Choosing a Second Chance

Well everyone, this will be the last story I write about Ryan—there are three total, if you would like to check them out. I'll have to look elsewhere for inspiration if I wish to write more; all these memories of him are starting to get to me a bit. All that girly stuff aside, I hope you enjoy this one. It's a little slow to start off, but it's got the heartache you wanted to read about. Send feedback!

The strangest thing was the fact that I had been dreaming about him when he called me.

Ryan and I had been broken up for almost 2 months, and the less I saw or heard from him, the better. Truth be told, my heart was broken (as usual), and distance served me well in mending it again. Distance was exactly what had broken us up, ironically. Ryan had transferred from my college to one clear across the state, and neither of us wanted a long distance relationship to maintain. Thus was the end of us. I hate to say that I was bitter, but it's the truth.

He broke it off with me a month before the end of the school year, making the situation between us for that last month tricky at best. Every time I saw him I wanted to run into his arms and kiss him with fervor, the way I used to do when we were together. Things became awkward between us, and we more or less stopped talking for that month. He came to say goodbye to me before he left town for the summer, and I felt broken for weeks afterward. No one could console me or understand why he was so hard to get over. I shrugged everyone off, usually murmuring something about this being for the best. Either way, it was out of my hands now, and so was he.

I hadn't even thought about him in the last four or five weeks, and this was progress in every sense of the word. I was finally feeling like myself again--and even stronger than I was before Ryan and I started seeing each other. At last I began to feel whole again--I could sleep at night, I was eating better, and my friends were glad to have the old me back. This is why it was strange that I had just lain down to take a mid-day nap before class and found myself dreaming of him. Alas, truth is stranger than fiction--I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing beside me, and it was Ryan calling me.

"Look, is there a reason why you called me or not? I have to go to class in a few minutes." I was being short with him as I paced around my apartment. I didn't really care what he had to say, but then again I never could say 'no' to him.

"Yeah," he said with sincerity on the other end of the line. "I'm actually on my way into town right now, and I wanted to come see you."

"You're what?" I said, making sure my annoyance was distinguished in my tone. "When did you think we were going to get together? I have class all night." I pulled my book bag over my shoulders and started to head for the door, when someone knocked. I slouched at the sound of it, because I already knew who was on the other side. I hung up the phone and opened the door.

There he was, in the flesh, and twice as handsome as I remembered him being. He took my breath away, but I hid it well with the flash of anger in my eyes. He was wearing a collared shirt over a plain white t-shirt, and had it buttoned half way up. He was also wearing blue jeans, and for a moment it felt like he had never left. His eyes were the same deep dark blue, and his dirty blond hair hadn't changed much at all.

"Hey, kiddo," he half-smiled at me, but his happiness was unreturned. I wanted to brush past him and walk away when he called me 'kiddo'... it was his nickname for me. I hated it, but he loved to joke with me about it because I was a year younger than him. I saw in his eyes that he had called me by that nickname by mistake, perhaps out of habit, so I let it slide.

"Hey. I'm going to be late for class." I said, with no feeling in my voice.

"What class?"

"Arthurian literature," I mumbled.

"Sounds like fun," he chided, and I scoffed.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I had slipped out my apartment door and was just closing it behind me while I asked him this. He shook his head, and I sighed in exasperation. "Take my keys," I said as I rolled my eyes. "You can sleep here on the couch tonight and head back tomorrow. I have class til 9; will you be here to let me in?"

"Of course," he answered. I nodded, and walked past him down the hall to the elevator. I didn't look back until I heard him go inside and shut the door. Then I headed to class.

I sat through four hours of classes and didn't learn a thing because I was so distracted. At nine o'clock, I dragged my ass back home slowly; I was dreading stepping into my apartment and knowing he was there waiting for me. I got to my apartment and knocked on the door.

"Who is it," he answered in a falsetto voice. I had to grin, because he knew it was me.

"Hey, it's me," I said, and he opened the door. Before I could see him or anything else, two dozen red roses were shoved in my face as soon as he opened the door. The sight of them made me want to cry, and the gentle scent of them floated out into the hallway where I was standing. He put them down so I could see his face.

