Not Enough

Ryan's POV

His clammy fingers tugged on mine, leading me down the long hallway decorated with shabby turquoise wallpaper where he opened the heavy door and welcomed me inside. There was a plastic bag on the bed. I instantly knew what was inside. The bag held another bag with various smaller bags inside. In those bags held my one shot escape from the darkness.

            “More- I need more,” I said. I tried to keep myself in check- tried not to let my defeat to the drug show too much. I just wanted to leave my own mind so badly, I was willing to do anything. I knew it was destroying me… and I loved it.

            Rob handed me a baggie filled three fourths to the top with coke. I searched his eyes for a moment, waiting for him to say something, anything. There was nothing to say. I snorted two long lines. My nose burned so f*****g much. Tears burned my eyes, and fell down my face.

            “Why are you crying?” Rob asked timidly. He sounded scared.

            “I’m not,” I said defiantly. I rubbed my bloodshot eyes and stood up. I felt Rob’s hand on my cheek.

            “You can tell me,” he mumbled. I kissed him, and he shoved me onto the bed almost violently. His hands searched my body, like he would find what was wrong by groping at me. A hand slid down my pants, and I made no effort to stop him. In fact, after he was finished with me, I did the same for him. Afterwards, I just felt worse. I felt dirty. My head was pounding, the bridge of my nose throbbing. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I chuckled at myself because of the stupidity of what I was about to do. I stuck my hand under the freezing cold water and stepped into the shower without taking my clothes off. I sat down, clutching my knees and tried to focus on the sheer frigidness of the water instead of the memory forcing itself to replay in my mind. I saw blood dripping onto my arms and down the drain from my nose. Everything was drifting away. My body became numb, and the memory echoed in my head…

           

            The ugly newswoman on the TV had been blubbering local news nonsense for the past hour now. I had it on in the background while I sat in my bedroom and worked on an art project for one of the art classes I was taking that year. My junior year- the beginning of my junior year. We had been a week into the first semester when I met him. He had gone to a private middle school before coming to our public high school. He was so mature for a freshman. He looked too mature to be a freshman. His face was almost angelic. He was beautiful. Perfect bone structure, perfect body. I remembered his exact outfit from the night I had met him: white tee shirt, blue cardigan, dark wash skinny jeans, white Converse low-tops. I couldn’t help myself.

            “Anthony Thomas Aisely,” I heard the newswoman say. I whipped my head around to look at the TV screen. The wind had blown hard on the windows when I thought she said his name, so I wasn’t sure if I’d heard correct. But when I looked at the screen, there was a picture of him. The reporter looked sympathetic.

            “…found dead in his bedroom at seven this morning,”

            I stood up from my desk chair.

            “…empty pill bottles of Xanax and Prozac…”

            I knelt on the floor in front of the TV.

            “…funeral services will be held after further investigation…”

            I turned the TV off.

***

            “Hey,” he had said to me. The first word he had ever said to me.

            “Hey,” I said back flatly. I took another swig of beer and wondered idly why I was at Stacy MacMillon’s birthday party in the first place. Back then, I didn’t drink that much. I wasn’t always looking for a party. The only drugs I’d ever done were weed and… Tylenol.

            “What are we doing here?” he asked me, reading my mind. We looked a little out of place. I looked him up and down.

            “Have we met before?” I asked, sounding like a prick.

            “I’m Anthony,” he said, “Anthony Aisely,” he held out a trembling hand. I shook it.

            “Ryan Lane,” I said.

            “Cool,” he nodded. “Want to get out of here then?”

            “Yeah,” I followed him out of the enormous house through crowds of ugly, fake high school girls and strange modern art on the walls.

            We just walked. We walked forever… until we came to a bridge. There was no water under the bridge, just garbage.

            And it smelled like urine.

            He sat down first, and I followed suit.

            “I’m afraid, Ryan,” Anthony said. I looked over at his perfect face. His hazel eyes were twinkling. I couldn’t tell if he was about to laugh, or if he was furious about something.

            “What are you afraid of, Anthony?” I asked. I was sincerely interested, even if this was the first real time I’d spoken to the guy.

            “You,” he said. He was serious too. He turned his head to face me. I smirked. The corners of his mouth turned up the slightest bit- I took that as a green light.

            I placed my lips on his gently. I wanted him to remember this. He scooted closer to me and allowed me to kiss him more passionately. His breath was shaky and his hands were sweaty. I could feel him basically melting in the palm of my hand. He continued to explore the inside of my mouth with his tongue, despite what I wrote off as stage fright.

            I wrapped my arm around his waist and slowly slid my hand down his thigh. When I reached the final destination, he let a quiet gasp escape his parted lips.

            I felt his fear turn into passion as I touched him and kissed him.

            “F**k me,” he basically begged me. I smiled and nudged him down, getting on top of him. He had a condom in his back pocket which he shakily handed to me. I undid his jeans and undid my own and parted his legs. I placed one last kiss on his lips before entering him. He unsuccessfully fought back quiet noises of pain and eventually, pleasure. It didn’t take long.

            Afterwards, I threw the used condom under the bridge and put my pants back on. As Anthony struggled to put his back on, I said, “That was good… It was good for your first time,”

            “H-how did you know?” he asked.

            “It’s not all that hard to tell, but whatever,” I shrugged. Then, I said it. “Thanks,”

            He stared at me, silently.

            “What?” I asked.

            “Thanks for a good f**k? That’s… that’s it? That’s what you’re gonna say to me?” he asked, still timid. He looked so destroyed.

            “…Yeah. That’s what I’m gonna say to you,” I shrugged.

            He nodded, “So, ‘Thanks for a great f**k, kid,’ That’s all I am. At least I know now,” he mumbled.

            “Dude, what are you even talking about? You brought me here, you wanted to f**k.” I motioned a bit with my hands. “The end,”

            “I… thought…I don’t know,” he said, looking away.

            “You seriously aren’t making any sense,” I said. “Let’s go,” I tried touching his arm, but he jumped away.

            We walked in silence.

            “How are you feeling?” I asked. He looked uncomfortable, walking with a slight limp.

            “I’m feeling like you just put your enormous dick in my a*s,” he said.

            “Well…good,” I replied. More silence.

            “Actually,” he stopped walking, “I feel like I want to rip my own heart out and eat it,”

            “Oh,” I said stupidly.

            “I always feel like that around you,” he continued walking.

            When we reached his house, he looked at me.

            “You’re a good kid,” I said. He nodded.

            “That’s not enough,” he turned into his house without saying another word.

 

I never would have guessed that that would be the last time I ever saw him.

***

“Ryan,” Rob whispered in my ear. I could feel him beneath me, petting my wet, stringy hair. He had turned off the water and managed to get me positioned so that I was lying on his chest in the bathtub.

“Ryan, who’s Anthony?” he asked. It was like a crowbar to the stomach- salt in an open wound. Hearing his name out loud made it real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be my life.

“I know you’re awake, man. Answer me,” Rob insisted.

“Shh,” I managed to get out. He stroked my face. After a while he whispered, “You have such a perfect face,” I nuzzled his chest and closed my eyes again.

“It’s not real,” I said to myself.

“What’s not real?” he asked quietly. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t say it out loud. It had to stay in my own mind so that I could have just as easily imagined it- imagined him and everything that happened. His suicide. The letters he wrote me in the journals that his mom gave me after he was gone. He loved me. He loved me so much, and I fucked it up the a*s quite literally.

My eyes burned with hot tears that seemed to scorch my face as they rolled onto Rob’s tee shirt. He squeezed my shoulder. I cried and clung to Rob as I tried to shut out the possibility of it all happening again, only this time, to Pete.