If I Could Drown Your Gold

Title: If I Could Drown Your Gold
Author: all_depends
Rating: R
Warning: Rape, death, teenage angst, Sarah Orzechowski, makes little to no sense at all
Pairing: Ryden, Brendah
POV: First, Brendon's
Summary: None of this makes any sense, but looking into Ryan’s eyes, or as much as I can see anyway, I know in my heart he would never do anything wrong. Never has and never again.
Disclaimer: This didn't happen and could never happen. Words are mine, characters aren't.
Beta: youignorantfool



If there is one thing I thank my parents for, it is the day they bought some water guns for the family to play with. Maybe that sounds shallow and insignificant, but those water guns lead to something greater that would shape my life into something that can’t be named. I still remember that spring, one that seemed so rich with flowers and singing birds. My parents and I would shoot each other in our front yard with the water guns, then head inside for dinner and a regular family night. It’s hard to imagine how I never noticed anything past my perfect family, past my perfect house. But those water gun days opened my eyes to the latter. Spending so much time outside made me realize I had a neighbor who was about my age, and he would usually step outside right before dusk to read.

I’d never had a neighbor whom I could hang out with; I had my friends at school, but sometimes, when you watch too much TV, you notice how every movie neighborhood has those “friends” that meet when they’re still learning to read and ride their bikes together and grow up to become inseparable. I wanted that, even if it sounds cheesy or cliché. When I saw that boy, I thought he could be my inseparable other, and that we could meet each other’s parents and walk into each other’s houses like it was just an extension of our own.

It took me a while to speak to him for the first time. I didn’t know what to say without sounding weird. He was always so busy with his book, and I felt like it was a private activity that I would be intruding upon. But one day I just went for it. I walked to the very edge of my front yard, my toes barely reaching into the sidewalk, and I shouted his way. He looked up at me, and I said hi, waving awkwardly. He said hi back, and small talk evolved. It wasn’t much; I learned his name, the name of his book, and why he liked to read outside at this hour. With that, I went back inside.

The next day I invited him to the arcade, and he said yes. We got along just fine, even though we knew very little about each other, and those play dates became regular. Very soon we were so close that even our parents were friends. And at the beginning of that winter, I fell in love.

~~~

Ryan likes to follow me wherever I go. Or, at least I like to take him wherever I go. I like to surf occasionally, and Ryan’s usually there to watch me ride the waves while the only waves he bathes in are the sun’s light waves. When I step out of the water and into the sand, I notice it’s hotter than it was when we arrived at the beach. I see Ryan lying on a towel and closing his eyes at the sky. When he hears me walking his way, he opens his eyes, squinting. I tell him to put on some sunscreen and he does, obviously too careless to have done it on his own. I suggest buying ice-cream cones, and he accepts, so I leave and return some minutes later with one strawberry cone in each hand.

I tell Ryan I’m going to the restroom and leave him to eat the rest of his cone. I come back no more than five minutes later and find Ryan’s cone spilled and melting on the sand. Ryan calls after me and waves in my direction from inside the water. I wave back and smile in acknowledgement, watching as the sea waves sway him around. He’s so far away I can barely see him. He looks small and fragile compared to the vast ocean.

I lay down on my towel and the sun instantly hits my eyes. I shut them as a reflex, but then open them to stare at the sun for a few moments. I look the other way and I’m blinded for a second, just like I expected. Still, it’s tempting to look at the sun occasionally, especially when everyone warns you not to. Then I close my eyes for good and let myself drowse off to the sound of the waves crashing.

When I wake up, I don’t know how long it’s been. The sun has hardly moved at all, so it can’t have been more than a couple of minutes. But when I look around me, my surfboard’s not where I left it. I think someone must have stolen it, but then I think of something worse, and I hope to God I’m wrong. But I’m not. So I run, yelling for Ryan to get out because he can’t surf and he can’t swim and he should know better than that. He knows better than that.

There’s a wave, a pretty rough one, and Ryan’s out of my sight. I dive into the wild ocean in search for him. I need to get him out as soon as possible but I can’t find him anywhere. I see a hand trying to grasp the air above him and I swim in his direction. I grab onto him and he grabs onto me, pulling me down and making us both struggle as if we were drowning in quicksand. I swallow some water and breathe some in through my nostrils so that now I’m panicking to the point that I don’t know if we’ll get out of here alive.

I’m able to rise up and breathe in air, and then I get a firm grip on Ryan. We make it to the shore, where Ryan and I cough out the water in our lungs. I look at him and ask him what in the hell was going through his mind. I demand an explanation as to why he thought this was in any okay for him to do. I want to scream and hate him and prohibit him from ever setting foot near the sea again, but instead, all I can do is laugh. Ryan doesn’t seem to understand what’s so funny right away, but soon he starts laughing, too. We’re sitting on rough sand, still soaking wet, choking on salt water, and yet we still laugh because it’s over.

We decide we want to leave already and just go home. On our way to our apartment, Ryan tells me he’ll never be able to drink another drop of water in his life, and we laugh nervously about it. He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I, though I’m afraid that silence only leaves space for thoughts, and thoughts can sometimes be more dangerous than words. At home, I turn on the TV for sound and take a shower. When I come out, I find Ryan in the kitchen, gulping down a water bottle like he’s been in a desert. I wonder if he sees the irony or if he simply has a terrible memory.

