Ryin

Even though Ryin tried to act unbothered, she was anything but. From the second the Uber pulled away from Dorian’s townhouse, her stomach had been in knots. The cold morning air hadn’t done much to settle the heat of panic rising under her skin. She stared out the window the whole ride home, but her thoughts were stuck on Dorian—on the way he looked at her when he found the messages, like she was some stranger he couldn’t recognize.

She hadn’t cried.

But she’d come close.

Her mind spiraled the whole ride: 

Did he tell Zoie? 

Did he call Tony? 

What if Zoie already knew? What if everything blew up before she had the chance to explain? If there even was a worthy explanation. By the time she got back to her house, her nerves were shot. Her pulse didn’t slow even after a hot shower and a few hours of hiding in her room. 

Her cousin, Stephen, noticed. Of course he did.

 He’d been staying in the guest room since Wednesday night, in town with his parents for Thanksgiving break. Ryin was used to his observant energy. He was one of the few people who could tell when something was wrong without her having to say a word. 

She’d barely eaten dinner. Barely said three words. 

And still, Stephen didn’t press. He just watched her, quietly, until they were clearing plates, and he asked, casually, “Want me to take you somewhere? Get you out of here for a bit?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

“You want me to just drop you near the plaza?” Stephen asked skeptically as they backed out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Ryin said, adjusting the sleeves of her cream-colored shirt. “Zoie and I are meeting at Aéropostale. She needs a break from studying.”

That, of course, was a lie. 

Zoie was at home, hunched over her notes with caffeine, prepping for her upcoming practicals. She was studying to become a radiologic technologist at the Medical Institute of Ventura Lakes, and she hadn’t budged from her books all day. Ryin knew—she’d texted her that morning. But Stephen didn’t question it. 

He just nodded, the look in his eyes unreadable. “Cool. Call me and I’ll circle back later.”

He didn’t need to know the truth. That she was meeting up with Tony.

  ***

She’d texted him not long after she left Dorian’s house that morning. 

Ryin: We need to talk. NOW.

Tony: I’m working a 12. Meet me behind the store near the end of my shift. 9:30. Make it quick.

He hadn’t answered her call. Just sent that one cold reply like she was a problem he was scheduling around. Typical. 

Tony was deep into a twelve-hour shift at Urban Drape Studios, the kind of store that only hired pretty boys with sharp jawlines and aesthetically pleasing Instagram posts. His dress shirts were always perfectly rolled at the sleeves, his slacks tailored, his cologne subtle but expensive. He looked the part and played it well. But Ryin knew who he really was. 

And shamefully, she loved him anyway. She always had—since the eighth grade, back when things were simple, back when he wasn’t so cruel. 

Before the arrogance. 

Before the lies. 

Before she learned that loving Tony would always mean losing parts of herself. 

She stepped out near the back entrance of Westview Plaza, waving off Stephen. “Thanks. I’ll text when I’m done.”

Her outfit was effortless. Zoie would’ve called it a “neutral baddie fit.” Cream long-sleeve shirt. Tan puffer vest. Brown sweatpants that hugged her hips and cream Air Maxes. Her lip gloss was fading, and her dark hair was clipped back in a claw clip, a few strands falling loose against her face. 

Her reflection in a window of a storefront she was passing looked put together. But inside, she was a mess. 

And the closer it got to 9:30, the more she felt like she couldn’t hold herself together much longer.

As she walked behind the boutique, the cold wind sliced at her cheeks, but she barely felt it. The closer she got, the faster her heart hammered in her chest. Her breath caught halfway up her throat, each step heavier than the last.

Tony was already there, pacing like a caged animal beneath a flickering alley light. The glow cast shadows across his face, sharp and hard.

He didn’t greet her. Didn’t ask if she was okay. “Talk,” he snapped the moment she stepped within range.

Her voice trembled, but she forced it out. “Dorian knows.”

Tony stopped mid-step. He turned to her slowly, jaw tightening, like he didn’t want to believe her. “Knows what, Ry?”

“About us.”

His entire posture shifted. Shoulders squared. Brows furrowed. He took a slow step toward her. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” she said quickly, voice rising. “He went through my phone while I was asleep this morning—”

“You’re kidding me,” Tony muttered, already dragging a hand down his face. Realizing that’s probably what Dorian was calling him about earlier.

