Subtle Love

“Do you need more ice? Can I get you some water? How about some pillows! Oh my god, I am so sorry, I should have warned you or pushed you out of the way, or… or something!” Janice rambles on, feeling guilty about me getting hurt with the football. After pacing the nurse’s room for about seven minutes straight, she finally slumps down in a chair across from my bed and sighs deeply.

“Janice, I’m fine. J-just a little bump, and i-it’s not y-your fault,” I cajole from my place in bed, holding an ice pack to my head.

“But I could have done something!” she whines, deeply sorry.

“Shut the hell up! The girl has forgiven you. Stop making a big deal about it… it’s as if it’s raining meatballs,” Gabe whines from his seat next to Janice, rubbing the side of his temple with his two pointer fingers.

“Well, if it wasn’t for raining footballs, she wouldn’t be here! And if you don’t care, why are you here?” Janice retorts, pouting like a little girl. She crosses her arms over her chest, proving my previous statement of being a little girl.

“I don’t care. And I’m here because I had to carry her unconscious body here,” Gabe gets up from his chair and slugs his bag on his shoulder. “But obviously, since my work is done, I should go,” he saunters out of the room, closing the door behind him without saying anything else and without anyone of us stopping him.

“I’m sor-“Janice starts, but I cut her off.

“Say sorry again, and I will cut you,” I threaten and glare, getting tired from her perpetual apologies that are not even needed. Luckily, for me, the threat is served without any speech impediment.

She is about to say sorry once more, (for saying sorry), but then immediately stops and blushes, looking elsewhere. Honestly, she is one of the nicest people I have ever met. Saying sorry to a stranger is one thing, even if you have not done much. But saying sorry repetitively, staying with them in the nurse’s office and offering to get things is a completely new level of kindness. At least for me.

But I cannot help but think that with all this niceness, she is bound to get pushed to the curve one day. And I am talking out of experience because I can hardly ever say no to anybody or not feel guilty about petty little things.

“When did he get to the field, anyway?” I ask out of curiosity. To say I was shocked to see him and Janice by my bedside when I woke up was really surprising. I was even more surprised when he genuinely looked worried, but that look passed away once he knew I was awake and was replaced by an I-don’t-care-about-anything expression.

“Oh, Gabe? He was already there when we reached. He was one of the few to get out of class first, mainly because he just leaves as he pleases. I was surprised when he ran over to you and picked you up and walked you over here. I mean, he never helps anyone… especially someone he doesn’t even know,” she rambles, enunciating every detail with her hands.

Wow… so Gabe really does have a bad boy image going on. I mean it fits his ripped jeans and leather jacket persona, and he’s known around school to not care. He has a reputation. So why, out of all people, would he help me? Not that I mind, but why would the tiger help the gazelle?

And I did not even thank him! I mentally slap myself on the head and make a reminder to search for him during lunch to thank him. A good deed should never go unnoticed.

In the midst of my thinking, the bell rings, signaling next period.

“You ready to go to lunch?” Janice asks, picking up her things, as well as mine since she labeled me ‘handicapped’ due to my head injury.

“W-wait… Lunch!?” I yell.

“Yeah… you slept through the rest of second period and most of third… Did I forget to mention that when you woke up?” she asks sheepishly, blushing again.

I give her my “no-shit” look but get up nonetheless. I throw the melted ice pack in the garbage and reach out to her to get my bag. She nods heavily and puts it behind her.

“Nope. I’m holding it injured person!” she yelps cheerfully, skipping out of the room with me in tow. I sigh but follow her. I think it was best when I did not have friends. I feel practically useless now and I am pretty sure the headache I have now is from her hyper active attitude—not the football.

It doesn’t take that long to reach the cafeteria, which is buzzing with life. Noise of clamoring utensils and jubilant teens are heard throughout. Mixtures of different food fill the room, but the most dominant is that of pizza and hamburgers—something that the lunch ladies seem to be serving today.

Immediately, I try to keep an eye out for Ryker, since I told him I would meet him for lunch. My eyes browse past the unfamiliar inhabitants of the lunch area, until I catch a familiar blue colored hoodie in the back turned away from me. Ryker is sitting at a table with five other guys, one being Gabe. Perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. I can thank Gabe and also salvage lunch money from Ryker at the same time, since dad always gives it to him for the both of us.