~~~

Ryan is all I have. When I realized my parents were the cause of all my suffering, I moved out. That may sound bratty and rebellious, but it was the hardest decision I’ve made in my life. I loved my parents, but living inside their house was almost dangerous for me, so all I have left now is Ryan. But I’m not complaining because Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and all that matters to me is his happiness and his wellbeing. He is my life and I love him so much and I think he’s as close to perfect as it gets. He thinks I say that because he’s my boyfriend, but I swear I’m not.

He’s everything I have never been. He is so much better than me in every way, and that doesn’t bother me at all; in fact, it makes me proud. He’s smart, fun, beautiful, and kind. He’s the nicest person I know. And that might just be what I love about him the most: his pureness, his generosity, his honesty, his innocence. Every time I look at him I see that boy sitting in his front yard reading a book, flipping the pages oh-so-collectedly. So serene. That’s my Ryan, the one I see in front of me watching cartoons and reposing on the couch.

Sometimes I just glance over at him and I see those beautiful eyes of his and just feel the need to tell him how perfect he is. I stay in my lazy position and blurt out that I love him. He glances at me for just a second and smiles. He says jokingly that he loves himself, too, and something about it being a selfcest, narcissistic kind of love. He says it with such a passion that I almost believe him.

~~~

All this going to the roof at night soaking wet is giving Ryan a cold. I asked him about it one day when I found him on his back, staring at the sky while beads of water streamed down his strands of hair. He said he’d just taken a shower and just wanted to look at the stars. But for some reason he keeps doing it, even though I tell him it’s bad for him.

He’s been doing a lot of eccentric things lately, like the time I found him staring at himself in the mirror without me knowing; he wasn’t doing anything, just watching his reflection and making bitter gestures as though he were communicating with someone through body language. So instead of questioning I simply let him be, just as long as I make sure he’s okay.

This time I lie down with him and observe the shining dots above us. He comments on how it’s astounding to him how every star is light-years away, yet we’re still able to see that vicious fire as a tiny speck of light. He mentions that he’d like to be an astronaut, which kind of makes him sound like a ten-year-old. The moon, that’s where he’d like to go. He asks me that if he ever went to the moon and were stuck in there forever, would I look up at the moon and feel him close to me, even though he’s so far away. I tell him that even though I could always know where he is, I’d still miss him terribly, more than I could bear. He thinks about it as he looks at the stars.

He goes back into the house and I follow closely behind. That’s the last time he goes on the roof, though he still likes to peek through the window.

~~~

In only a couple of weeks it’ll be Ryan’s birthday. Nobody’s brought it up yet, so I ask him what he wants to do just in case we need time to make preparations for a party or a trip or whatever he’s planned. It’s not like we have a lot of money, but we’ve been saving for a while and if others are willing to cooperate, maybe we can allow ourselves some spending for the occasion. But he shrugs and says not to worry about it. If he doesn’t want anything big, I might as well buy him an ideal gift. He insists he doesn’t want anything, nothing at all. He tells me he just wants it to be like any other day.

I know Ryan, and I know he’s not the type to make any big arrangements or ask for expensive presents, but I know he still likes to have fun and be pampered from time to time. Besides, he’s very symbolic, so treating a birthday like any other day doesn’t suit him very well. I just love to see and make Ryan happy, so I organize a small surprise party. It’s nothing special, really—just a cake enough for two and a music album entitled Say Anything by a band with the same name.

Before I left that evening, I kissed Ryan goodbye without mentioning his birthday or where I was going. Now, with the cake and wrapped present in one arm, I open the door to surprise Ryan with his unexpected celebration. But even though I expected a smile and a thank-you, he stands up from the living room couch with fire in his eyes and goes to lock himself in the room.

I leave the things I bought in the kitchen and walk over to the room to see what’s wrong. He’s angry and his eyes threaten to cry. I start to ask what the matter with him is, when he yells at me. He tells me that he specified he wanted nothing for his birthday, yet I completely ignored his wish. I try to reason with him by explaining my good intentions, but he can’t seem to understand or appreciate my gesture. He blames me for something. It’s my fault, he says. I ask him what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t know.