"Hey there, cutie," he smiled as he stepped aside to let me in. I choked back emotion and went inside. All the lights were off, and every candle I had in the room was lit. He was sending me pretty clear signals, and if that was all he wanted from me, he had another thing coming.

"What's all this," I asked, blowing out the candle nearest to me and fanning the smoke away. "Do you mean to burn the place down?"

"Yep, I'm an arsonist now. That's actually why I transferred—they don't have a good arsonist program here." I stood in the semi-darkness and stared back at him. The slight grin left his face, and he handed the flowers to me. "Here; these are for you."

"Thanks," I murmured, taking them from him and heading into the kitchen to put them in water. What he didn't know was that no man had ever given me flowers before—no one besides my own dad, when he brought them to the closing night of my high school plays. The sight of them stirred something deep inside of me, but I suppressed it with all my might.

After putting the flowers in water, I went around to blow out the rest of the candles. This was my subtle way of telling him that nothing was going to happen here tonight. I would be more direct if I needed to.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"So talk. It's a very small apartment, you know... I can hear you just fine." I blew out another candle. "The phone works, too," I mumbled.

"Okay," he said, but he just stood and watched me go around and blow out the candles and fan the smoke away. "Could we sit down?" Without answering him, I turned on the lights and sat down on the couch, leaving space for him. He came over and sat next to me.

"You look good," he said. I knew he was just trying to break the ice, but this was not the way to do it. I stared back at him, waiting for him to come to it.

"Okay, okay, here goes," he said, and mustered up his courage. "I miss you." I snapped my eyes up to meet his. "I don't know what to say, really... I thought things would be different once I transferred and we didn't see each other every day, but... it's not how I thought it would be." He waited for my response. My voice sounded small and meek, but was not trembling yet.

"Well... You've only been there a few months; you need to give yourself time to adjust."

"I don't think anything's going to get better, though," he said. "I don't think it matters where I am; just who I'm with." I caught a glimmer in his eye, and shook my head.

"No, no, no, Ryan," I countered. "You can't be serious."

"Okay now, just hear me out." There was such anger in my eyes; I don't know how he could bear to go on. "Look, I just... I can't stop thinking about you. I thought I would be over it by now, but I'm just not. And the scary thing is, I've never been this hung up on a girl before. I've always been the one who rebounds quickly and who can move on. But even though you're five hours away from me, I still yearn to hold you in my arms at night, to wake up to your smile, and to just sit and talk with you like we always used to do."

"Ryan—"

"No, let me finish. Just listen to me. I'm laying it all out on the line, I know. But I drove all the way down here just to talk to you." I looked away. The anger had faded from my eyes, and I needed to regroup it before I could look into his eyes again. "I really think we had the potential for something great, and I don't want to lose that."

"Lose it?!" At last, the anger was back, and it was bursting from me. "Lose what! There's nothing here for you! You're the one that left in the first place!"

"I know; I know I did. People make mistakes—"

"There's no such thing as a mistake," I countered. "How can you—I don't understand—are you CRAZY?"

"Well I must be, after going through all that work to transfer my classes, getting settled in a new school, and still wanting to be with you." I dropped my shoulders; the anger was fading quickly again, but I did not look away.

"You hated it here," I practically glared at him. "You were never happy here! Why the hell would you ever come back!? You have no good reason—"

"I'm looking at my reason right now," he looked me straight in the eye, and it took all the nerve I had not to throw him out of my apartment right that second.

"Look, this is ridiculous, Ryan," I replied coldly. "Stop with all the romantic bullshit and tell me what you want."

"I want you," he said simply. That was enough to finally force me to my feet. I walked away from him, trying to put aside my anger long enough to form a sentence to throw at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sadly, these were the words I came up with. "You can't just stroll into town, barge in here, and ask me to take you back! Do you think of no one but yourself?!" He got up and crossed the room to come over to me.

"I just wanted to know if there was still a place for me in your heart," he attempted.

"Does it matter either way?!"

