A/N I don't like this, but it's my tribute this year for Marissa. On May 18 it will have been two years since she died.
Ironically enough, it was raining. He could laugh at this. When did it ever rain in Southern California? He didn't laugh though. He didn't do much of anything actually. He stood, looking out the doors and wondered what it would be like if he stepped outside. He wondered if the world was aware of what had just happened, if they could somehow sense by the rain or maybe a difference in the atmosphere that something drastic had happened and that there was absolutely nothing anyone could ever do about it. He wondered what she would've said about the rain. He wonders if she can still feel the rain where she is, if she's still here but not present. He wondered if anyone even understood what he was wondering about, if these thoughts in his mind only made sense to him. He felt a warm hand on his right shoulder but didn't turn or make any move to indicate that he'd felt this presence beside him at all. Part of him wondered if she was really here, her hand on his shoulder, but another part of him said not to turn so he wouldn't be disappointed by the bitter truth of the situation.
"You're going to have to step out sometime. It's been eight hours, Ryan," Seth's voice softly stated. Ryan wondered if his adoptive brother was hurting at all. He bet that he didn't. He bet that Seth didn't feel a hole in his chest, one that could never be filled. He bet that Seth hadn't just lost his heart. Eight hours, eight minutes, eight seconds…it all felt the same to him now. Time doesn't matter without reason for it to. And eight hours ago, he'd lost his reason for anything. When Seth realized he wasn't going to respond, he said, "Come on…I'll drive you home." Ryan shook his head, still looking out those doors leading to the outside world. It would be so simple just to take a few steps and walk away, but yet, he found it was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. "Well, what are you going to do? Stand here for the rest of your life?" When he didn't respond, Seth said, "Come on buddy….you can get through this."
Ryan flexed the muscle in his jaw but didn't say anything for the time being. If you were silent for a really long time, would you forget how to speak? If you always get hurt, could you forget how to be happy? If it hurt so much that you couldn't bare the pain anymore, could you really die of a broken heart? And how many times can your heart get ripped from your chest before you lose it forever? "I'll find another way home," He finally said, minutes later, even though it felt like hours to him.
He could tell by Seth's body language that he was disappointed. He could see out of the corner of his eye the way Seth sort of hunched up and resigned himself. He truly did feel sorry for being so distant, but he knew in the end it was better for everyone. Everything he ever did resulted in someone getting hurt. He wouldn't let anyone feel that anymore. Not caused by him. Seth just nodded and said, "Okay. I don't think it's a good idea though.."
He didn't answer and Seth sighed and walked away. About a half hour passed by, though it felt all the same to him, when he felt someone else's presence beside him. This time he heard a voice that cut deep into his heart, but he kept his stone face up and his emotions in check. "Ryan…" Julie muttered. She seemed just as dead as he did and he wondered what she was thinking right now, if she was thinking about what had happened and was asking herself if there was any way that anything could ever be even remotely okay again. But silence is golden and he stood there, waiting for her to say something. "Did she…was she…" Her voice broke off and he heard her let out a small cry. She quickly put her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but he could still hear her. But not as much as he remembered the screams from earlier that night.
He didn't turn to look at Julie, the mother of the girl he'd loved, but still softly uttered, "I don't know if she was in pain. It was all so fast…she was there, and then she just wasn't anymore. I can't answer your question." And he knew, even though she hadn't spoken the words aloud, that she wanted to know if her daughter was in pain those last few precious moments here on earth. He couldn't answer anything meaningful, so he stood, his feet rooted to his spot as Julie nodded and walked away.
His eyes watched the rain pour outside for a very long time. He heard thunder in the distance, and every so often saw lightening. He stayed that way all day long. A security guard tried to move him, but he wouldn't budge and the guard seeing that he wasn't causing any harm, let him be. Hours ticked by, and before he knew it, the sun was starting to set again. It hadn't stopped raining all day long and the drops continued to fall from the sky. He wondered if it would ever stop, or if it would be nothing but a black sky and water for the rest of his life. A storm raging on the outside as well as inside of him.
