Cancer

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"Oh, fuck!" yelled Ryan loudly in terror.

We both jumped (although I was more surprised by his swearing than by the fake-looking vampire that suddenly appeared on the TV screen) halfway into each other's laps and then began to giggle hysterically at ourselves. I scooted away from him again, clinging to the heavy blanket we were sharing rather than...well, Ryan.

"Shit," breathed Ryan, laughing under his breath. "Shit. He was one ugly motherfucker."

"Well, duh," I said, rolling my eyes, though I was still laughing a little. "He's the master vampire--the bloodsucker of all bloodsuckers. Of course he's ugly."

Ryan and I were bundled up on the couch together, watching Stephen King's Salem's Lot with all the lights turned out; the light of the full moon in the clear desert sky streamed in through the living room windows, falling in big pale squares of light across the coffee table, illuminating the empty and discarded Dr. Pepper cans and Orville Redenbacher bags. We had started out on opposite ends of the sofa, but the scary movie had driven us into one big clump of trembling arms and legs in the center of the couch.

"This movie isn't even scary," Ryan scoffed a few minutes later, during a boring talking scene.

"You were screaming like a little girl two seconds ago!" I reminded him.

"Yeah, I was screaming in horror at the terrible 80's graphics. It's so corny-looking."

I rolled my eyes again. "Typical male."

We watched the movie all the way through, our conversations becoming more involved and less related to the actual movie as it went on (to be honest, I still don't know for sure how it ended.) As the credits scrolled up the black screen, Ryan got to his feet stiffly and stumbled to the lightswitch on the wall.

"Ahhhh!" I screeched dramatically, shielding my eyes and hissing like the vampires on the movie as Ryan turned the lights on. "The light! The light!"

Ryan snorted at my acting skills. "I think you should stick to Starbucks."

I stretched and rubbed my eyes sleepily. "That was fun," I mumbled, my voice distorted as I yawned.

"Yeah, it was," he agreed lightly. My eyelids drooped as I watched him pick up the trash that had accumulated on his coffee table since we had decided to rent a movie a few hours ago.

"I wish we could've gotten Blair Witch Project instead, though."

"No, you don't." Ryan grinned crookedly at me, four empty cans balanced on a stack of dirty paper plates in one hand. "I saw that movie when it came out. It was stupid."

"You think everything's stupid," I grumbled.

"No, I don't," said Ryan seriously. He dumped the trash in the trashcan and wandered back over to sit on the couch by me again. "I don't think you're stupid."

"You must be the stupid one, then."

He laughed. "Maybe."

It sounded like he said something else under his breath, but I couldn't make out what he said because I yawned hugely again. I stretched and then rubbed my eyes sleepily again. "What time is it?" I asked, and then yawned again.

"Like one o'clock." Suddenly, I felt his enormous hand on mine as he grabbed the fist I was rubbing my eye with, pulling it away from my face; I looked up in surprise and he was smiling softly at me. "Maybe you should go home now--y'know, before you rub another hole in your eye socket. One's quite enough, don't you think?"

I yawned again and nodded, my eyes fluttering shut. "Sure."

"You want me to drive you?" he offered.

"No," I told him, my voice vague with sleepiness, "I'll take a cab." But I just slumped farther down into the couch and let my eyes stay firmly shut, without the slightest intentions of ever getting up. I hadn't been that tired until the movie was over, and now I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

"C'mon," chuckled Ryan, "I'll drive you."

He grabbed my firmly by both arms and heaved me up off of the couch. I staggered into him and stayed there, wrapping my arms around his slender waist for support; he returned the embrace, his slight frame shaking a little as he laughed again.

"Mmkay," I mumbled gratefully into his chest. His scent was odd--it was cinnamon and mint and something else musky and masculine and sweet all at once, and it engulfed me as his long spidery arms reached down to lift me up and sleep overtook me.

-----

"Kelsey. Kelsey, we're here."

Ryan said my name like he was speaking to me, not like he was calling to me the way most people do when they're trying to wake someone up--like we had been in the middle of a very in-depth conversation and I hadn't been asleep in his car for the past twenty minutes.

My eyes flickered open and I was face-to-face with Ryan, slumped over in the passenger's seat of an unfamiliar car. My memory came back to me after a short delay and I realized where I was.

"Oh," I said stupidly, my voice thick with sleep. I rubbed my eyes and stretched again. "Thanks for, uh, taking me home. I could've caught a cab--"

"I think that might require consciousness, actually." His voice was dry, but his dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Well, thanks, then. That was really sweet of you."

He shrugged, his cheeks pinkening slightly. "No problem. Thanks for watching that lame vampire movie with me."

