Landfill

My mean girl conscience kicked in when Ryan had rolled me over so I was beneath him. Still, our lips stayed attached and my sweet side triumphed the mean side. With my hands in his hair, I felt too good to just stop him and become a bitch again.

Ryan's hands moved up the sides of my pajama covered thighs and bottom. My legs lay open, he was in between him, moving against me, almost like he was humping me. I giggled at the word in my head, causing Ryan to pull back, "What?" He asked with a small pant.

"You were humping me."

Ryan laughed, rolling over to my side, pushing my leg over. He and I laughed like complete idiots. It was the first time, in a long, long time, I felt carefree. I knew what that meant in that moment; carefree, no walls built up. I smiled, giggling as I looked back at Ryan.

"I hate you for making me feel like a stupid girl." I told him as I pressed my palms to my face.

Ryan sucked his teeth, "Excuse me," he said in a snotty tone, "You kissed me."

I looked over at him, noticing that he was joking. I shook my head at him; "I hate you, Ryan."

"I like you," he rolled onto his side, "Aren't we just a great pair?"

I blinked, my head feeling fuzzy, "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

He laughed, "Sometimes, yeah, but I wouldn't call you one."

I hated myself for wanting to spill my entire life to Ryan. To tell him all about my fears, dreams, aspirations and hopes. I wanted to kiss him, ravish him -all dirty things you'd expect two single 20-sum odd- year olds.

But I couldn't. I never had my heart broken, but I've heard and read about it. I've seen it with my very eyes and I couldn't go through that. A large fear of the unknown, it scared the depths of my heart.

Boys are rough, never gracious. They're devious and play girls like fools. They make us cry and beg, they promise the world and lie. They never fulfill what they should. I didn't want that for myself.

I couldn't... Not with Ryan. What if he was the one?

God, here I go talkin' like a girl again.

"Nick?" Ryan's hand touched my cheek.

I blinked yet again, looking him in the eyes; he was confused. I exhaled, "You should get to bed, Ryan."

He looked disappointed; "Oh. Yeah, okay."

Ryan got up, pulling the covers back for me, "Goodnight," I said to him, "And thanks--"

He waved, "It was nothing; you're light as a feather."

I smiled faintly as Ryan's lean figure stalked out of my bedroom. I fell back against my pillows, cursing my illogical head and tender heart.


My sleep was terrible. I tossed and turned, rolled around and dreamt about kissing Ryan. I woke up with a slight headache pounding against my temples.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and looked at the clock; it was 10 am. I pulled my legs from my comforter, and stretched before going to get some coffee. To my surprise, Ryan was singing softly in the kitchen; he didn't sound bad, but he wasn't great either. It was a nice mixture, and I stopped half way there to listen to him. I wasn't sure what song it was... It sounded like a really old song.

He stopped, or rather his voice trailed off. The coffee pot bubbled and brewed, so I continued my way in.

"What's that song?" I asked him as I entered the kitchen.

He hummed, eye brow raised, "What song?"

I smiled at his messy bed head, and licked over my lips, "The one you were just singing. I like it."

Ryan's cheeks burned a soft pink color, eyes wide and casting downward, "Uh, the song?" He asked again, mostly to himself, "It's called Love Street by the Doors."

"I never heard of the Doors before." I said as I followed him to the kitchen table.

He handed me a cup of coffee, "Really?" He asked quizzically.

"Yeah... They sound old... Are they?"

He nodded, "Yeah. Jim Morrison, he was the lead singer."

I nodded, "Oh. I think I've heard of him... Was he, like, 27 when he died?"

Ryan nodded again, sipping his coffee, "Yep." He replied as he set the cup down.

I took a sip of my own, watching Ryan as he played with his cup. This was incredibly, unintentionally, awkward. It's as of we had, had sex last night and were now ashamed. But, we didn't so why?

"Ryan, can I--"

He stood up, "Hold on, I gotta get some stuff real quick."

Ryan left the room before I could respond. I watched him, hearing his light foot steps hurry down the hall, into his bedroom. He returned with a book bag, "I got one of his poetry books for Christmas one year."

Ryan pulled out a thick white book with a male on the cover; whom I assumed is Jim Morrison. It was entitled; Wilderness.

"It's all so weird," he told me, pushing the book towards me, "I think you'll get a kick outta it."

I touched the book, seeing how worn the cover was, with creases. The corner of the pages had gotten wet and were crinkled out dried, and some were folded, to remind him what page he had left off. I loved books like this, it means that they were cherished and loved. I was more so excited about how he kept the book, rather than what was inside. The worn look made me want to read it even more.

"I can't wait to read this." I murmured softly.

Ryan sat back, "You can keep it."

"Well, we do live together, so I don't believe it'll be mine."

Ryan chuckled, "Keep it, I think you'll enjoy it more than I ever did."

I held up the book, "I don't think so."

"I was just fascinated by him. I don't know the poems by heart yet, but I plan to."

I flipped through the pages, reveling in the sound of the crinkled pages rushing together, "Thanks."

Ryan shrugged, smiling when my eyes landed on him, "No problem." He stood up suddenly, "I've got to go, I got a job interview at a record store."

My spirits sunk, "Oh, good luck."

Ryan leaned over, pressing his lips to my head, "Thanks, Nikki."

I waved to Ryan as he left the apartment with his book bag. I sighed heavily, my hands on the book, "Ryan knows how to sucker punch me." I mumbled, looking over the book, "Damn him."