People moved in and outside the doors that stood a few feet in front of him. Some got angry and annoyed that he was blocking their way and they had to move around him. Most were so absorbed in their own panic or grief that they didn't even know he was standing there. He noted that people acted like robots when they didn't want to deal with their own pain. One person in particular entered around the time that his life changed forever just a day before. He didn't notice until he heard his name being pronounced. "Ryan?"
He looked at her, and for the first time actually saw someone. He saw her dark hair and eyes and tanned skin. He saw his childhood staring back at him through those eyes. He saw confusion and wonder, but for the first time in a day he didn't see grief nor did he see anger or numbness. He saw understanding and sympathy. "Theresa," He murmured, his mouth opening for the first time in hours.
"What are you doing here…just standing in front of the door?" She asked, putting a hand on his bicep. She was wet, her hand left a wet spot on his shirt. He looked down at it and she removed it, showing where her hand had just been a moment before. He stared at the dark five fingers and the palm and it brought back so many memories from another time. A happier time.
"I have nowhere else to go," He said quietly.
"You can go home with the Cohens can't you?" She asked, looking at him with puzzled eyes. He didn't blame her. He wasn't making much sense to himself.
"I mean…there's nowhere for me to go, no point anymore.." He said, voicing what he'd been feeling all along. Because that was true. Without her here, he had no reason to live anymore. He had no reason to save anyone, including himself. He had no reason to enjoy a sunset without knowing that she was somewhere enjoying the view as much as he was. He had no reason to go on without her hand placed in his, knowing that they'd be okay. He had no reason for anything anymore, because he one and only person he ever even considered spending forever with had died exactly a day ago. And even though they weren't together, she was still gone and now he never had the choice to know if they were really meant to be.
"Do you want me to call Marissa?" She asked, her voice softening at the name. She knew that he loved Marissa. But she didn't know what had happened.
"Marissa…" He murmured, rolling his tongue over the name. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and blinked back the tears that he didn't want anyone to see fall. He looked at his childhood friend and somehow she understood. He didn't have to say anything because anyone could see the pain written in his face. It was a pain so raw, so heartbreaking, that he thought it would break him in two at that very moment. "She…" He continued, his voice breaking at that one three letter word. "Died."
And that was it. The word was finally out. He'd finally said what he'd been avoiding all along. "I'm so sorry…" She said softly, her voice strong and soothing. "I know how much you loved her…"
"I was there," He said quietly. "She died, in my arms Theresa. In my fucking arms." He spoke calmly, as if he was talking about the rain outside. The struggle he'd gone through just a second ago was now gone as he spoke about what had happened. It didn't make sense how he could go from so broken to normal. "She was here, and then she wasn't. And I can't leave because if I do…" He broke off, pausing to collect himself. "If I do, then I have to face a world without her in it." He looked down and quietly murmured, "And I can't do that."
Theresa went and looped her arm through his. "I was supposed to work a volunteer shift, but I think this is good enough." She started walking towards the door.
"What are you doing?" He asked, pulling back. But she'd always been strong, and she pulled him along with her.
"I'm taking you home, because that's where you belong. Sooner or later you're going to have to face it, and I know a lot of people that can help you," She said, pulling him towards the door. She opened it, and then suddenly they were outside.
The rain was cold against his skin and as it beat down, it soaked his clothes. The droplets were so large, it looked as though God mourned his loss. He looked up and rain fell in his eyes so it looked like he was crying. He broke away from Theresa and took a step forward on his own, then another, and then another. It angered him that there was a world without her, but it also made him kind of scared. How would he go on? What would he do? His life had been about protecting her and now that he'd failed, he didn't know what to do. "She would have liked this," He said to Theresa, but turned and saw she was gone, out of his life again. That was okay though. He walked forward some more and said to no one in particular, "I hate rain." And he wondered if she had an umbrella to keep her dry. He wondered if she needed one.
Years later, he still hated that rain. Whenever those drops came pouring down, he remembered that day. The day that he lost her. And even though his wife and children never understood, until the day he died, whenever it rained, he put out an umbrella, just in case.