"I hate you! You selfish bastards! I fucking hate you!"
It was the middle of December. There may not have been snow but the air was cold enough to make me think there was. My words were sharp but the hot tears flowing down my cheeks as I was pulled away from the only family I'd ever known were testaments to my true feelings.
I was hurt because I was just starting to get comfortable and my breath shook into the air as I screamed all the curse words I could think of. Maybe if I did that, they'd see me as the angry boy I used to be. I was just a trouble maker. If they could see me like that again, maybe the burden of guilt would be less on them. Maybe they wouldn't be sobbing, refusing to look in my direction while they stood frozen at the door.
As soon as the car door shut, I screamed, my hands fisting into my hair and pulling until the pain got my attention. Until the pain became a fleeting distraction.
Then, I was silent. My tears dried and the car drove and drove until I didn't recognize where we were. I know Kenny tried to talk to me for the first few minutes but he quickly fell silent too.
At some point, I fell asleep. I dreamed of a warm bed, an open window silhouetting a person, poised to jump, of TV dinners and Ziploc baggies full of powder that'd be gone in the hour. I dreamed of yelling and crying and fresh cookies and soapy dishes.
And then I woke up and I forgot where I was, but when the car pulled to a stop and I looked out the window and saw a rotting billboard that read 'Mackenzie's Guidance Home,' the realization hit me like a truck once more. I huffed as I wiped the tears from my eyes. Hot, angry tears that refused to stop.
My door opened and Kenny knelt beside the car, handing me his handkerchief. I snatched it from his hand, angling away from him as I angrily wiped at my eyes.
"Ryker, I'm—"
"Don't," I said. "I'm not a kid anymore. I get it. So just—don't."
He sighed, standing back up and moving out of the way. I pressed the handkerchief into his chest as I stepped out, mumbling a thanks.
I looked up at the lit up house. It was much bigger than the other homes I'd been to before, with newly painted walls, and a silver gate with not a spec of rust. Silhouettes of children could be seen in the windows, looking down at me and Kenny as we made our way to the front door.
Meeting us at the door was an old lady, her eyes so squinted that I half-wondered if she could see at all. Beside her was a younger woman, dressed in what reminded me of old-time maid attire. Both of them shook Kenny's hand and introduced themselves. When they kindly asked for my name and I ignored them, Kenny reassured them with an apology on my behalf, followed by my name and situation.
Then he left. With sad goodbyes and a promise that we'd meet again soon. We both knew how unlikely that was, though. The only way he'd be seeing me is if I'd be meeting possible foster parents.
The young lady led me to my room, up a flight of stairs. They set me up with new belongings and a schedule that I'd need to follow after a week there.
It was early in the morning and every kid I saw was much younger than me, their eyes ogling as the lady led me around, making sure I knew where everything was before leaving me in my room. No one had approached me and even if they had, I'm certain I would have ignored them, if I would have even noticed them.
The first thing I did was go to sleep and I slept the entire day, waking up only when I heard the dinner bells.
As I sat up, yawning, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
"Finally, you sleep like an old lady." I lifted my gaze to the source of the voice, my breath hitching as I met dark eyes. The rays of sun coming in through the window highlighted the silver specks in them.
I scrunched my eyebrows, looking around the room as the boy kept talking, trying to get my attention. I ignored him, wondering how I'd overlooked that I had a roommate. There were obvious clothes laying around, not to mention an entire bed.
With a sigh, I turned away, pulling my blanket over my head.
"Hey, come on! I just wanna talk, kid." I knew he had to be a few years older than me, which explained him calling me a kid, but it still irked me. Clenching my teeth, I closed my eyes tighter, ignoring his incessant rambling.
After a while, he went quiet. I'd almost fallen back asleep when his presence had me throwing my blanket off me and sending him a glare.
He was kneeling beside my bed, his elbow resting on the mattress and propping up his chin. Now that he was closer, and I was actually looking at him, I realized he had dyed hair; strips of blond streaking through his black hair, or maybe the other way around.
He smiled brightly when I made eye contact.
"That's a nice glare you got there, little guy. Scared me a bit." He laughed softly. I glared harder before turning back around, keeping the blanket down. "Aw, don't be that way."
