geminiy
v tired
Ryan Davies
Ryan was never a religious guy. He grew up in a very open family. Before he was born, his mother spent time with Buddhist monks searching for her calling in Tibet. His father was born and raised as Jewish, though he celebrated some weird hybrid religion, somewhere between Judaism and Christianity. Their house had crosses and lotuses and Stars of David and artwork based on the Quran. He lived with every religion and no religion all at once and although his parents followed their beliefs, Ryan never bought into the whole religion thing.
No, Ryan was never a religious guy. But in that moment with that over-sized, glitter drenched Care Bear hanging off of his arm, Ryan became a man of God. Or multiple gods. Or goddesses. Or Buddha. At that moment, Ryan would take anything or anyone divine that could simply get this girl away from him.
He had hoped that his English class excuse would have deterred her, the possibility of reciting Shakespeare and talking in depth about iambic pentameter would have bored her so much that she would have gone off to leech off another poor lost soul. But no, there she was, hanging off of his arm like she belonged there, looking up at the terrified teenager and blinking as if she had some of that stupid glitter stuck in her eye.
Abort mission, abort! She totally got the wrong idea.
Ryan had never had a girlfriend, never had any girls really go for him at all. He spent most of his teen years up until that point in and out of hospitals where the closest person in age to him was six, the years before that obsessing over his music. Besides, no one would have wanted to date the sick kid, especially not in middle school and early high school where the fight to be popular was raging and its warriors stopping at nothing to get what they want. In those days in the hospital, watching horrible teen dramas on the shitty television in the corner of the room, Ryan wondered what it would be like to have a girl fawn over him, to look up at him with love in her eyes and a playful smirk on kissable lips. If what was happening was what he had dreamed of, Ryan wanted nothing to do with it. And hey, if every girl is as absolutely bonkers as this kid (which Ryan strongly doubted, although the glitter was definitely getting to his brain), there was always men. Being bisexual actually had its perks for once!
"I'm, um, I'm sorry, I really should get to class. You know, um, my junior English class." Ryan stammered, trying not to upset his fan club of one while still trying to get away. Surely she wasn't a horrible person, only someone in desperate need of a class on how to act properly around people she doesn't know. Maybe she was just having an off day? He didn't want to seem cruel, though there were select words bouncing around in his head that nagged at him to be released that probably would send the poor kid running.
Maybe he could say he has the plague. That would get rid of her, right?
But now people were looking, their eyes boring holes into his chest. A 6'3" limb heavy teenager was hard to miss but add a neon sign to his arm and you've got a freak show that no one can resist looking at. The hallways seemed to be closing in on him, the edge of his vision blurring to a dark shadow. A pinpoint of clarity sits in the center of his vision began to disappear, fading away to double vision and fog, like a fish swimming aimlessly in a fishbowl, being studied by the prying eyes of those outside.
The pounding in his head began, some tap dancer going absolutely wild inside his skull. It was getting difficult for Ryan to keep his eyes open, the pain in his skull shooting down his neck. His mouth ran dry, any words he had been contemplating speaking becoming trapped in his throat. That's when he noticed the burning in the pit of his stomach, the shallowness in the back of his throat and he only had one thought: if he didn't go now, he was going to throw up on poor Boob Isley.
He had no more time for his attempted politeness, breaking the glittery death grip on his bicep and making a mad dash to the men's restroom. Bile was burning up his chest, leaving a trail of burnt flesh in its wake. He ran right through a group of people idly chatting on his mission to find a trashcan or a toilet before he ended up spilling his guts in the middle of the hallway.
Ryan pushed his way into the bathroom, not stopping until he was on his knees in front of toilet, everything he had been holding in spilling out of his mouth. The headache had only gotten worse, a pressure had begun building between his ears that threatened to burst any second. Pain, that was all he could feel.
He wasn't sure what happened next, or how long he had been on the ground in the bathroom. It could have been seconds, it could have been the whole day for all he knew, though someone would have helped him if he had been there for more than an hour. The vision was beginning to restore in his eyes, the rolling of his now empty stomach starting to cease. Slowly, Ryan began struggling to his feet. He tested a shaky step out of the stall, then another, then another until he was at the sink.
Ryan looked in the mirror, startled at the person looking back at him. His skin was pale, paler than usual, almost grey and translucent like glass. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes were slightly puffy. That was the second time in the past month that he had gotten like that. It wasn't panic, though panicking he had been. The throbbing in his head refused to fully quit. Thankfully, Ryan still had his bag. After washing his face down with cool water, he popped a few Tylenol and began chewing on a piece of gum. He had to steady himself on the counter, the room occasionally swaying in protest of his standing.
He had wanted to get away from that girl but that was definitely not the way he wanted to do it.
| Beau
Winona
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