"I think it does," he said, and then let silence sink in. "Baby, just say the word and I'll drop everything to be with you. You mean that much to me. I swear to you." I threw up my hands and walked over to the door with tears hanging heavily in my eyes.

"I think you need to leave," I snapped at him.

"Wait, don't just—"

"Don't just what, Ryan?! Let's say I did still love you; what then? You drop everything and move back here. And then what if it doesn't work out? Jesus, Ryan, you can't put that much pressure on me!" I opened the door and held it open while he let my words sink in.

"Do you still love me?" His eyes burned into mine, but I could barely see him through my own tears, which I refused to let fall down my face. I could not answer him. He walked over to me and stood dangerously close to me. I did not cry until he put his hands on me; one on my waist and one on my shoulder as I was holding the door open for him. "Tell me, please... Do you?" His face inched closer to mine, and I trembled beneath his touch.

I was about to stutter an answer of some kind, but before I could, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. My eyes fluttered shut, and I left them closed. His lips lingered near mine for a moment, and I could not breathe. He kissed me again, and even though my torturous anger still shook me, I kissed him back. My emotions flared up again, and I turned my head away from him.

"What are you doing," I asked, but it was barely above a whisper. I was still holding the door open for him. I was also becoming keenly aware that he had no intention of leaving. He brought a hand to the nape of my neck and bent down to kiss me again. My shoulders dropped and I became dizzy at his touch. Without thinking, I let go of the door, stepped closer to him, and put my arms around his neck. Fire shot through every fiber in my body, and it frightened me how much I enjoyed his kiss after all this time.

It was cruelty the way he kissed me—it wasn't lustful or urgent, but soft, slow, and devastatingly sweet. For a split second, the feel of his lips against mine made me want to hold onto him and never let him go again. My mind argued with my body, and no matter how wrong it was to be with him again, I could not tear myself from that moment we shared. There came a dull but provoking pain in my chest, and I stifled a sob. I broke away from him at last, and looked away with tears filling my eyes.

"I don't—" My breath caught in my chest and I tried to blink away the tears. "I don't think I can do this, Ryan..." I looked up into his eyes, and he stroked my cheek gently.

"I don't think I can leave you," he answered. I opened my mouth to say something in protest, but he stopped me. "Please don't ask me to." I pressed my body gently against his and kissed him again. He was like a drug to me; when I didn't have him, I could convince myself I didn't need him. But when he was there, in my arms, kissing me like that, I didn't think I could ever stop my need for him.

He put his arms around my waist and picked me up slightly off my feet for a moment, and I cursed him for it slightly in my head. I loved when he did that! Why did he have to do it now—of all times? I couldn't help myself—we stayed locked together, kissing as though we were making up for lost time. I broke the kiss again and felt like I couldn't breathe as he stood there holding me. I held his face in my hands and looked into his eyes sadly.

"You missed me," he grinned and gave me a look of silly innocence. At last, he made me laugh, but more tears fell from my eyes.

"You missed me more," I countered.

"You bet I did," he answered, and that endless sincerity was in his eyes again. He searched my face for a moment, and then leaned down to kiss away my tears. I hugged him, not wanting him to leave me for a moment. He tried to stand back up, because he was taller than I was, but I held on tight to him. He laughed and pretended to struggle for a moment. "Well I can't make a five-hour drive with you hanging on my neck like that," he chided. I giggled in his ear.

"You can stay here tonight," I whispered. I didn't want him to drive back so late.

"That doesn't solve my problem—I really seem to be stuck, here." He made a goofy face and acted like he was attached to me, but trying to struggle away. Without warning, he scooped me up in his arms, like a knight in shining armor would do. I looked at him pathetically.

"That was a cop out," I grinned. He kissed me slowly again, and my mind went completely blank. I had forgotten what it was like to be entirely immersed in a moment with him, and let some of my feelings flood back into my heart. I didn't even notice he had been walking until he laid me gently upon my bed, still kissing me all the way. My eyes snapped open in protest, and I let go of him. "Ryan," I shook my head seriously and looked him right in the eye.