He placed a hand on my arm and I instinctively sat up, slapping his hand away. His hand remained hanging in the air, his eyes widened as I looked down at him. For a second, his smile fell and there was a dark look in his eyes but it was quickly replaced by that bright smile again.
"I just wanna introduce myself. We are roommates now, you know." I just stared down at him, refusing to lay back down. He sighed, slumping down and resting his chin more heavily on his hand. "You got a speaking disorder or something?" I simply glared at him again. "Or do you just not like me?"
I pulled myself more comfortably into a sitting position, drawing my knees to my chest, my arms hanging loosely on them as I looked out the window, choosing to ignore him.
"You sure are something, kid. More stubborn than the little ones." I clenched my fist but chose to keep quiet. He'd give up eventually, they always did. "You know, I was pretty excited to find I'd finally be getting a roommate to spend my last year here, before I'd be able to leave." I mentally noted that he was probably seventeen, if it was his last year here. Four years older than me. "I never thought it'd be a kid though. I thought they'd put someone closer to my age in here with me."
"I'm not a kid!" I snapped, glaring at him once more. His face broke into a smile brighter than any of the other ones.
"He speaks!" he celebrated, pulling himself to his knees and resting his forearms on my bed to pull him closer to me. "I knew I could get through!"
"Why do you keep talking?" I hissed. "Do you never shut the fuck up?"
He laughed again. "You sure do got a mouth on you. Better make sure you don't say those words around the Director or you'll get written up."
"Go away," I said, turning back to the window.
"Oh, don't be that way. I'm sorry, I'll stop teasing, just talk to me for a little bit. It's been a while since I've talked to someone around my age." He placed his hand on my knee, inching his way closer.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye before glaring down at his hand. He followed my gaze and laughed, pulling it back to scratch the back of his neck.
"So what's your name?" he asked as I met his gaze again. When I didn't answer, he filled the silence by telling me his instead.
After a few seconds of silence, I said, "It's Ryker."
Almost immediately, he answered, "I like it. How about I call you Rye?" I scrunched my nose in disgust, which was met with a laugh. "You don't like it? Why not, Rye? I think Rye is a great name."
"Stop."
"Alright, alright. We'll come back to that."
"No, we won't."
"So how old are you? I'll be seventeen in a couple months." Still reeling from the nickname, I ignored him, turning away. Why does he keep talking? Doesn't he have places to be? Why isn't he at dinner? I wish he'd leave. "I'll guess, then. Twelve?" I glared at him and he laughed. "Wrong? Well, with that reaction, I'm guessing you're thirteen, then. When's your birthday?"
"It was the first."
"Oh, so you're newly thirteen, then. You can't even react that way when I guessed twelve, then!" He said in disbelief. I turned away and he finally stood up. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to look up to meet his eyes and have to come to terms with the fact that he was quite a bit taller than me. "Why don't we go eat, then? I know they're missing us."
"I'm not hungry," I said, looking out the window and watching as light snowflakes began to fall.
"You have to eat," he said. His voice was different and it only made me not want to look at him even more. "Come on. I don't wanna go down alone!" he whined, ducking into my field of vision with a smile.
"I don't want to," I said.
"Why not? The food is pretty good here. I can tell you what's the best and make sure none of the little ones steal any of your—"
"I said I don't want to! Can't you just fuck off!?"
His smile fell once again—like a mask slipping—before he laughed and stood up. "Cute. I'll be going then. See you later!"
I heard him mumbling as he left the room, the door closing a bit too hard.
It was only about a month before his constant prodding finally got to me. I was beginning to warm up to him, to find comfort in his jokes and teasing. When it was a particularly bad day, he'd take me on walks along the fence line, telling me stories of when he first came here and tried to escape. And when I woke up from the taste of salt from my tears, and dripping in cold sweat, he'd pull me into his embrace and tell me he'd protect me, that nothing could hurt me as long as I was there, with him.
His birthday was the next day and we'd planned to sneak out at midnight to celebrate. It was easy. Everyone was asleep and it wasn't like the doors locked us in. The only thing that was different was that the gates were locked at night.
