“You alright?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head before I could stop myself.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
The words felt strange. Too honest. Silence fell between us again, but it wasn’t heavy this time, just quieter. By the time we reached my door, my shoulders had dropped. Not relaxed. Not even close. But safer. I hovered, my thumb poised over the button on my car keys.
“You can go,” I said, softer now.
His eyes held mine.
“Get in first.”
A pause.
I nodded once, turning back to the car door, the button depressing under my thumb. The movement made me jump, my heart jolting to life inside my ribs. Ryan’s arm brushed my stomach. The lightest, tiniest of touches, but I felt it like he dragged his fingers across my skin.
The door pulled open, and around us, the silence held.
“You can get in now, Soph.” His voice was light, a hint of a laugh.
I let him follow me home, his bike rumbling directly behind me. Every turn, every acceleration, and he was right there like I needed protection. And then, when I indicated to change lanes on the Central Motorway, he pulled out first, taking up the space and flashing me out in front of him, like he didn’t trust my driving skills, or my ability not to kill myself.
In the quiet leafy street, Ryan’s bike became louder. The deep rumble of the engine echoing off the rows of three-storey terraces lining each side. Curtains moved. Neighbours peeking out, and quickly dropping the drapes when they saw the size of him and the machine he’d ridden in on.
“I’m home safe. Thanks Ry.” I said, half shouting over the noise of the motorbike.
“Good,” he answered, not pulling down the dark cloth that covered the bottom half of his face, three laughing skulls staring at me from a black background, and even though I knew who he was, for a moment the sight of him made me nervous.
“I’m sure I can make it up the stairs by myself.”
“Noted.” He nodded, and then the bike leant to the left and the street became silent. “Could do with a coffee though, Soph. It’s cold out here.”
I watched him a moment, knowing I should send him on his way and not give him the opportunity to walk out of my flat and leave me again. Internally I shrugged, surrendering my better judgement and led the way up the little path.
“Beer or coffee this time?” I asked, not turning to him but hearing the door click back into place.
When I did turn around, I half expected him to not be there. He was good at leaving. Like an apparition.
“Coffee, please. Fuckin’ Baltic out there. Pretty sure me bollocks dropped off before the Tyne Bridge.”
His face pulled into a smile. Big and wide, and even the green in his hazel eyes lit up.
There he was. Not the man who’d stood in my flat days ago, all sharp edges and guarded silences. Not the one who’d backed out of my flat like we’d meant nothing.
Him.Ryan.
The boy who used to grin at me like I was the only thing in the world worth looking at. The one who laughed too easily, lived too fast, loved me like it was the simplest thing he’d ever known how to do.
It didn’t last. I saw it go. Just a flicker. A shift. Something closing back over. The weight dropping into place behind his eyes again, dragging him back. But I’d seen it. And that was worse. Because now I knew he was still in there somewhere.
“You’ve changed so much, Ry.”
Silence. Just for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime, and I was worried he’d go again. But then he spoke. Slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Of course I have. I’ve been in prison twice. For the best part of seven years.”
He paused, watching me. He was looking for a reaction, and I knew he’d found it.
