"Ryder! Ryder!"
"Huh?" I asked, pulling myself back into the world.
I was currently helping Isabella with homework as I walked slowly around the kitchen.
"Stop thinking about my dad and help me."
"Who says I am thinking about your dad?" I asked, and she gave me a look.
"Okay, fine, I am, but what do you need help with?" I asked, walking over to her computer.
"I literally told you how to do this, start with MLA format."
Isabella sighed and rolled her eyes as she typed aggressively on her computer.
"Okay, now what do you need help with?"
"My thesis."
"Okay, this is a rough draft, so don't stress it too much. You are going to state your topic, your main idea for the topic, give a reason that supports it, then give two more ideas, write an opposite one, and then come back to me," I explained, and she nodded as she typed even faster.
"And spell things correctly; if I can't read it, I can't help you," I said, laughing, and she nodded.
I was really trying to get used to everything, but it wasn't working.
I was just horny, sad, angry, bloated, and hungry. That's all I felt.
As the days went on, I would help Isabella, and in return, she would help me walk up and down the stairs. And by help, I meant she stood there to make sure that I didn't fall back.
I am trying so hard to be happy, but it hurts like hell.
The only halfway normal thing was that Dom would still sleep with me, but only come out of his office sometimes, claiming he had to work.
I understand that because he's been taking care of me for a while now, but I now feel even more like a burden.
I could tell Dom was tired, but all I wanted was for him to be there for me as I struggled to walk up the stairs. But that's selfish, I guess.
Day after day.
Stair after stair.
The image of me being desperate and weird just for his attention plays over and over again in my mind.
"Maybe I should just buy an elevator so that it wouldn't be so hard for you."
I found myself smiling at the sound of his voice, but my smile faded when I saw he was on the phone; he was talking to me, but not really.
"No need to, I am doing better!" I said with a smile. I could feel the venom in my voice, and Dominic gave me a look.
I was going to blame it on the medicine if he asked, blame it on everything but myself.
"Yeah, I'm here." He said and walked away with the phone in his hand. "I am walking back to my computer now," he said, and just like that, he was out of sight.
What was the point in even coming out here?
To give me false hope?
To make me feel like you are still here?
I sat down on the step I was on and looked at the giant picture of Isabella that stared back at me.
I am trying to be cheerful and happy, I am trying to smile. I am finally out of the hospital! I should be happy.
So why am I not happy? Why do I feel sad?
Why do I feel crazy sad when I am in this warm house, surrounded by all of these people, all of this love?
Why do I still feel sad?
I still feel like I am intruding.
Like, I don't belong in this life.
Like, I don't deserve it.
I feel like I am almost there, almost up the stairs.
But. It feels so far, so fucking far.
"You need help?" A voice called out, and I looked up the top of the stairs.
I watched as Matteo walked down the stairs and sat down next to me.
"No, I got it; I am almost there, and I have gone this far by myself," I said.
"Very impressive," Matteo said.
And then we sat there in awkward silence.
"You okay? You look…like death."
"First off, rude, and second off, it's because I feel like it," I said.
"The medicine?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, really? Isn't that what you keep telling Dom?"
"I mean, the medicine is playing a part in it, but at the same time, I just feel crazy and sad. God, I can't explain it at all, but it feels like impending doom."
"PTSD? Maybe depression. I have both; that sounds kind of like it," Matteo said.
I turned to him. "You have PTSD and depression?"
He nodded. "Diagnosed."
"Damn."
"Yeah, I am medicated for it, but when I don't take my medication, I do feel sad and have lots of impending doom and suicidal thoughts," Matteo said, looking straight ahead.
"Oh."
"Yeah, yours might not be that bad, but I don't know, that's just something to think about. Not that you need to be on more medication."
"Yeah," I said, nodding.
I want to pry and ask, but it's not my place.
This is the guy who kidnapped me, for crying out loud.
Fuck it, I am asking.
"Correction is more manic depression, my therapist said." Thank God he was trauma dumping, so I didn't have to make it awkward and ask.
"Like being bipolar?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. My family is a little fucked up." I watched as he started to rock back and forth slightly.
"My parents, especially my mom, both had untreated mental health issues. She was genuinely crazy, and I think I inherited that along with all of this mafia shit, and it lowkey made me crazy."
"When my mom passed, I just got this shit dumped on me. I never really wanted to do this, but I didn't have a choice. And I can tell you one thing: mental health disorders and being a leader don't work well together. And I guess that's why I was really explosive. I wasn't medicated and was seriously projecting," he said.
I nodded along.