We found our way downstairs with nothing but our whispers and hushed laughter. Once we made it outside, the air still a bit chilly, we both made eye contact, a silent recognition of our victory. He thrust his fist into the air, laughing as he spun away from the building, his eyes on the sky.
I hushed him, glancing back at the building but he grabbed my hand, pulling me away from it and dragging me to the small bundle of trees at the corner of the property. It was much colder at that point and my stomach began to tighten, how it used to when my former foster parents would lock my door with stern words, telling me that no matter what, I couldn't leave the room.
But this was nothing like that. He was nothing like that. Right?
Now hidden in the trees, out of sight from any possible prying eyes, we settled down, me leaning against a tree and him leaning against me. His touch had become normal but I still couldn't suppress the way I tensed up at it, or the way my jaw clenched to keep harsh words from rolling out.
"So..did you get me something for my birthday?" he lulled, leaning his head down and looking up at me. I turned away from him, avoiding eye contact.
"Yeah, I just walked to the store to get you a present. It's not like there are gates keeping us inside or anything." He laughed, sitting up and throwing his arm over my shoulders. I looked up at him with a glare.
He smirked, leaning towards me. "Y'know, not all presents are material, Rye." His breath was hot across my face and it spread all throughout my body, the cold forgotten.
"What do you mean?" My words were whispered but I couldn't pull my eyes from his. He smiled, a much lighter smile than I was used to.
"You're not stupid, Rye," he said, tilting his head. "In fact, you're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for."
"I don't—"
"Would you like me to show you?" he asked, voice dropping and his eyes darkening. I couldn't get any words out, my skin tingling uncomfortably, so I turned away, trying to get a second to breathe. His cold fingers grabbed my face, stopping me, and his lips pressed against mine.
I was frozen still as he placed his free hand on the back on my neck, keeping me from pulling away. I pressed my palms to his chest, pushing, but he was much bigger than me and his grip only tightened, enough to cause slight pain.
"Wait," I got out, ducking my head down but the hand on my cheek also tightened and I couldn't help but flinch. His lips became rough on mine as he pressed me into the tree, the rough bark digging into my back. I wanted to get away from him but not because I didn't like him, but because it was just that basic instinct I had yet to overcome. In an unfamiliar, uncomfortable situation, I wanted to fight or run but I couldn't fight—I didn't want to hurt him—so my body was telling me to run. "Hey, lets—"
At my words, he took the chance to deepen the kiss. I felt tears spring to my eyes but I wasn't sure why. My hands began to push harder, one clenched and it was taking everything in me not to begin fighting.
When the hand on the back of my neck moved to rest on my waist, teasing the hem of my shirt, I panicked. I jerked back, hard enough for it to leave a bump on my head from hitting the tree behind me.
He stilled as I looked at him, breathing heavily, hot tears running down my cheeks, and my hands shaking, still pressed against his chest. His eyes were consumed by black as he looked up at me. His mask had slipped, his face now contorted softly in cold anger, and his eyes becoming emotionless.
His gaze traced down my face, landing on his hand, which was now resting on the curve of my neck. "Rye—I—" I shoved him away and he easily fell to the side, giving me the space I had wanted but just too late. "Rye."
I turned away from him, rubbing at the tears on my cheeks and wincing as I passed over the spot where his hand had been just moments before.
"It didn't seem like you didn't want it. You didn't say anything. C'mon, Rye, you know I wouldn't do that to hurt you. I just—I thought you felt the same way. If not, then..." He stood up, moving to walk away. I followed him, standing up and grabbing his arm to stop him. He looked at me, surprised and hopeful, but I couldn't pin down what else. I never could.
"It's not that. It's me. I just wasn't expecting it and I panicked so I..." I tried to get away. That should have been the end of it. I was sure it seemed like I didn't want it. That should have been the end. But..maybe I hadn't expressed it clearly enough. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pull away like that. Just—don't leave yet."
His face lit up in that regular smile. It was somehow unsettling now. The cold, the thought that it was past midnight and we were alone, hidden from everyone. It was all so unsettling now.
