Landfill

Ryan sprawled on my couch, snoring heavily. It was hard hawking him into the elevator, but I did it. By the time I slugged him onto my couch, I believe I grew a few bicep muscles.

I stared at him for a few seconds as his snoring grew gradually louder. I could see this sadness in his features; a little bit of fatigue and exhaustion with the red and darkening bruised. I stepped over towards his feet and removed his shoes, setting them beside the couch; I went off towards my linen closet, getting the boy a blanket to sleep beneath.

After he was all tucked in, I went off towards my bedroom to undress and slip on my pajamas. As I flicked the light on, my reflection in the mirror caught my eye; I had a smear of blood on my jaw and cheek. I continued my mission to undress, and successfully put my pajamas on before heading to my bathroom to wash the makeup and bit of blood off my face.

I easily washed it all off, seeing the mixture of black, soft pinks, pale concealer and Ryan's blood in the sink. I watched it swirl down the drain before I dried my face and ultimately went to my room. I sunk deeply into my bed, beneath my comfort and watching the glow-in-the-dark star stickers above my bed.

The various shades of yellow, green and rare pinks made me feel some ease. At night, my mind ran wild, but tonight, I felt so drained and wished for some idea of what to write. I rolled onto my side and grabbed the second pillow from the left side of me and buried my head against it.


I woke up to birds chirping just outside my open bedroom window. The sky was a light pink, golden sun rising, and the sky a dim blue. I laid there for a moment, waking my bones and head.

I slipped from my bed, grabbing my dark grey sweatshirt from the computer chair by my unused desk and pulled it over my head. I marched on toward the kitchen, wiggling my sleeping toes in my socks; I stopped momentarily when I saw Ryan still crashed out on my couch. The blanket was tangled around his torso, exposing his stomach and the rim of his Hanes boxer briefs. He had his face buried in the couch cushion, not a single snore was heard. I went over and pulled the blanket from over his head and saw him still sleeping; a deep, wonderful sleep, I presumed.

I left the blanket just below his chin and went off to the kitchen. I groaned inwardly at the fact that I had to make coffee this morning; I'm not a morning person. I hurriedly got my coffee maker ready and began to make toast. I wasn't sure if Ryan would want anything; I didn't want to wake him. I hopped onto the counter and buttered my toast and reached for a coffee mug; not before loud wrenching alerted me.

I hopped off the counter, rushing to the living room and saw Ryan slumped forward as he sat up; "Hey, bathroom," I ordered, "Go to the bathroom."

He stood with a sway, and looked at me; cheeks extended to hold in puke; "Follow me." I took his arm and led him to my bedroom's bathroom.

Almost immediately, Ryan slumped over the toilet, heaving grossly. He let out loud groans, puking while I watched. It took no more than a few minutes for him to finish and fall back against the bathtub, "Fuck."

His face was swollen, I noticed it now; he had a deep blackened eye and two split lines on his bottom lip. His hands were bruised, knuckles had various superficial cuts. He groaned louder, "I feel like shit."

"You look like it." I muttered humorously.

Ryan squinted as he looked up at me, "What?" He seemed genuinely lost, and or, confused; "How did I get here?"

I crossed my arms loosely around my middle, "Last night you were in a bar fight and you came stumbling out with some big dude beating you to a pulp."

Ryan nodded slowly, hair stuck at all angles, "Shit. You're the one who kicked him off me?"

"Yep."

He rubbed his face, "Thanks."

"What else could I do?" I retorted.

"Leave me on the curb." He replied quickly.

I frowned at his state, "Thats what you think?"

"You're a girl... Girls don't fight for guys."

"I didn't fight."

"That's not what I meant," he had a sharp edge to his voice, "Ugh, why did I drink so much?"

"Are you hungry?" I asked, instead of returning to last night's events.

He shook his head, "You got tea? Maybe even coffee?"

"I got both," I lent out my hand, "C'mon."

He looked at my had curiously, almost shocked, "You aren't gonna kick me out?"

"No," I raised a brow, "Why would I? You look like hell."

He smiled faintly, "Thanks." He muttered again.

"Like I said, it's no problem. Now, follow me, Ryan."