As I stroll between the lunch tables leaving behind Janice who goes to another table, yelling something that sounds like, “Come here after doing whatever you need to.” I see Gabe laugh and wave to his friends, walking towards the doors. Frowning, I follow him, wanting to thank him first before he disappears. Besides, I have plenty of time to get money from my brother and eat lunch.

Strolling out of the doors and into the empty hallway, I call out his name so he hears me. After a couple attempts, he finally heeds and turns around.

His green eyes narrow at me, “What do you want?” he sharply says, startling me. I honestly did not expect that kind of reaction from him. Especially after he just helped me.

“I… uh… wanted to s-say thanks for t-taking me to the nurse’s office,” I utter, fidgeting with my fingers with anxiety. He is a bad boy; god knows what he can do. I know I should not think that way after what he did, but he did snap at me in the morning and just now. Obviously, he does not get along with other people. Though he could, if he acted a little nicer. Like, what is up his butt? So far, I have not heard any major rumors—or any rumors—about him, but I am new. I have no clue what is up with this guy. I know I have no right to judge people, but still—I can’t not ignore Janice or Reagan when he says he has a reputation.

“Are you going to give me a medal for it?” he says, nonchalantly, his tone totally different than a few seconds ago, again surprising me. This boy sure surprises me a lot. Hopefully, I will not have to get used to it after this.

“Wh-what?” I frown, not expecting that response. No, I was expecting, “Oh, it’s was no problem. But I should really be going…” But, nope, I get an unexpected answer from Mr. Bipolar here.

“Did that ball really hit you that hard on the head that you don’t understand what I’m saying? Again...” he says, exasperated, “I said, are you going to give me a medal.” He talks to me like you would to a five year old throwing a tantrum; slow and sarcastically, pausing between each word.

I frown at him, my usually non-existent temper rising up, “Can’t you just take gratuity like a normal person?” I say sharply, not stumbling on my words.

Instead of saying anything, he smirks and walks towards me. And me, being me, I take a step back for every foot he steps forward until there is no more room and my back touches the wall. He places his arms on either side of my head, trapping me within this cage. He moves his head closer to mine, till he is just millimeters away from my lips. My eyes are wide and my mind is flowing with thoughts, none peaceful. I should have just stayed at lunch… I do not want my first kiss to be… stolen and forced, if that is his intention. His eyes pierce directly in mine. Though he is close, very close, nothing of his touches my body.

“See, Roman, that’s the thing. I’m not a normal person. Normal would be your new dimwitted friends. Normal is not me. I’m not someone you want to be friends with. Nope, I’m someone you want to dread with fear. So stay the hell away from me,” he whispers, his peppermint breath splashing in my face.

“W-why?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“You don’t want to know,” he says.

And ever so quickly, he pushes himself off of the wall and struts down the hallway, leaving me befuddled and confused. He is something. And even if he has a bad boy vibe, he does not seem dangerous. Just… guarded… but not dangerous.

Definitely not dangerous.

So why does he make me cower in fear?

And me being overtly shy is not the answer.

“Dad, I’m going out!” Ryker yells from the foyer.

“No you’re not, Ryker!” Dad shouts back from the living room where we are watching reruns of ‘The Cosby Show.’ Dad is sitting on his recliner drinking a beer while I lay all cuddled up on the love seat in my blanket my grandma made when I was little.

“Why not?” Ryker yells out. I hear a stomping in the distance. It is probably him struggling to put his shoes on while standing up. The idiot does not know how to use a chair when needed but will use it if he is asked to mow the lawn.

“Because I am the father and I said so,” dad retorts.

I hear Ryker grunt in annoyance and his footsteps as he walks towards the living room. He stops at the entry way, wearing his favorite leather jacket mom gifted him for his sixteenth birthday, two years ago when she visited.

“And why the hell do you say so?” Ryker argues, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t trust you yet,” dad states, shrugging like it’s is no big deal. But obviously, Ryker being Ryker, he takes it seriously.

