Landfill

"What?" I asked, watching his eyes.

He came over, long strides, his sore eyes stared at me still, "You're--You're that Nikki Navarro?" His eyes widened even larger, his bruised lips formed a small smile.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I never had anyone look at me the way Ryan has. I simply shrugged, unsure of how to answer.

"I guess." I mumbled shyly.

"Hey," he began, his hand rested on the table as he leaned over me, "Don't get shy on me now, sweetie."

"No one had ever really known I was that Nikki Navarro." I answered him, growing bolder than before.

Ryan kept the smile perched on his face; he moved back, sitting on the edge of my counter now, facing me, "I can't believe you're Nikki Navarro. I mean..." He trailed almost breathlessly, "I read your book for my literary class and fell in love with it. It was so dark and scary and the foreshadowing--" he stopped himself, "I sound like a weirdo don't I?"

I laughed, leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, "Not at all. You flatter me, Ryan. Keep going."

He looked down, "I always wondered what you looked like. I read the inside of the book, y'know, the about the author part and I kinda got hopeful when I read that you lived in Summerlin."

"How old did you think I was?"

He shrugged, "Older... Like, my mom's age, probably. I was so curious about you, but there wasn't anything on the net. Why isn't your picture on the dust jacket?"

"I want to be anonymous. I like to write, not the acknowledgement."

"Humble." He stated.

"No, I just hate attention."

Ryan raised a brow, "Is that why you don't want me to be your friend?"

I laughed again, "No, I just don't want friends."

He got off my counter, smoothly slipping back into the chair across from me, "Too bad, I'm your friend now."

"That so?"

"Yeah, honey. That's so."

I shook my head at this ridiculous excuse for a tin man, "You don't want to be my friend."

"Why not?" He looked out the window again.

"Because I'm not a good friend. I'm no fun. I'm what you and your hipster friends call..." I hummed, "A loser."

Ryan's head popped towards me, "I have a degree in Loserism."

I rolled my eyes at his attempt to be cute, "Oh, ha-ha. Loserism, huh?"

"I got a BA in it. A minor in Weird."

I smiled now, my eyes looking at my coffee, "You're funny."

"I don't have to try hard. I got accepted into clown college as well."

I looked back at him, "Okay, funny man."

"I'm serious," his controlled smirk of an expression stayed put, "I wanted to go to clown college."

"Why?" I asked, with a tinge of confusion and curiosity.

"I don't know, just to do it." He hopped off the counter and returned to the seat across from me, "Haven't you ever want to try something you haven't?"

"I have and I've failed miserably."

"Shit, at least you tried, Nick."

I raised a brow, "Did you just give my nickname a nickname?"

He laughed, "Yes."

"Stick to Nikki, not this laziness of speaking with Nick."

"Fine," he smiled still, "So, lets get down to business, Nikki Dear; let me be your friend."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going out on a limb and placing my ego on your cutting board. I like you."

I frowned, "You want to do me, is that it?"

His brows shot up, "N-no! No! I just..." His bruised face turned a a flushed pink color, "I like you. I think you're cool and I think you're an amazing writer."

It was my turned to blush, "Really?"

He nodded, "You say that as if no one has ever told you before."

I looked away, feeling the old, buried self consciousness fill my heart and head. I rubbed my neck, "Don't gotta rub it in." I grumbled.

"No ones' ever told you you're good? You were on New York Times' best seller's list! How could you not think you're an amazing writer?"

"I don't know." I answered quickly, "I don't know... I just don't. I sound like a brat when I say it and think it, alright?"

"Think what?"

I shook my head, "I'm not discussing this. I think it's time for you to leave, Ryan."

Ryan's eyes didn't seem to turn into this hostile way I thought they may've. They were gentle and a bit broken, he blinked and then stood up, "Okay. I'll leave." He mumbled.

I watched him exit the kitchen and head toward the couch. With smooth steps, he grabbed his sneakers, slipping them on easily before he turned to me, "Thanks for the night, Nikki."

I was speechless as he quickly left my apartment without a single word. I felt my eye twitch and my brain buzz. I felt sick... Terrible, guilty.

"There you go, again, Nikki," my brain -Nikki Jr.- scolded, "Ruining another life."


By the afternoon, I had a few drinks with my black coffee -at Elaine's house- and I had forgotten about little ol' tin man, George Ryan Ross. I'm not much of a drinker, but I needed one this day. The days of all days.

The day I let my emotions unwittingly surface. My emotions nearly came out in front of some stranger.

Elaine drank from a corona bottle, flipping through the channels on her old TV. Elaine is a petite girl you'd think was in high school. No, she's two years old than me and was the brains behind my operation of sorts. She's a journalist, she keeps my name out of the public and reads whatever I've written. Elaine is a god send.

"What happened with that guy?" She asked abruptly, letting out a crude burp after.

"I let him crash on my couch and then I made him tea this morning."

Elaine looked at me, her pink hair shaped her oval face perfectly, "You didn't sleep with him?"

"No." I took a long swig of my beer, "I don't do that."

"I forgot, you're the 24 year old virgin." Elaine giggled funnily; she was extremely buzzed, not yet drunk.

"Anyway, he's just some kid I felt sorry for." I mumbled coherently.

"Is he alright?"

"He was pretty banged up, but he lived."

Elaine flipped the channels, eyes focused in the screen, "Have you written anything worthy yet?"

I frowned, "No."

"Write about him." She suggested with a slur, "Wouldn't hurt."

I sighed, "I don't want to write about him."

"Make up a character. Make 'em have superpowers, or somethin'."

"Not my MO." I grumbled.

"I'm just makin' suggestions, Nikki." She smiled lazily, "He ain't too bad if you left him stay the night."

"I told you he was hurt and I nursed him with a good night's rest on my old couch."

"Whatever you say."