Am I the Only One to Blame?

Ryan’s PoV:

“Dammit!” I screamed and slammed my fists against the brick. I continued to punch and curse, my knuckles rapidly becoming bruised and bloody.

Out of my peripheral vision, a guy leaning against the wall a few yards down got up and rushed over to me. “Woah, woah man. Chill out.” He put his hands on my shoulders and backed me away from the brick.

I turned around and took a proper look at him. Short dark hair peeked out beneath a colorful cap that shaded his face from the blistering sun. He wore tighter jeans than me (if that was even possible) that disappeared into a pair of chunky red dunks. I could see little of his shirt, it was buried beneath a bright purple hoodie. How anyone could wear a hoodie in this heat was beyond me.

“Brah, you need t’ just stop and take a couple deep breaths. You don’t wanna end up in that place.” He cocked a thumb at the hospital. The cigarette in his mouth wobbled as he spoke.

My breath heavy with the recent exertion, I managed to choke out a hoarse “Wh-who are y-you?”

He took his cancer stick out and flicked it into an ashtray. “The name’s Gabriel. Everyone just calls me Gabe though.” He stuck out his hand. I shook it; he seemed like a nice guy.

“I’m Ryan.”

He handed me a beer from his cooler. “So Ryan my friend, what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

I frowned. “It’s a long and complicated story.”

He leaned back against the wall and opened a beer for himself. “No prob. I got time to kill.”

I hesitated. Should I tell my story to a complete—albeit seemingly harmless—stranger? Although there was nothing morally wrong with such a thing, it seemed improper. One of those things your mother always scolded you for. Don’t talk to strangers. But then again, I needed someone to talk to. Someone who had no personal attachment to me or anyone else involved in this mess. This guy seemed like the type that would give you an honest opinion—not giving a rat’s ass whether you liked it or not.

So I leaned up on the wall next to him, taking a sip of my beer.

“Well, I’ve known her for a long as I can remember…”

_______________________________
I raced up the steps to her apartment door. I had to make it right, I just had to. After I told my story to Gabe, he smacked some sense into me—literally. He marched me back up to Brendon’s room and made him give me her address. He made me realize what a complete and ignorant fool I was. Every time the girl I loved tried to get me back, I had been pushing her away. I had been so wrapped up in my self-pity that I wouldn’t listen to reason. I only hoped that she wouldn’t be as reluctant to hear my apology as I had been.

I reached her door and lightly knocked. I was instantly nervous. Dread filled my being; I was certain she’d slam the door in my face.

No answer.

I knocked again, this time louder.

No answer.

I squinted my eyes and peered through the warped glass window in the door, I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a figure sitting on the edge of a bed, completely silent.

I knocked obnoxiously loud, watching through the window at the same time.

I saw the figure slowly stand up. S/he was holding something I couldn’t quite recognize in his/her hand. As the figure slowly raised the object higher in the air, I saw it hit the sunlight softly coming through the window...it was a knife. In horror, I watched as the knife traveled closer and closer to the person’s throat.

Now, I knew I didn’t have much in the muscle department, but in that moment I felt an adrenaline rush like I have never felt before. I banged and slammed on the door, shaking the frame and causing the rusty hinges to scream in protest. I rammed my shoulders, knees, elbows—anything I could at the door; desperate to save the person within.

With a thunderous crash, the door broke open and a fell inside the apartment. Before the dust could settle, I scrambled up and ran at the person in front of me and tackled her to the floor, knocking the knife out of her hands and watching as it flew across the wood floor under a table. She struggled, but there was no way in hell I was letting her proceed with whatever the hell she thought she was doing.

Sadly, when I saw her face it didn’t faze me at all. I didn’t need to stop and take in the situation, it was all too predictable. In my heart I must have known all along it was her. It was all my fault. I had driven her to this desperation. If I had any shreds of my heart left, they were broken all over again, but this time, I had no one to blame but myself.

She continued to struggle and squirm frantically under me but I held on for dear life—well at least for her’s. It was probably the last thing I should have done in this circumstance, but I couldn’t see any other way to calm her down, or at least distract her enough until I could make her see reason.

I lowered my face towards hers and grabbed her head in my hands. Our lips inched closer and closer together, as if the last couple of years had never happened. It was almost as if we were back at the park, the pizzeria, the secluded corner in our old high school—all our old hangouts from way back when. There was nothing but us and the endless time we thought we would have together, stretched out like a great yellow brick road—magical and eventually leading us back home where we belonged.

But just before we completely connected, she stopped and looked up at me, completely pulled out of our daze.

“Why can’t you just leave me in peace?”