgiving. I
should have because now, she's dealing with what happened with us
as well as her parents, and she doesn't know. What's worse is that
she probably doesn't think I have feelings for her at all. I've
tried to speak with her, but I have to wait until she's ready to
talk to me. Whenever that will be. Every time she sends me to her
automated voicemail, I want to run over there and demand she listen
to me. I can't. So I'll keep calling, keep leaving messages, and
wait until I can't wait anymore.

I make sure to work every Sunday to
get out of going to dinner at my parents. I'm still not happy about
Thanksgiving, and I haven't been talking to my mom that much. Of
course, I'll be back soon enough, but for now, I just want to work
as much as possible. Anything to keep me from being at home.
Because when I'm at home, the thoughts of Ryan are so much worse.
The memories of her birthday party, of the night it stormed and she
didn't want to come inside, of the night we had sex in every room
of my house, and of her smile when she saw I bought Sunkist for
her.

She's everywhere.

When I patrol downtown and pass where
we saw her on Halloween, I think about her stumbling down the
street and me taking her home. Any time Fredrick says something
inappropriate, I remember that night. I think about her every time
I wash dishes. It's crazy! I'll end up washing the same dish for
ten minutes because Thanksgiving replays in my mind as I picture
her breaking down and throwing the glassware onto the floor. I saw
her relax bit by bit with each thing she destroyed, but I stopped
her anyway. All my memories of her play on a loop in my
mind.

I want to see her and force her to
talk to me. The main reason why I haven't is because I don't know
what's going on with her parents. If things aren't going well, I
want to be there for her, but I don't want to make things worse
either. I've even called Viv a few times to check on Ryan. She only
says that Ryan is fine, and she'll let her know that I called. I've
done everything short of stalking over there.

“You're here early,” Fredrick says,
taking a seat in the empty chair at the table in the break room,
pulling me from my memories.

“There was some paperwork I needed to
do.”

“You've been doing a lot of paperwork
lately.”

“Are we going to work or not?” I
snap.

He holds his hands up in surrender as
I mutter an apology, and we head outside to leave. I don't know why
she continues to ignore me, but I think it's time I stop doing as
she wishes. Tomorrow, Ryan is going to talk to me because I can't
let this go on any longer.

* * *

The sound of a gunshot rings loud in
the air.

“You good?” I call out to
Fredrick.

“Yeah,” he yells back.

The idiot shooting at us takes off
running down the street. We got a call about a burglary in progress
and came onto the scene while he was still here. I move from my
spot behind the car and take off after him. I yell out for him to
stop, but it's pointless. He rounds a corner about ten seconds
before I do.

Two shots ring out, burning pain
hitting me in the shoulder and knocking me down with surprise. His
footsteps take off again and moments later, Fredrick is next to me.
God, this hurts. The next few hours pass in a blur as I'm shipped
off to the hospital, and they go to work on my shoulder.

When I wake up in a hospital room, I
think about Ryan. I haven't spoken to her in two weeks. I miss her,
and I want to talk to her. I want her. It's that simple. My
shoulder aches, and I turn my head to see my mother asleep in the
chair. A nurse enters the room, dragging my attention to her. She
smiles when she sees I'm awake.

“How are you doing, Officer O'Connor?”
She asks quietly.

“You tell me.”

“You're doing well. After some time to
recover, you'll be good as new,” she tells me as she looks at the
numbers on the monitor.

“What time is it?” I
question.

“Almost four in the
morning.”

“Gabriel?” At the sound of my mother's
voice, I turn my head. She's sitting up in the chair with a blanket
covering her lower body and a pillow has fallen behind her
back.