"It wasn't lame!" I insisted, glaring reproachfully as he helped me out of his car and shut the door behind me. "Don't diss the King."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We'll get Blair Witch Project next time, and then you'll see." He winked playfully at me.

My heartbeat sped up with hope. Next time?

Tonight had been the best night I'd had in...well, a very long time. I had spent the whole afternoon hanging out with Ryan and Krista, and then for dinner Ryan and I had gone out for Chinese at ten o'clock at night; we were so distracted by playing with Krista and trying to teach ourselves to play the ridiculously convoluted A Series of Unfortunate Events boardgame (which Ryan's mom had inexplicably bought for Ryan for Christmas four years ago) that we forgot to eat for a while--but, luckily, Las Vegas runs pretty much 24/7 as long as you know where to go.

Then, after our very late dinner, we had decided to rent a scary movie. I wanted to see The Blair Witch Project, but their only two copies were rented out, so we settled on Salem's Lot instead. We chickened out and stalled for a while, making popcorn, drinking our weight in Dr. Pepper and watching old Rock of Love reruns ("I don't know what it is about those skanks," said Ryan very seriously, "but once I start watching them, I just can't stop. They're mesmerizing.")

All in all, it was definitely a night to be remembered, and I would love to think that there would be more in the future to look forward to. Maybe, if Ryan could be my friend like this, I could get over Brendon. Maybe I could get better. Maybe I could be the real Kelsey again, just like Ryan was finally the real Ryan now.

I said goodbye to Ryan and he made me promise to call him if I ever needed him for anything, which made me smile; it was nice to know someone was truly there for me, finally. In fact, it felt so good that I didn't even feel all that guilty for hogging his whole night and then making him drive me back to my hotel afterwards--I was just too glad to have a real friend again to worry about much else.

-----

It was nearly two in the morning when I finally got back to my hotel room, but Mom was still awake. Waiting up for me, no doubt.

"You could've gone to bed," I told her, concernedly, as I pulled my hair down out of it's uncomfortable updo. "You didn't have to stay up for me."

"No, I couldn't sleep," she mumbled. The glow of the fuzzy TV screen flickered across her weary face in tones of sallow blues and greens. An open bag of Doritos lay to her right. A much-abused paperback romance was placed face down on the bed, in order to hold her place, on her left. It looked like she'd been camped out here all night--just like she had every night since her arrival in Vegas. She was a wreck.

"Well, you'd better get some sleep," I insisted. "Take a Benedryl or something. I'll be ready for bed in just a minute."

She ignored me and continued flipping channels, too quickly--I doubted she could even tell what was on. And, at that rate, she must have cycled through all the channels at least twice since I had got in, anyway.

As I turned to step inside the bathroom, though, Mom seemed to remember something suddenly. "Oh, someone called for you while you were out," she said disinterestedly. "I don't know who it was--some boy--but he left a number. Persistant, too. Phone must've rang thirty times before I..."

I tuned her out as she rambled on about how irritating this mystery caller was, talking over her instead. "What number?" I asked.

She grunted, annoyed. "I don't know, I wrote it down--"

"Where?!"

For the first time all night, Mom looked directly at me--narrowing her eyes in suspicion at the sharp note of desperation in my voice, no doubt. I sighed, struggling to compose myself. No need to get frantic, especially for no reason. Because surely there was no reason.

"Where did you write down the number?" I repeated, more politely this time.

She jerked her head towards the small plywood bedside table that was shoved in between the two twin beds. I crossed the tiny hotel room in four big strides and snatched up the complimentary notepad immediately.

Seven digits, scrawled shakily across the narrow page in black ink. Seven very familiar digits. The digits I was sure I would still be able to recite on my deathbed, even.

There was no need to leave the number. I knew it by heart already, of course. But maybe he thought that Mom still hated him and didn't want to tell her his name. Maybe he thought that I wouldn't return the phone call if she told me it was him.

But I knew it was him anyway! Of course I knew it was him. I remembered the number.

...Did he think I had forgotten it?

Ah, that was it. I was more pathetic than he had imagined. How disheartening.

Indeed, a sinking feeling engulfed me as I stared at those little black numbers--but somehow, simultaneously, I felt something swell happily inside of me. Hope, maybe.

Hope and dread. Dread because what I was doing would only lead to tragic consequences--consequences I had already become quite familiar with. I knew this, and yet...the hope was indomitable. It defied and, more importantly, outweighed reason. Hope would get its way in the end.

And I couldn't quite make myself regret it, either. Not yet.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You're going to get hurt again.

I knew that. Oh, how well I knew that...

I picked up the phone.