"Me too. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that. I know you need me and I'd never leave you, I know thats best for you, even if you don't understand yet." He grabbed my hands, taking a step closer. "But you will."
When I woke up in the morning, I was sore. With every movement, I was suppressing wincing and groans of pain. I looked down at my exposed torso, only to see dark bruises painting the skin. I woke up in his bed, with him beside me, just as exposed. I couldn't remember most of last night. I remembered how everything had started outside but when the first rays of sunlight had begun to tint the sky, he'd carried me inside and once we were alone again...
I didn't remember much after that. I remembered bare skin and rough hands. I remembered glimpses of red. But the rest was gone from memory, just a black void.
I made my way to our small, shared bathroom, using the walls and bed to hold myself up.
It was when I looked in the mirror that I realized something was wrong. I'd never had any sexual relationships before but I knew it shouldn't look like this.
My body was covered in bruising, even more than I'd seen in bed. Dark, almost black bruises all along my arms, hips, thighs. Just about everything I could see. Where there were bruises, there were also spots of dried blood, accompanied by small punctures but there were drops of dried blood leading up the inside of my thighs. The least of the bruising was on my face, in small spots resembling fingerprints.
I collapsed in front of the toilet, coughing and throwing up, tears running down my cheeks at the pain the movements were causing, somehow much worse now that I was aware of the severity.
A knock on the door brought me out of the state of mind I'd fallen into, thoughts racing, and fighting between trying to remember, trying to convince myself nothing was wrong, and panicking at what I was supposed to do next.
My body froze. I could hear the beating of my own heart, the steady rhythm of my breath as it slowed, as if afraid someone would hear. I swallowed, clenching my teeth as I pulled myself shakily to my feet, grabbing a towel to cover myself as I went to the door.
"What?" I asked, taking a deep breath to prevent my voice from shaking.
"Are you okay? It sounded like—"
"I'm fine," I said, my hand on the door. I knew who he was but my body was afraid of him and I didn't want to be. I'd never been afraid of anyone before but this was different. It was the knowledge that what he'd done to me had caused all this damage. It was the knowledge that I only knew the bare minimum. It was the knowledge that he had something against me. And it was the knowledge that I'd allowed it to happen—that I wasn't clear enough.
"Rye, can we talk?"
A moment of silence. Suffocating silence. My mind finally overpowered my body and I opened the door, glaring up at him. It didn't matter who he was or what we'd done, I would not be afraid of him. I would not allow myself to be. I met his eyes with confidence that I subconsciously acknowledged was fragile and just the thought that I could barely move—so how would I be able to fight—was enough to make it falter.
"Let me get dressed." I said, shoving past him and letting out a quiet gasp as pain shot up my arm. He grabbed my bicep tightly and my knees almost buckled at the pain.
"No need. Sit down," he said, pulling me to his bed. I tried to pull away but when the pain made me want to throw up again, I quickly gave up.
It hurt even more when I sat down. He kneeled in front of me but he didn't have that smile—that smile I'd grown so used to. He was blank as he placed his hands on my knees.
"You look rough," he said, calmly
I glared at him and he laughed, leaning towards me.
"Don't be that way. You know I care about you."
I glared harder as I pulled my towel down, showing off the bruises and blood. "I don't fucking remember that shit," I snapped, my voice raising as I angrily pointed at the marks. "You think those are love marks. You should have noticed I wasn't fucking conscious and stopped. What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
"Hey, quiet down," he hissed. "You don't want the Director hearing, do you? Do you want to explain why you look like that? I bet she'd be real impressed, 'specially considering we're both guys and she basically lives by the bible."
I snapped my mouth shut, my eyes widening.
"And plus, you liked it. You were writhing ben—"
"I liked it? How would you fucking know? I was passed out ninety percent of it and then I woke up bloodied and bruised. I can barely walk, you know."
"There's bound to be blood. It was your first time. If you can't walk, that means it was good," he said, grabbing my hand. "You're new to this. You just don't understand. Thats normal."
"I don't—"
"You don't know." His grip on my hand tightened and I clenched my jaw. "C'mon, you know I'd never—"
I swung, my fist connecting with his cheek. The movement, along with the impact, made me wince in pain.
