Landfill

I don't know how long Ryan had gone, but when he returned, he had cigarettes. I was sitting at the table, mindlessly stuffing cold, chunky fries into my mouth. I looked up at the clock as soon as he came in and over to me.

It was 10:11.

"Where'd you go?" I asked him.

"Walking. I bought you some more cigarettes."

I thanked him quietly before ripping the package open and grabbing one greedily. I lit up and took the longest drag of my life; my fingers shook, and I wasn't entirely sure why.

"Nick," Ryan sat across from me, "What're you thinking?"

"That you're an idiot." I muttered, smoke billowing after my words. "You're an idiot. You cease to care about my and your safety. You..." I looked over at him, sucking the nicotine from my cigarette. He looked sad, apologetic, almost pathetic as well, "You have to stop."

Ryan's head hung now. His hand ran over his neck. "I can't, Nick."

"Why the hell not?" I damn near screamed, "Why not?"

He looked up now, "Because it's good fuckin' money. I bought you that ring--"

I put my hand up, stopping him mid sentence; "Was it really in the elevator that that long?" I questioned now; skeptical.

He sighed, "I found-- Brendon found the guys who rob me. We took care of them, we got everything back, but I couldn't just come home with--" I stood up, causing him to pause; I moved towards the bathroom, "I couldn't come home with everything with the police looking for the shit!" He called after me.

I shut the bathroom door behind me, locking the door and went to the bath tub. I sat down on the edge, and placed my palms flat against my face, with my cigarette hanging between my forefingers.

He knocked on the door with his opened palm, it slapped against the wood; "Nikki, open the door."

"No." I muttered defiantly like a child.

"You act like I'm a serial killer or something!"

"Did you kill anyone?" I asked sarcastically.

He didn't immediately answer me. I took another drag, feeling sick again. "Did you kill someone, Ryan?"

Again, he didn't answer. I sighed, looking down at the hard, tiled floor. "Nick, I had to."

"Why?" I questioned angrily. "Please! Justify killing someone!"

"He robbed me," he snapped back through the door, "He hit me, took my shit, made me lose money! What else was I suppose to do?"

"Take it as a loss!"

Ryan kicked the door, "This isn't some goddamn corporate job, Nicole! This is selling what they want for what I want. You don't fucking understand. We all couldn't be born with silver spoons in our goddamn mouths!"

I shot up, tossing the cigarette in the tub, "You think I'm some spoiled brat?" I exclaimed, "I am not some damn brat! I don't take from my family, I worked for what I have! I spent hours researching and writing to put those books together!" I unlocked the door, ripping it open and glaring at him, "I worked my ass to write those goddamn books, and I had to live with two people who barely acknowledge me. I paid them back every penny they spent on me!" I was beginning to shove my finger into his boney chest, "So, you don't ever say that I'm a spoiled brat!"

Ryan stepped back, his jaw slacked; I was surprised at my outburst. I wasn't one to get angry. My emotions varied outwardly in front of people. In front of Ryan, I felt like a big mess of anger, confusion and love and sadness. Everything in between.

He opened his mouth; "You had it easy--"

I growled, cutting him off, "Yeah, monetarily. Emotionally, I was on my own. I would've given up every fucking gift to have some attention from my parents." I shoved him out of anger, "Everything isn't about money."

"It is for me." He his shoulders poised back, "Can you not understand that?"

"No, I can't."

"Because you've never been without it, Nicole."

"Stop calling me Nicole." I growled again.

Ryan shook his head turned away from me, making his way towards the bed. He sat, with me watching him with a heavy feeling in my chest. I was gonna cry, and I hated how much my eyes watered and stung. The sensation made me sobbed softly; Ryan looked over at me. He stood just as I pressed my palms to my face, again, sobbing into them.

I heard him sigh as he stepped back over to me. I didn't fight him as his arms wrapped around me and he pulled me against his chest. I dropped my hands, wrapping him around his torso, burying my face against his chest. I couldn't sob anymore, I just pressed my face there, holding him because I was afraid. Yes, afraid; of the danger he was putting himself into; I didn't want to lose him.

"I'm sorry, Nick." He whispered into my ear, "Please, stop crying?"

I swallowed thickly, pulling my face back, "I don't want you to die." I confessed to him.

His arms squeezed me tight like a vice; "I'm not gonna die."

"You don't know that," I muttered desperately, "Someone could hurt you... Someone could kill you, and then what? I couldn't live with that on my conscience."

Ryan kissed me softly, "I promise that I'm not gonna die. I'll be careful."

"How?"

He sighed, his hand pet my hair back, "I'll get protection. I won't do anything stupid... I'll keep my big mouth shut."

I wasn't worried about anything else but that. I didn't want him to die. I couldn't imagine living without Ryan in my life.


We fell asleep without any other word. He slept with me like he usually did; arms around my waist and his face pressed against my shoulder. All night, though, I slept every few minutes, thinking deeply about everything.

I felt sick about it. The things he's done. He's got blood in his hands, he's killed someone, or maybe people.

That alone made my skin crawl. I couldn't push him away; the poor boy was so apologetic and holding me. The hell was I to do? A part of me wanted to shove him away, and the other wanted me to keep him close to me.

I was awake when the sun came up and Ryan unexpectedly rolled over, his arms sliding from my waist. I laid still until I knew Ryan was still sleeping. I got up, inching out of the bed and tip toeing my way to the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror; hair ratty, the little bit of makeup I wore was smeared around my eyes and mouth. I sighed, pulling my clothes off and getting into the shower; hot water on blast, letting it scold my skin. I stayed under the water for along time before I heard a knock on the door. I came back to reality, listening to Ryan say; "Nick, can I come in?"

Automatically I spoke up, "No."

I heard a small thud against the door, and nothing more. I waited to hear something, but nothing sounded. I washed my body, my hair and still burned my skin until the water ran cold. Even then, I let the water wash over me, trying not to be bothered with the thought of Ryan.