I’m as confused or more than he is, so I touch his shoulder to try to get him to cool down. That moment, everything stops, from my breathing to my thoughts. Next thing I know, I’m pinned to the wall with Ryan pressing the heel of his palm so far into my chest, I fear it might break. I close my eyes and pretend that I’m being mugged by a stranger on the street because any other scenario is better than knowing Ryan is actually hurting me. Maybe it’s the fear or the dizziness from all the blood rushing through my brain, but I soon start to believe my own imagination. Ryan’s hand feels larger, stronger. His voice as he exhales is thicker and rougher than usual. This isn’t Ryan.

It’s when a sob escapes from me that he retracts, slowly. I open my eyes and Ryan is looking at me terrified, as if I were the mugger and not him. He comes closer to me again and I try to take a step backward regardless of the wall that is immediately behind me. However, Ryan only traps me in a hug. I can’t hear him cry, but his body jerks abruptly between my arms and chest.

Later that night, we’re sitting in the dark with only two candles that make our faces glow faintly. Ryan closes his eyes, and for a moment everything is surreally quiet and still. When he finally makes a wish, he opens his eyes and blows on the candles, turning the room into a densely dark area of nothingness. Everything comes back to life once Ryan flicks on the light switch. He loves the chocolate cake, loves the CD, loves absolutely everything. It’s his birthday and he’s happy, and that’s all I ever asked for.

~~~

Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake up thanks to noises of footsteps and nylon jackets, and they’re all coming from Ryan. I ask him where he’s going, and he gets startled because he wasn’t expecting me to be awake. At first he doesn’t respond, but he ends up saying he’s just going out for a bit. I ask where, but he gets offended by the question and tells me to stop worrying about it. I tell him I want to go with him, and he stops inches away from the door to think about it. He doesn’t sound very convinced, but he lets me join him and waits for me to get ready, too.

We don’t have any sort of light with us, so it’s hard to see where we’re going, but Ryan seems to know the way. We finally stop at the front door of a house I’ve never seen before, and before going on he grabs my shoulders and looks deep into my eyes. He only says four words, clear and concise, Do you trust me?

I have no idea where we are. It’s the middle of the night, a quarter past 4 AM, and everything is pitch-dark without a single star in the sky. None of this makes any sense, but looking into Ryan’s eyes, or as much as I can see anyway, I know in my heart he would never do anything wrong. Never has and never again.

I nod my head, which is enough for him to open the door to the house. It isn’t locked, and he opens it as though he already knew it would be this easy. We take every step with caution all the way down the hallway and to a bedroom big enough for one. On the bed there is a lump that rises and drops gently; I can tell only because the window is open and the moon is bright enough to do me the favor.

Ryan gets on the bed and crawls his way over to the unfamiliar person. I ask him what he’s doing in a whisper that’s almost too loud. He ignores me and asks me to get on the bed, too, so I do as he requests. I ask who this person is, but my whispering must have woken up the sleeping body this time because it tosses on the bed and makes a whining noise which I recognize as male.

Ryan moves one knee over him so that the boy or man is trapped between his legs. His hands fly toward the other’s mouth in an attempt to silence his howling. I don’t know what to do, so I jump out of the bed in one swift movement, but Ryan only orders me to go back and help him control the guy. He’s squirming and yelling under Ryan’s grasp and I’m just so scared to go anywhere near him. But Ryan hisses at me, so I climb onto the bed and awkwardly try to get my hands on the person.

Ryan tells me to sit with my back to the wall as he drags the boy in his hands to me. So now I’m sitting with a stranger leaning his back on me as I secure his torso with my arm. He seems to have the body of a teenage boy, although I still have no idea who he is. I press my hand tightly against his mouth so he won’t scream, and Ryan tells me to grab on to him as strongly as I can. I nod and watch him pull the covers aside, clearing any barrier between him and this unknown boy.

His attempts to escape become almost impossible to stop once we both realize that Ryan is pulling down his pants. My heart starts racing even faster than before and I ask Ryan frantically what the hell he thinks he’s doing. He tells me to be quiet and hold the guy steady. Soon the person between my arms is pantless, too, and Ryan struggles to set his legs ready for intercourse.

Between all the darkness and body parts, I’m able to hear the first cry of pain, and I dart my eyes away to avoid witnessing the act. No matter where I look, I can still sense the harsh movements from the corner of my eyes, and shutting them only lets me focus on the horrifying noises taking place. So instead I find my haven, a place I always go to for comfort—Ryan’s eyes. I focus on the tiny bit I can see of his eyes and forget about everything. I pretend there is no one else here, just me and those eyes.

Then I notice Ryan leaning closer and putting his hands on the boy’s throat, and I hear him struggling for breath. I want to let go so desperately, but I remember Ryan’s words and focus on his eyes again, enraged and lustful but still my eyes. The thrusts have become urgently violent, but all I can think of is Ryan and a book and a dull exchange of words.

I hear Ryan come and feel him slow down his thrusts, and I just now realize that the boy I’m holding is perfectly still except for Ryan’s jerking movements. I let go of his chest with my left arm to feel the pulse of his wrist but fail to find one. Exhausted, Ryan drops his head and supports himself on the bed with both hands. I know I’m holding a corpse, but I’m afraid to move.

Ryan looks up at me, still breathing heavily through his nose. He instructs me to stay where I am and wait for him to come back. A minute later, he’s back in the room with a plastic trash bag that we use to put the dead boy in. We manage to escape with the body without drawing any attention to ourselves.

Ryan guides me through a more familiar path, and soon we’re at the beach. The waves roar as we walk unnoticed toward them. We carry the bag into the freezing-cold water with no hesitation and let the waves finish the job for us.

By the time we reach our home, the sun has already risen and the birds are already chirping. We don’t bother changing or washing up; instead we lie on the ground and let the filth sink into the core of our souls. I want to go to sleep and wake up and realize—or at least pretend—that it was all a nightmare. But first Ryan turns to me and makes me look directly into his eyes. I don’t know if I can do that anymore. He lets me know that none of this is my fault whatsoever. Then he makes me swear that I love him, and I do. He swears that he loves me more than anything, more than himself. He kisses me and holds my hand until we both fall asleep.