He was turned away, his hand now pressed against his cheek, a small drop of blood pooling on his lip. He wiped his mouth, a line of blood streaking across the back of his hand. His eyes gazed down at the mark and his silence made me want to get away from him. Run. My mind was telling me to get up and run.
But run where? Outside? He was right, if I got the attention of the Director, I'd have to explain. Then what? I'd be kicked out again. I'd make Kenny disappointed. Again.
He stood up, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet, his teeth clenched as he looked at me angrily. "I did nothing wrong. You asked for it. You may not remember but these bruises—" He tightened his fingers around one of the darker bruises and I cried out in pain, trying to pull away but his grip was too tight"—they're a result of your actions. You wanted it. It's your fault."
"I don't fucking want it anymore," I choked out, glaring.
He leaned down, cupping my face and I jerked away. "I don't fucking care. You can't run, you can't tell the Director. Who'd believe you anyway? I'm the older brother here, everyone loves me. You're the sketchy delinquent who can't keep a home. Who do you think they'll believe?"
"They'll believe me. When Kenny visits, he'll—"
"He's not gonna come visit you. Do you think he cares that much about you? You're what gets him paid, he doesn't care past that."
"No, you're wrong." I pushed him, trying to pry my wrist from his grasp. This wasn't who I knew. This wasn't him. He wouldn't do this to me. He was my friend. He was supposed to be my friend. I remembered the insistent questions. Every attempt at conversation that I'd blatantly ignored and he'd pout about. I remembered the laughter and jokes, and when we'd sneak food from the kitchen and then tell stories about our lives before here. I'd told him everything. He knew why my nightmares were filled with dead eyes. He knew why I hated needles. He knew everything about me but I didn't even know who I was looking at.
He laughed, pulling me closer to him. "I'll teach you that I'm never wrong. That defiant look in your eyes, that glare, I'll tear it all out of you and mold you into something I'll never get tired of. You'll learn that no matter the strength of your mind, there's always a breaking point."
As I looked into those cold eyes, I couldn't help but think that I'd done something wrong. I was stuck and I couldn't see a way out. I'd made a mistake, somewhere.
"Those thoughts were what let him break me like he did. I wasn't always like this—this...broken but I'm trying to get better. Or, I was. It helps to know that I don't have much time left, that telling you this isn't going to matter because I won't be here for long. I don't have to focus on myself anymore. I don't have to get better, I just have to prove that I deserve to be here. If I just focus on that, its not as bad."
Keo was standing, his arms crossed and his eyes on the ground. Dallas was beside me, his fingers interlocked, clenching tightly. Neither of them looked sympathetic and I was thankful for that. I didn't need their sympathy.
"Thank you, Ryker," Dallas said, his words quiet, hoarse. "If I could, I'd kill him, even though I've never met him, even though it wouldn't fix or help anything. It hurts me to know you went through that alone but I can't do anything about it anymore and that hurts even more. So, thank you."
I placed my hand on his head, sighing. "It's in the past. I'm basically over it." He looked up at me, obviously doubtful. I laughed. "I know you've been through some shit, too. Why else would you be here? After all, only people who are broken are brought into TKG."
"But not like that," he said.
I smiled softly. He doesn't even know the whole story. "We're all broken. How we got here doesn't matter." And he'll never have to. "If you think telling you how I got this way will help us in whatever we'll be facing, I'd gladly tell you."
"It may not help," Keo said, looking up at me. "But it could and, even so, I'm grateful you trusted us enough to tell us your story."
"Someone's gotta know. I can't take everything to my grave. I'd like to exist after, too."
Keo smiled softly, walking towards us and kneeling. "Then leave it to us. As long as we exist, so will you."
And I believed him.
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AN: Rough chapter, I know. This isn't Ryker's whole story, we'll learn more later on but I'm sure you've picked up on some of what happened from his memories in earlier chapter. I'd just like to address one thing. Ryker's abuser never got a name and he never will. In my opinion, a name defines a person. Without a name, its like they don't exist. He's a horrible person so he doesn't deserve to exist, not in Ryker's world. Ryker does know his name, it's my choice not to give him a name in the story because he doesn't deserve one.