10 | Vulnerability

                                    

                                          
The boy sitting next to me is someone I don't recognize. Whenever we cross paths, he's overflowing with confidence, brusque and impatient. His words are full of hatred intending to hurt me, and each time, I allow him to pull me deeper into the abyss of remorse.
But I haven't seen him like this. Broken, hurt, and betrayed. A mirror full of cracks that's beyond repair. How should one go about fixing this?
Oh, Riley.
What did you do to him?
Out of the window, cars and houses fly past us. When we arrive at my house, it's drizzling. I shake Kyle awake and he stirs, but barely stays conscious. It takes every ounce of my energy to pull him out of the cab and we stumble towards the dark house up ahead.
Light raindrops hit my face, cool and gentle. Breathing heavily with effort, I'm literally supporting more than half of his weight and it's killing me. Somehow or another, I pull out my keys and unlock the front door, flipping on the light switches. I could have left him in the living room, but the plush couch can't accommodate his tall frame. I glance at the floor, which honestly looks like a tempting idea, but it's cold. 
Which is why he ends up on my bed later on, with me sitting on the edge in exhaustion.
His little rambles are starting again. "Riley?"
"Yeah?"
"Riley?"
I sigh at his delirious state. "I'm right here," I answer. "We should really talk when you're sober."
A fleeting silence lapse between us and I feel the heat of his gaze burning into the back of my head. "Why did you leave?"
I frown. "I–"
But my voice fades. I wish I've the answer, but I don't. This moment is turning out to be by far the trickiest and frustrating moment where my amnesia has played out.
When Kyle hears my silence, he flares up once again. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, an arm resting over his forehead. "You ghosted on me," he mutters bitterly. "On your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Or was I not even one in the first place?"
Guilt swells up in me and all I can do is to stare down at my hands in silence, but something grabs my arm and pulls me back.
Kyle.
He forces me to look at him, the harsh lines of his face softening. He's probably too drunk at this point to realize what he's doing in front of me, that he's putting down his walls and showing me his true self. Baring his vulnerability for me to see.
I wonder how he's going to react once he gets over his drunken state.
"Riley." His voice breaks in desperation as his eyes glisten, his hand gripping mine tightly. A sight that tears my heart apart. "Why did you really leave? Was I not enough?"
I hesitate, finding the words stuck in my throat. Wordlessly, I reach out my hand and press it against his warm cheek. I brush the skin below his left eye and he closes both of them, allowing himself to melt into my touch. Several seconds later, his breathing evens and he drifts off to sleep once more.
"It's not you," I finally whisper, even though I know he can no longer hear me. "It's me. I'm sorry."
I watch him sleep. Something tells me that revealing my amnesia to him will not make things any better between us. I feel so bad towards him, but nothing I do or say can resolve our past. Whatever words come out of my mouth, I'm digging a bigger hole for myself.
I'm not making his life any better and in return, it's not making mine either.
***
I don't know how it happened, but when I finally woke up, I lay on my bed, in the space right beside the spot Kyle lies in. It's still dark outside, but the clock sitting on my dresser tells me it's six in the morning.
I feel the bed sink next to me, followed by a rustling noise. When I turn and sit up, I spot Kyle sitting on the edge with his back facing me and holding something in his hands. He seems sober now and engrossed in whatever he's reading that he doesn't notice I'm awake.
But when I catch sight of something blue, I freeze, realizing I'm in trouble. He's holding onto the notebook — the same one that Aunt Abbie has given me some time ago to pen down my thoughts.
In a fleeting second, I launch myself across the bed and slap a hand over the book, forbidding him to read the first entry I've ever written. He jerks in surprise but doesn't retaliate when I pull the book out of his curious hands. Instead, he shoots me an odd frown.
"You write to yourself?"
So he really finished reading the first page. "Y-yeah," I lied. My heart is racing with anxiety at the close call. "It's normal, isn't it? And why did you even read it? Don't you know it's rude to intrude on somebody else's privacy?"
He rolls his eyes and bites back. "Well, don't you think it's rude to pretend not to know somebody? Or ignore people's texts and calls?"
Once again, guilt hits me and I suck in a breath. "Do you always call me like how you did tonight?" I begin. "When did it start? Was it ever since I left—"
"No," he cuts me off coldly. "And I was drunk. I won't do it again."
Sure enough, he has reverted himself back to his old self. If he remembers what he did and said to me earlier, he's pretending that none of those things happened. The silence between us is awfully tense, with neither of us knowing what to do next.
I suddenly remember something that has been lurking in the back of my mind for days now.
"Thank you, Kyle."
He freezes before glancing at me over his shoulder. His emerald eyes are now hard and guarded. "What for?"
"The other day at the stairs," I reply, biting my bottom lip. "When I almost slipped. I realize I never get to thank you properly."
Instead of throwing out his usual snide remarks, he surprises me by falling into a deep, thoughtful silence. All these times, he has been trying so hard to provoke me repeatedly and waiting for me to lash back at him, but when I don't, he doesn't understand why.
"I still don't know what kind of game you're playing, Riley," he says at last. "Showing up in front of me after a year and bringing me to your house..." His cold eyes hold me in place, frosty and unforgiving. "If you're trying to get close to me again, you're wasting your efforts."
With those words hanging in the air, he stands and stalks out of the room. Shortly after, the sound of the door closing downstairs is so loud that it leaves a deafening silence behind. It feels like he has slammed a wall between us, preventing me from reaching out to him and protecting him against me.
To Kyle, I'm his biggest enemy.
❖
Dear Riley,
I need to remember the past.