“I’m not twelve, dad, I’m eighteen. I can do whatever I want,” Ryker retorts.

“Not under my roof.”

“And why is that, Dad? Afraid I’m going to screw up again?” anger is prominent in Ryker’s voice, but there is also a hint of pain of not having your father trust you.

“Ryker, we are not discussing this right now. You do whatever I say as long as you’re living under my roof, eighteen or not,” dad says sharply. I hate it when they argue. I wish Ryker would just listen and be a good boy rather than rebel against dad’s every wish.

“Exactly dad, I’m eighteen! I can do whatever I want!” Ryker yells.

“Then why don’t you just go!? Why are you standing there? Why can’t you just listen for once like your sister and stay home? I don’t trust you because the last time I did, you ended up in jail! Do you think I like to see my son behind bars? Do you think I like seeing my daughter cry for her brother? I don’t like it all! I don’t like having to move over states because my son fucked up! I don’t like having to get a new job! I don’t like it when you don’t listen and do things no one in their right minds should ever do! So shut up for once, throw your ego out the window, and listen to me!”

Dad is full blown yelling by the end. His deep voice bounces off of the walls, reverberating against the lamps and vases I decorated around the room. Now, instead of sitting down, he is standing, beer bottle forgotten, eyes glistening with anger and dreariness, glaring at Ryker, breathing heavily.

My eyes are wide in shock. Never has dad yelled at us like that. At least not that loud and full of anger. Never, in my seventeen years of existence, have I seen my dad express so much anger you would want to cover your ears. The finalization in his voice would just force you to listen. He was done having the second to last word. This was the line and he just drew it.

Ryker remains silent and expressionless, almost looking like the quaint, scrawny guy he was years ago who was dad’s left hand man. He did not look dangerous or troubled or rebellious or sad or surprised. He looks… stolid and lackluster.

“Fine,” Ryker grunts quietly. He turns on his heels and races upstairs, his footsteps imprinting with the wooden stairs, creating noise through the now still and silent house. I guess, somewhere amidst their “conversation,” I pressed the mute button subconsciously. I cringe when Ryker harshly slams his door, its power vibrating through the house.

Dad sighs, looking solemn as he stares at his feet. After a few minutes of silence, I finally break it. “Dad?” I whisper. I do not know why I whispered, but I feel if I talked normally, my voice would thunder in the still room.

“Honey, I think I’m going to retire to bed a little early. Night, baby girl,” he whispers, walking up to me and placing a short kiss on my temple. I force a small smile and he mimics it, promptly but slowly walking to his room upstairs. Sighing, I turn off the muted television and start picking up any remnants of dinner that we had while watching television. We did not normally eat in the dining room, but we still ate together. I pick up the empty paper plates filled with uneaten pizza crusts and the empty cans of soda my brother and I had, along with my dad’s half-finished beer. I dump everything in the trashcan in the kitchen and go to the basement where I put all my instruments.

Turning the lights on and closing the basement door behind me, I skedaddle down the steps slowly and walk over to the white grand piano placed in the corner of the room. Since it is a finished basement, I do not have to worry about any rats or snakes coming through non-existent holes.

Sitting on my bench, I slide my fingers over the keys, feeling the coolness underneath. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I let my fingers guide me. I create melodies in my head that transfer to my fingers which press on the black and white keys of the grand instrument. I let my feelings come out in my music, swaying back and forth, exerting more pressure at some parts and less at others. Everything I have been feeling lately has come across through the means of music.

I do not know how long I play, but I do it to my heart’s content. And when I finally stop, I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Guilt, sadness, hope, love, shock… wait… love? For what? I shrug it off.

Looking at the time across from the piano, I notice I have been playing for about an hour, without my noticing. Taking deep breath, I walk back upstairs, closing all the lights in the lower level of the house and proceed to my room. I pass by Ryker’s room, which is right next to mine, and notice some sniffling.

Frowning, I knock on his door, which is thoroughly displayed with signs of ‘Do Not Enter.’ I hear a clearing of a throat and some shuffling.

“What?” Ryker mumbles.

“Can I c-come in?”