“I’m not. I came to warn you so you can get ahead of it before Zoie—”

“Don’t bring her into this,” he growled.

“She’s already in it! She’s your girlfriend—”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

She stepped back. “You don’t get to act mad. You’ve been using me for year—”

That’s when he snapped.

He lunged. 

His open hand jabbed her in the throat—right under her chin—forcing the breath from her lungs. She stumbled back, coughing violently, clutching at her neck. 

Before she could recover, he grabbed the front of her vest and slammed her back into the brick wall. Her skull cracked against it so hard her knees buckled. 

Stars exploded behind her eyes. She tried to scream, but his hand was already back around her throat, squeezing.

“You let him find out on purpose, didn’t you?” Tony hissed, spit flying.

“I didn’t—” she rasped, clawing at his wrist.

“You wanted this to blow up. You’re jealous of me and Zoie. You’ve always been jealous of her!”

Her nails dug into his forearm, desperate for release.

“This is your fucking fault. All of it. You couldn't handle being second, so you set me up.” He threw her down hard onto the gravel.

Her knees slammed against the ground. Her left wrist twisted on impact, a crack echoing in her ears as pain shot up her arm. She screamed—but it came out broken and thin. 

Then came the kick.

His foot rammed into her stomach—once, twice—until she folded into herself, gasping for air, the taste of bile rising in her throat.

“You think you can fucking ruin me?” he barked.

He yanked her by the hair, dragging her across the gravel like a ragdoll. Her shoes scuffed. Her hip scraped. She couldn’t even fight—her limbs wouldn’t move fast enough.

“Tony—please—” she sobbed. “Please—stop—”

“If Zoie finds out—if anyone finds out—I swear to God, Ryin, I’ll end you.”

He grabbed her face, fingers digging into her cheeks so hard her jaw popped. Then he shoved her backward, the jerking motion causing her to bite her tongue. Warm blood filled her mouth. She coughed once.

And then— 

He rolled down his sleeves. 

Adjusted his collar. 

Scanned his badge on the keypad for the back entrance and disappeared inside. 

Gone. 

Just like that. 

Like it was nothing. 

Like she was nothing.

Ryin lay twisted on the cold gravel, gasping. Her face burned. Her ribs throbbed. Her wrist. . . she couldn’t move it. 

The alley around her spun, the world narrowing into nothing but pain and cold. 

She didn’t cry, she couldn’t. 

Her body wouldn’t let her. 

Every inch of movement hurt, but somehow, she made it to her feet. Her steps were uneven, her side on fire, but she forced herself to limp toward the front of the plaza.

She collapsed onto a metal bench at the bus stop, her body folding in half. 

The streetlight above her flickered, painting her in a sickly yellow hue. 

She pulled out her phone with her good hand, thumb shaking as she unlocked the screen. She tried calling Dorian.

Blocked.

Of course.

She stared at his name on her call list for a few seconds before it faded away, and all that was left was her pitiful face staring back at her through the reflection of her dark phone screen. Her fingers shook too hard to type, so she tapped the call symbol by Zoie’s name. 

It rang once. 

Twice. 

“Hello?” 

Her voice cracked. “Can you come get me?”

“Ryin?” Zoie’s voice sharpened, “Where are you?”

“Bus stop. Near Westview Plaza.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I— I just really need you to come get me,” Ryin whispered. “Please.”

“I’m on my way,” Zoie replied without hesitation.

The line went dead.

Ryin looked down at her phone and tapped the screen. 

Nothing. 

She pushed the power button, and a low battery icon flashed before going black again.

She didn’t move. 

Didn’t fix her hair. 

Didn’t wipe the blood. 

Her tongue was still bleeding. She could taste it. Her fingers were swollen. Her wrist throbbed with a slow, relentless pain. Her shirt was stained. The skin on her knees burned raw. She pulled her hood up on her puffer vest, hiding her face from the passing cars.

The wind howled. The bench creaked. 

And under her breath—shaking, barely audible—she muttered, “I can’t let Zoie find out.”

But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep the truth from coming out. And that's when the tears finally started to flow.