Ryan stood slowly, taking my hand and holding himself steady on the counter. He went to the faucet, turning it on and cupping the cold water in his palms and raised it to his mouth; he rinsed out his mouth and I managed to get him mouthwash. Again, he rinsed his mouth and with baby steps I led Ryan to my kitchen, helping him sit at the small kitchen table. I went to the stove, taking my tea kettle and filling it up with water and set it on the heated stovetop.

"Coffee or tea?" I asked him.

He rubbed his head, "Tea."

I grabbed two mugs, and set one on the counter and pour myself coffee. I grabbed my cold toast and sat across from Ryan; "I have to ask," I began, "Why were you fighting that big man last night?"

Ryan shrugged, "Thats how I get when I'm drunk... I turn into this kind of asshole and fight big dudes."

I took a sip of my coffee and then bit my toast, watching him trail invisible lines on the table top. "What happened?"

"He was giving me this look," he licked his bottom lip, "I don't know, I figured it was some way of threatening me."

I smirked, "You know, if you fight someone, make sure they're smaller than you are."

Ryan laughed quietly, "I'm too confident when I'm drunk."

I was going to speak when the kettle began to scream. I stood up, making my way to the stove, pouring the hot water into the big with a tea bag inside, I returned to the table, after shutting off the stove, and handed it to Ryan.

"What'd you bring me here for?" He asked curiously before blowing at the hot tea.

"I didn't know your address," I said with a small shrug of my shoulder, "And you couldn't give it to me."

"Why didn't you just get my wallet?" He spoke this as if it weren't the most obvious notion in the world.

"I didn't think about that," I answered, "Besides, I would've felt terrible about letting you go home by yourself."

Ryan's long fingers wrapped around the mug, "I don't really have a home anyway. The address on my ID is my dad's house."

There was a billion questions shuffling in my head; I genuinely got lost in my head. I drank a bit of my coffee before asking: "You don't live with him?"

He shook his head, "I dropped out of college last year and he threw me out. He died not too long ago."

My jaw nearly fell from my face, "Oh, wow... I'm sorry."

Ryan shook his head, to himself and possibly to his own thoughts, "I've been living with a few friends, but nothing stable."

Now, as the poor man-boy looked down at his tea, I felt horrible. I don't show much emotion, not much apathy, but I truly felt bad for him. This funny, thin like tin man had no stable home to go to. No wonder he was drinking.

"Where are you staying right now?" My voice came out small and weary.

"My friend Brendon's got this small, teeny apartment on Bell street near a smoothie shop," he explained, "I don't like staying there too long; he's got a girlfriend."

I bit back the words to say to help. I wasn't one to help, I suck at helping others. You either don't do enough or you do too much. There's no winning; people always expect more. I couldn't find the balance in between.

"You're the first girl to let me stay the night." His eyes stayed fixated on the mug.

"I didn't have a real choice, other than maybe leaving you in that cab." I answered truthfully.

"How do I repay you?" He asked then, hands still clasped around the cup, raising it to his lips.

I knit my brows, shaking my head, "You don't have to pay me back."

"I want to." He insisted, placing the mug down, "I'd like to."

"It's fine." I said shortly.

"Please?" He almost begged, "I feel like I should... I mean, you did help me keep from getting beaten to death."

"Clean up your face a little," I began, "And, if you wouldn't stalk me, that's be great too."

He smiled, his slit lips curved and chapped, "I'm not stalking you."

"God has a way of being very convenient, yeah?" I smirked at him.

"If you think so."

I hummed softly, sipping my coffee again, leaving the cup to my lips. Ryan looked around my kitchen, and then stood up; he went towards the barred off window across the sink, "Prime real estate." He muttered.

"You like it?" I asked curiously, settling my mug on the table.

"Yeah, you got a great view of the strip." He leaned over the sink, "I want a place like this."

"Do you work?" I asked him curiously.

He looked at me, shaking his head slightly, "Trying... My dad left me some money, but I can't touch it until I'm 25."

I frowned, "That sucks."

"I'm surviving. I never really asked him for much anyway," he turned his head back to the view, "What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

His head shot back in my direction, "Really?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"What do you write?"

"Uh, romantic dramas. I wrote a book about a serial killer, kind of like Jack the Ripper-- from his point of view."

His eyes widened, "Holy shit."