Rapid Hope Loss
I wait for a lonely breath;
I wait to surface from this death;
Wait for the light to come;
And take away these images I get;
In my head...
He couldn't help but blame himself, it was the Ryan Atwood thing to. Even so, he didn't think of that when he was smashing Kevin Volchok's head against the cold, hard brick wall of an alleyway. He didn't even feel an ounce of guilt as he stood over the body, cold and lifeless lying in the gutter. He was nothing but stoic as he got in his car and drove away. He wasn't thankful as Sandy stood up and pleaded his case. Ryan didn't feel remorseful as he took his place on the stand and pleaded guilty to manslaughter. He didn't think as the judge sentenced him to 15 years. His face was void of emotion as Kirsten, Sandy and Seth looked on from the courtroom. He felt nothing as the policeman cuffed him and led him away, like the criminal he now was. Slammed down on the cold, damp mattress of his cell he had no thoughts, as the door was shut and bolted behind him. He did nothing for days except sit and stare at the wall, memorising every crack, dash, every mark which set upon the cold concrete divide. He did nothing when he was sent to the psychiatrist, just sat there in vain as the shrink tried to get somewhere. Ryan did nothing but request a packet of cigarettes before being locked up again. He smoked one, during exercise time, hands shaking as he lit it, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, standing staring at the compound his life had become. The smoke drifted up into the air, and the pack of 10 soon become 0. The leaves fell as the first signs of winter began, but for Ryan everyday was exactly the same. For Ryan, it was easier to forget than remember, it was easier to avenge than forgive.
The nightmares were the worst. He would wake up sweating in the middle of winter, staring at his hands. The blood and bruises haunted him, the images of faraway memories replaying as if on a broken film reel inside his head. He wondered if the image would ever fade, ever grow that slightest bit fainter, but each night it became more vivid. The black of the night came too soon as Ryan laid his head down on the mattress, the red soon staining his dreams. Her face was imprinted in his mind, looking up at him as he held her. Looking up at him as she took her last breath. Looking up at him as she died.
The visits weren't much better. Seth would bring the newest comic book, and try to avoid the subject as Ryan sat opposite him. He would chat breezily about Summer, school, ignoring the bruises on Ryan's face which never seemed to heal, soldiering on as Ryan did not respond. Kirsten would come, and they would sit in silent understanding, both missing each other's gaze, waiting for click to tick back around to 20. Sandy got angry, bashing his fists on the metal table in front of him as Ryan sat silently, before the guards quietly told him he had to leave. For Ryan, it was easier to stay silent.
The years passed, the visits grew infrequent, yet Ryan still sat in his cell. His face had grown tired, the stubble on his face ever present. Yet he still felt the coldness, the clinging that shook his body as he went to sleep every night. He heard the screams and the words that he had been unable to process. He felt the impact of the crash and the panic of the moment. He saw the faces marred against the backdrop of flames and the smoke. He remembered holding tightly to her body, unable to let go as the paramedics came and went, sitting in the ambulance as he held his head in his hands, unable to talk, unable to breathe, feeling like his heart would stop and his lungs would collapse. He remembered as the lines flattened, the beeps grew shorter and the place go silent. He remembered sitting on the beach, staring out at the ocean, tears silently falling down his face, blending in with the rain that crashed around him. He remembered seeing his face, something inside of him snapping as he felt his last piece of sanity fly out of his body. He remembered grabbing his head and smashing it against the wall, hearing the satisfying crack. He remembered walking away and not looking back. He heard the gavel slam down on to the wood, the click of the cuffs as they snapped shut around his already bruised hands, the clunk of the bars closing. He remembered all of this, but he still wasn't ready to let go.
He kept himself to himself, stayed out of trouble. He was silent most of the time. No-one asked questions, so he had no reason to talk unless one of the Prison Officers talked to him. He smoked his weekly allowance of cigarettes within an hour, the cool smoke burning down his throat and he felt his heart jump at the reminiscent feeling he got as he inhaled. Most nights he stayed on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, willing his eyes to stay open so he would be able to avoid his dreams.
"Atwood, you got a visitor." Ryan looked up drearily from the book he was reading at the sight of the guard through his cell door. Dragging himself up slowly from his bed, he followed the guard out into the corridor, taking the blue tabbard from him before walking into the visiting room, and sitting down at the metal table. Glancing around at the door as the guard locked it and stood by it silently, nodding at him in acknowledgement. Ryan sighed and let his head fall into his hands. He wasn't in the mood for Seth's mindless chatter, for Kirsten's silence or Sandy's anger. He was just too tired of it. He heard the door slam and the clack of footsteps on the concrete floor, and looked up through the glass that was in front of him. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he recognised the woman sitting in front of him.
"Hello Ryan." Julie sat down on the chair, swallowing thickly as she placed her purse on the floor in front of her, self-conciously looking around at the guards which were behind Ryan.
"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked quietly, his voice cracked, not looking up. He felt the silence echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and reveberating around in his brain. Julie swallowed again, before replying.
"I don't exactly know." Julie replied, laughing softly, bitterly at her answer. "I guess I just wanted to give you closure..."
"I have all the closure I need." Ryan stated, stopping her mid-sentence. Julie looked up at him, not saying a word as she took in his appearance. He looked different after all of these years. Blue, tired eyes which had lost their shine many years ago, and had ever-present bags under them. The stubble present on his face made him look years older, and everything about him just screamed that he was hurting.
"Look, I didn't come here to offend you..." Julie started, her voice shaking as she tried to explain herself. "Believe me, you are the only person who will ever..." Ryan looked back at her, his blue eyes cold and hard, not saying a word. "Who will ever understand...just how hurt I am. I've lost something..." She struggled to choke back a sob. "And I...I..can't get it back." Ryan looked away as the tears feel from her eyes, forcing himself to remain detached as he had tried to be all of these years. But his eyes finally met hers, and he recognised himself in them. Her voice was flat, dry as she spoke again, her words resounding in his brain.
"I'm glad you killed him." She said, slowly, sadly as she confessed all what she had been penting up. But as she looked back, straight at Ryan, she saw no conviction in his eyes, yet a look of understanding. He looked back at her, before looking away, placing his head in his hands yet again, unable to come to terms with what was unfolding before him. "You don't deserve to be in here." She whispered. Ryan laughed bitterly at her statement, comprehending what she had just said to him. The two sat in silence, before Julie quickly got up.
"I know she would have wanted you to have this." She reached into her purse, pulling out an envelope and placing it in the tray that rested on the table. She turned away quickly, the guard opening the door in front of her, taking one last look at the broken boy left at the table before walking away.
Ryan sat at the table for a few more minutes, before the guard told him he could leave. Ryan got up slowly, wincing as the chair scraped back on the floor as he got to his feet, turning and walking out of the room.
"Hey, Atwood!" The guard shouted after him. Ryan turned around, looking at what the guard had in his hand. "Forgetting something?"
"I don't want it." Ryan replied, his tone quiet.
"Well, I don't want it either." The guard replied, shoving the letter into his hands. "Take it kid." The guard turned around, walking in front of Ryan back towards the cells. Ryan looked down at the white manilla envelope that was in his shaking hands, comprehending the handwriting he had thought he had forgotten.
A/N:- Reviews are greatly appreciated. This story will turn into something you don't expect.