"Despite my parents' toxic ass relationship, my mom's passing crushed my dad. It broke him, and I don't even know where he is now, but one day he got up and left because he loved my mom so much. And I guess coping with that was hard as fuck. I was an alcoholic for a really long time, all throughout high school and college, hence why I was 26 and still in college." He looked at me with this soulless look on his face. "Sorry for dumping this on you; you probably don't care."
"No, I do. I want more lore from you."
"Lore? That's funny. Okay. Uh, my therapist said I have PTSD from everything and survivor's guilt." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, just looking soullessly. "I guess when I met Leo, everything changed. That's so cringeworthy, but he made me genuinely want to get help. I went to therapy and got quickly medicated. But I am very bad at keeping up with my medications, so I tend to have 'manic episodes' a lot. Like just making dangerously reckless, impulsive decisions that endanger everyone around me. Uh, when I kidnapped you, that was a manic episode because my medication had run out."
"Oh!"
"Yeah, uh, sorry about that." No remorse at all. "And then, on the opposite side of that, I tend to withdraw a lot, and I am very irritable and lose interest in things that literally make me me. I isolate myself like crazy because I just…I don't know, don't care. But I feel that impending doom wherever I go, like someone's going to kill me. I mean, I pick at my skin because I just feel like someone is always going to kill me," He said, showing me all of the scars that I never even noticed.
"Wow, I… I'm sorry."
"It's fine; I just need to take my medication," he said with a small smile.
I nodded. "Thank you for telling me."
"Yeah, so remember you are not alone. And I know my case is really severe, but don't feel like your emotions aren't valid," he said, and awkwardly rubbed my back.
"Thank you, my brother-in-law."
"Brother-in-law? That's crazy," He said, and the two of us started laughing.
"You and Leo are a thing…sorry were a thing and you are back in his life now so that makes you my brother-in-law?" I said, confused.
"Not in any world, but sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Matteo said, and he rested his head on my shoulder. "I also thought you guys were fake fiancés, since when did you get all lovey-dovey?"
I smiled. "I mean, we are still fake, but I guess I like him."
"You guess?"
"Yes, I guess. He's good-looking, he's nice, he's a dad, he's caring, and he likes to blow money on me…"
Matteo cut me off. "But he treats you like a king some days and others like you don't exist."
Fucker.
Matteo looked at me with his head still on my shoulder. "Am I right?"
"I guess."
"You guess?" He said, mocking me again.
"Yes. You are right. But you can't force love."
"And you also can't force your feelings down just to make someone happy," Matteo said.
"That's great advice if that wasn't what you did," I said.
Gagged. There was nothing to say after that.
"You like everything about him; you make all of these rules on how you guys are going to do better, but it only lasts until your honeymoon phase is over. Now you just feel used."
OH!!
"Got you again. huh? So instead of sitting here, waiting to be at his beck and call, do what feels right to you, so that you are happy on your own, and not just because he is happy. You should be happy because of your accomplishments, not because he will praise you. You should be happy because you can do it alone, not because you will no longer be a burden to him. Don't base your happiness on what he feels."
I felt my jaw drop, and then I quickly shut my mouth.
That's really good advice and what I needed to hear.
"Of course, you can still be his baby boy and whatever, but be happy for you, not for him," he said, and I nodded, as he patted my thighs awkwardly.
"Thank you, good sir, for the advice."
"Anytime. Anything else bothering you?"
"I."
"No, you aren't fat."
"What?"
"Sorry, I just figured it was going to be something about that. It is a healthy weight gain."
"That's what Dom said," I said.
"And he's right. I am in love with Leo to the ends of the earth, but I would be dumb not to look at you. I mean, I'm not into…" his voice faltered.
"Blexicans?"
"What?"
"Black and Mexican people."
"I thought you were just black."
"No, I am both."
"Oh uh okay. I was not going to say that. But anyway. You're hot. From a degenerate male point of view. You are hot and…"
"You already said that," I said, laughing.
"Okay, I'll just say it bluntly. You have a fat ass and your ass is getting fatter along with everything, and it is hot."
"Oh."
"I take it Dom has told you that."
"I mean not like that."
"All the healthy weight bullshit he's trying to feed you, he's just saying your ass getting fatter is hot and everything else too," Matteo said, shrugging like it was obvious.
I started laughing, and Matteo joined me.
He was a pretty normal guy, actually, when he wasn't his mafia self. I see what Leo sees in him.
"What are we laughing at?" he asked, mumbling in between laughs.
"I don't know, probably your face," I said, and he stopped laughing and then continued.
I felt myself start to wheeze as my stomach hurt.
Holy shit. I am not even laughing at anything funny. What the fuck?