He had to hand it to Marissa. She had been serious when she said she wasn't giving up on him. And she had handled it better than text book perfection. After a week of space, she had a small teddy bear delivered to his house. It wore a wife beater and held a Journey Greatest Hits album, with a note that simply said, "Track four. That's me." Track four was "Faithfully."
He had called her to say "thanks," and she told him all about her week, never asking about his. He didn't want to tell her anything, and she seemed to know that. She tip-toed around the fact that she had been hanging out with Seth and Summer, only mentioning it without ever giving him any real details. She was being the perfect girlfriend.
So when Kirsten called to say that she was going to be home late, and that he should find dinner for himself, he decided that it was time to be a better boyfriend. Marissa suggested a movie, and Ryan agreed, though he wasn't sure it was the best idea. Time in a dark, quiet theater only left him time to think. And he was starting to find his mind was the worst possible place to be.
The theater was barely half-full when they arrived, so finding a spot in the back row was easy. Marissa slid her arm under Ryan's and wove her fingers through his, resting their hands against his thigh. She leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, "I've missed you."
He didn't know what to say. To tell her that he'd been too busy worrying about Kirsten, wondering about Sandy and Seth, and thinking about his mom to miss her only seemed cruel. But to lie seemed equally heartless. So he simply turned his head and captured her lips with his. He felt inadequate in so many areas, but this was one he could handle. He had been perfecting his "make out" skills since he was twelve, and he was confident in his abilities. Maybe Marissa couldn't make him forget all of his problems, but he could make her forget everything.
He didn't know when the movie started, but it was nearly half over before she pulled her hand out of his tee shirt and wiggled away from his grasp on her ass. With a shy smile, she pushed her hair behind her ears and let out a heavy breath. "If we don't stop now," she started.
He silenced her with a nod, put his arm around her waist, and pulled her close to his side. Her head rested on his shoulder again and Ryan tried to focus on the film before him. He had never been into "chick flicks," so he allowed his mind to wander at will. And, as always, he found his thoughts drifting to "it." The problem, as he saw it, was that he no longer thought in terms of Dawn or Kirsten, but only of the "illness."
There were certain inalienable truths involved with addiction. 1.) The addiction made the addict weak. It strong-armed them into feeling that they weren't enough to function on their own, outside of it. 2.) The weakness made the addict scared. It terrified them into doing and saying things that their sober selves would never consider. And 3.) The fear made them liars. It made them weave an elaborate web of deceit in an attempt to protect anything and everything they relied on as safe and familiar.
They lying was like a sixth sense that kicked in the moment they felt change coming. It was why his mom bought him cigarettes the day after drunkenly declaring what a worthless shit he was. It was the reason she never said anything about the condoms in his bedroom trash the day after smacking him around. It was the reason Kirsten bought him a new IPod the day after she had thrown a bottle of Absolut at his head. And it was the reason she took him to the jazz festival the day after he hadn't shown up to take care of her that night he had talked to Summer at the bar. They always knew when they'd pushed him to the edge, and they would do whatever they could to pull him back before he was gone.
"Hey," Marissa's voice interrupted his thoughts and he noticed that the credits had begun to roll. The lights were starting to come up around them, as well.
Blinking quickly, he tried to smile. But he wasn't fast enough, and Marissa wiped the tear from his cheek without a word. They exited the theater hand-in-hand, avoiding each other's eye as they headed toward her car. "You wanna go back to the pool house?" he asked when he had regained control of his emotions.
She shrugged and put her free hand into the pocket of her jacket, moving slightly closer to him as the darkness settled around them. "Maybe we should just go get some food?"
He stopped, his face twisted in confusion. "You wanna eat? Kirsten's probably not home." He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her waist, dropping a kiss on her neck. "We could finish what we started in there," he nodded toward the theater. Marissa didn't answer, but he could feel her body stiffen. "What?" he asked, letting her go.
Biting her lip, she winced. "I don't know."
And he found an unexpected anger bubbling up inside of him. He knew she had every right to say "no," but he didn't want to hear it. He was so damn tired of catering to everyone else's needs and desires. For once, he wanted someone to give a fleeting fucking thought about what he wanted. And Marissa, once again, would catch the brunt of his fury.
"Seemed like you knew back there," he accused. "Or was that just a tease? Get me all ready to go and then back out like you don't know how you much I want you?"
Her eyes grew wide and he watched her lip tremble, but he didn't care. He didn't even want the sex that bad, to be honest. He was just tired of being needed. He wanted to be wanted for once. If he had to manipulate her into feeling it, he would. "I wasn't trying to," she started to defend.
But he dropped his chin to his chest, mustered all the vulnerability he could find, and then met her eye, a glassy look in his. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" She nodded. "I just," he breathed deeply and put his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. It's just a reflex, I guess. I mean, when my mom used to get all fucked up, Theresa and I would," he watched her flinch and he shook his head. It was all coming back to him, like riding a bike. Girls were so easy. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
She took a step back. "We've waited a really long time, Ryan. And I just wanna know that you're in the moment with me, not thinking about Kirsten or Theresa or your mom or whatever."
He smiled and put a hand on her arm. "Marissa, I promise you that I will not be thinking about my mom." She stomped her foot slightly, as though begging him to take this seriously. "Okay, listen. There's just so much fuckin' bad shit goin' on in my life right now, with Kirsten and everything. I haven't talked to Seth. Sandy's pissed as hell at me. You're the only thing that's good, Marissa. You're the only one that's not treating me like I've completely lost my mind," he explained. He hoped he managed the blush that he was going for when he tightly wrapped his fingers around hers and then rested both of their hands on her waist. He leaned his forehead against hers. "I just wanna be as good to you as you are to me."
Her lip began to twitch, fighting a smile. He could see the impact of his compliment, and inwardly congratulated himself for still having "it." She licked her lips. "You could just thank me," she whispered, her breath tickling his chin.
Ryan placed a light kiss on her lips and then shook his head. "You know how I am with words."
She rolled her eyes and led him to the car, her hand firmly planted in his back pocket. It was nothing but a series of bad lines, but she had eaten them up. He knew it was wrong, taking advantage of her deep emotions for his own personal gain. But he also knew that it was either get laid or punch someone in the face. Somehow, he had to find some release from all of the bull shit in his mind. And this way, he wasn't hurting anyone. Not much, anyway.