"Relax," he protested. "I know you're tired, and it's getting late. I'll sleep on the couch, if that's okay with you."

Here came another one of those moments that were trademark to me. I wanted him to sleep with me so badly I could already feel his arms around me. But I knew that was not the right decision to make, especially because I planned to send him home the next morning with a different answer than the one he wanted. I could never ask him to change his life to be with me, and I would not do it now. He was going to be so disappointed. It was better to distance myself from him now, to make it easier.

"You can sleep here, with me." Did I just say that?! Oh good lord, I am such an idiot! Couldn't I, for once, see past my lust for him and realize the decision I should have made? Stupid, stupid, stupid!!

"Okay," he answered. "I'll go get my pajamas. Don't wait up," he joked. I feigned a chuckle, but inside I was still screaming at myself for being a stupid needy girl. With a groan, I raised myself from my bed and slipped into my nightgown—a simple satin nighty that ended just above my knee. I turned down the blankets and tossed the extra pillows on a nearby chair, then slid in between the cold sheets and pulled my blankets up around me.

"Geeze, I could barely see you underneath all those blankets," he commented as he came back in. He was wearing the same old pajama pants and a white t-shirt, just like I remembered. "Ya cold?" I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't come over and 'warm me up.' I was most definitely on edge, and didn't know how far I would let him go before I told him 'no.'

He came around to the other side of the bed and slid in between the sheets. He reached over me and turned off the light on the nightstand. "Holy crap," he said all of a sudden, sounding shocked. "Your feet are ice cold!" I clinched my eyes shut, cursing my bad circulation. "Come here," he said gently. I laid facing away from him, curled up because I was so cold. I edged my way toward him, still not looking at him or speaking to him.

I felt his body come up to lay against mine, and immediately felt warmer. He rubbed my arm gently, trying to warm me up. "Thank you," I said, feeling more relaxed. Then I felt his arm find its way to my hip, and he slowly slid it down across my waist. I don't know how long I held my breath, but it wasn't long enough. My eyes were shut tightly, and I could not wait for sleep to come. Just his touch filled my soul up to the brim, and I could not remember I time when I had felt more whole.

"Better?" He asked, and I nodded. He was just trying to warm me up, I was certain. It would come to no more than that. I rolled onto my back to look at him, and smiled. Yes, I was definitely still holding my breath as his hand massaged my stomach gently. Through the satin nighty, it felt even more welcome than I had expected it to. I had just started to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen when he whispered, "Just breathe." I let the air out of my lungs with a sheepish look on my face, and snuggled up closer to him. I knew him so well, and he knew me better than I knew myself most days—why should I be uncomfortable around him?

He held me tighter and got that soft-hearted, loving look in his eyes. I figured I should tell him here and now that I did not want us to be together again. "I want you to know how much I missed you," I whispered, barely on the edge of sound. "But you need to understand that saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." He stroked my hair away from my face and ran his fingertips up and down my cheek and neck as I spoke. "And even though I wish we were still together, I cannot bear to say goodbye to you again." He smiled warmly at this, clearly not understanding.

"You don't have to," he replied.

"I don't want you to come back," I blurted out. Could that have been less graceful? "It just wouldn't be right, Ryan. I'm sorry." He nodded, and I could scarcely believe I didn't need to say more—he understood exactly what I was thinking. I looked away from his eyes.

"Don't be," he said. "I understand. I'm the one who should be sorry." The silence that followed was almost too awkward to bear. It was thick and heavy, and we were both aware that we were in bed together, and essentially saying goodbye. "Gosh," he whispered, looking into my eyes and draping his arm over my stomach again. "Whoever you end up with is a very lucky guy, and he doesn't even know it yet." I sighed and brought my hand to his face and kissed him sweetly.

"I'm glad you're here with me tonight," I said. "It's enough for me." I kissed him again, turning to face him. His arm slid over my hip and down my back, holding me close to him. I became blatantly aware that we were making out in my bed, and that this would be the last night I would see him in a while—if I ever saw him again. We both knew that staying apart was better for us; I wouldn't have been surprised if I never heard from him again.