~~~

I wake up later that morning without Ryan by my side. I want to assume that he’s sleeping comfortably on the bed while I suffered a serious case of sleep-walking last night. I check the room but he’s not there. I call his cell phone but it rings somewhere in the living room. There is no note or any way for me to know where he’s gone.

I sit down to think about where he could be, but my thoughts keep going back to last night. Could it all have been a terrible nightmare? Everything is so real and so vividly present in my memory, though. The way that boy jolted and begged to be released while Ryan pressed his fingers around his neck.

It’s one of those things that you know you’ll probably regret and feel more scared about afterward, but I have to know if it really happened. I take my car and head to the beach once again. There’s hardly any people there, but even just one witness is enough to have me sent to prison for the rest of my life. I could lie. I could say I just found something and it seemed suspicious.

I throw myself into the water in search of something that might be miles into the ocean by now. But after a couple of minutes, I catch a glimpse of a black plastic bag a few meters off the reach of the waves. I swim my way out and run toward the filled-up garbage bag. When I try to get it open, my hands make it impossible to untie the knot due to how violently they’re shaking. I press my face against the palm of my hands and take a deep, long breath.

A little more relaxed but still just as emotionally disturbed, I pull the straps and see damp hair first. I don’t know whether I can get myself to open the bag all the way, but something in me urges me to go on. I expand the opening of the bag and see a half-naked body, just like we had left it last night. I can’t make myself see his face; picturing his expression is horrifying enough. I dig my hand into the bag and reach for his hand just like I did last night, hoping for a pulse as if there were any chance that this boy could still be alive.

But before I can settle my thumb on a major artery, I notice a striking familiarity about his hand. I’ve seen these fingers many times in my life before, and I hurry to turn the boy’s face toward me. Seeing Ryan lying dead in a plastic bag in front of me is almost too impossible, to ghastly for me to accept it. I keep looking away and back into the bag hoping for a different outcome, but it’s always the same: Ryan, with a face as lifeless as a doll and eyes as empty as my heart.

A man’s voice suddenly startles me from behind, his tone sounding more accusing than it probably is. I don’t know what to do when he asks what’s in the bag. I try to work up a lie, but my mind and my mouth betray me. Before I can help it, the older guy is already sneaking around inside the bag, and to my surprise he doesn’t exclaim in shock or bombard me with compromising questions. I dare to turn around and look at the bag, but it’s filled with old coins. I make an effort not to seem confused, and then the man tells me I’ve got an impressive collection before walking away.

I wait for him to walk a few more steps before I search hysterically through all the coins, but there is no sign of Ryan. Instead, I find coin after coin, every single one a different size and color, as if they were from different time periods and different countries.

Just as I begin to question my sanity and sobriety, I stand up and look at the coins before me. I drag the bag through the sand, leaving a trail that will soon be erased by the wind, the waves, and footsteps. I dump the bag into the sea and walk away without turning back.

I come home with a sort of pain in my chest. When I open the door, I find Sarah inside, who receives me with a beautiful smile. She must see I’m hurting because right away her expression changes and she comes to comfort me. She says I look like I’ve been crying, but I tell her I’m fine, that I don’t even remember what was distressing me. She kisses me anyway and tells me she loves me. I answer I love her back, more than anything in the world.