“Sure, whatever,” Ryker mumbles. I open the door and find him lying on his bed under the sheets with his head behind his head, looking at nothing but the blank ceiling. He may act tough, but I knew he was crying. I can see faint trail marks on his cheek.

I walk over to his bed and sit down next to him. “Hey,” I greet, trying to sound enthusiastic, but failing.

“Hey,” he says sullenly, his bad boy persona gone. Now I know why he sat with Gabe and his friends. They are just like him. At least that is what I made out in the first few seconds of meeting them when I asked Ryker for lunch money after my encounter with Gabe. To say I walked back to Janice and Reagan, ( who are, not surprisingly, friends with each other), is an understatement. I sprinted back.

“You were c-crying,” I state.

“No I wasn’t,” he denies, though I can see the lie anyway. His lip twitches up slightly, which is an indicator that he is fibbing.

“You are. Now t-talk about it,” I demand.

“What would you know, Ro? Our parents love you the most. You’re not messed up like me,” he mumbles, more to himself than me.

“They don’t l-love me more, Ry,” I say, using his nickname. “They love us equally. But s-sometimes, when kids mess up, th-their parents need to help them g-get back on track. At that t-time, you are not going to be th-their favorite person, but they won’t l-love you any less than th-the other,” I lecture, smiling softly at him at the end.

“Roman?” he says after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Do you miss mom?” he asks, looking at me for the first time since I came in the room.

I do not answer for a few seconds. Mom is always a tough subject. “Yeah. But before she w-went all… wild and s-stuff,” I answer.

“Me too…” he whispers.

In this time, I get under the covers with my brother, making him move over, and lay on my back, looking at the ceiling.

“I remember when we were little, we both would get scared of the dark and then we would hide out in one of our rooms and make a fortress with all of our pillows and blankets. Mom and dad had no clue about it. But then, one night we had a pillow fight and it got too loud, and they found us out.

“They didn’t yell at us or tell us to go back to bed. Instead, they both got their pillows and blankets and started playing along with us. We all camped out in your room that night. And then the next day, mom and dad got these glow-in-the-dark stars and put them on our ceilings so we wouldn’t be scared anymore. And even after that, we would still make our pillow fortresses and pretend to be attacked by the evil kingdom across the river, made up of Barbies and action figures,” he narrates nostalgically. I smile at the memory and all those fun filled nights where we would play pretend. We were best friends. Right now, I do not even know what we are. We rarely even act like brother and sister.

“Ryker… why aren’t w-we close anymore?” I ask, remembering our childhood.

“Because when we left mom… we all just… started moving on in our own way. You would play your instruments. Dad would work. And I would play sports,” he explains somberly.

“I want to put stars up,” I say randomly after a while.

“What?” Ryker asks, turning on his side to face me.

“I want to put s-stars up on the c-ceiling. I want to r-remember the good times w-we had. I want the old R-Ryker back,” I mumble the last bit more to myself than him.

“Well, what’s wrong with this Ryker?” he whispers, looking at me.

“New Ryker seems l-like he doesn’t c-care about anything,” I state looking at him.

He sighs and turns on his back again, looking at the white ceiling.

“New Ryker cares… he just doesn’t remember how to show it…” he mumbles.

“I’ll teach him,” I say, smiling softly.

“How?” he questions. I smile, ideas forming in my head.

“You’ll see. But f-for now, good n-night,” I smirk and climb out of his bed heading out the door.

“Ro?” he calls out.

“Yeah?” I ask, sticking my head back in the room.

“Thanks for making me remember. And thanks for not giving up on me,” he smiles at me. He has not smiled in a long time. At least not genuinely. I smile back right back at him and mouth ‘no problem.’ I start to leave again but he calls me out one more time.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I almost forgot… my friend Gabe said you were in his photography class. He said he had to tell you something before class, so don’t forget,” he messages.

“Oh… okay then. Night,” I bid, closing his door and heading to mine. Confusion strikes my mind.

Just today he was telling me to stay away from him. How can I when he only brings himself closer?

Who knows what he will say… but I cannot wait.

And I have no clue as to why seeing Gabe excites me to no end…

Only god knows what tomorrow will bring.