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RyderNathanGarson
The previous Friday night’s proceedings were as irritating now as they had been in the moments they occurred. Partly due to the fact that young Mr. Garson hadn’t given himself much chance to visit his bed over the weekend…at least not to sleep in that was. Sleep deprived or not the ultimate outcome was still the same. His night, his entire weekend at that, had turned into an epic fail, his guitar had been smashed to smithereens and in his effort to escape the crime scene he’d left his car in Jake’s drive. Not the smartest of things to do, but at least he wasn’t storing anything other than sound equipment in his firebird at the moment. It made for quite the interesting conversation with the chief of police, as if the encounter with Tod wasn’t interesting enough all on its own.
Ryder had been fairly surprised the old geezer hadn’t shown up on his door step with a search warrant. The officer was known for giving him a hard time. Lucky for Ryder the only thing he had stored away in his 1973 Pontiac had been sound and lighting equipment. Suddenly he had a new respect for “spring cleaning” and Febreze, the magical cure all; particularly the line of Air Effects. There had been more uses found in a single product of Febreze than any other on the market in the life of the druggie. It was his mentality that if it smelled of something horrible putting a little Febreze on it would clear it right up. It was a good thing his father sent over a maid once a week to clean his house.
The house he currently occupied wasn’t his own, of course, but his father’s. It had been given to him for his 17th birthday, with practically no strings attached. The word “practically” was used not because there were strings attached, but because there could always be strings added. His old man wasn’t an unjust individual, but he had a strictness to him that seldom went un-obeyed; even by Ryder. In this world strict did not always mean fair, as Ryder sadly learned early on in his relationship with the man. Ryder had never made outstanding grades, so he wasn’t expected to keep them up. What ground rules had been set were merely understood: Stay in school, stay in the house. That meant every time he’d been busted for possession his father had threatened to kick him out. Lovely, heartfelt times, really.
Ryder had only recently, the beginning of the school year, been allowed back into the house. What time he had had left of his senior year the year before as well as the summer were all spent at a friend’s house, working. Oh, the joys of construction work. At least there had been some decent stories come out of that occupation. Gruesome though some of them were, most were more humorous than grotesque. He had to admit that the work kept him in pretty good shape, a not so good fact for the pulverized Ashton.
Stupid punk… Ryder gave a quick flick to the cigarette, the ash plummeting as his thoughts brought a frown to his lips. A hairline change in his features, but the thought of that brat getting in his way irritated him. The fact the camera kid had even left an imprint on his mind was irritation enough. It hadn’t even been the kid his anger was directed at…at least not in the first place. Had to be an idiot, Ryder decided with another drag on the cancer stick between his fingers. He’d been sure Ashton, a fellow freak, would have known better than to step into the line of fire. Apparently he hadn’t been observing closely enough…or I’m just that good an actor. Another thoughtful drag followed by plummeting ash. He only made things worse, pushing me like that.
He let his emerald eyes slide shut, expelling the toxic smoke into the courtyard air. The outside tables were used for many things such as lunch or taking a badly needed smoke break. That and under the bleachers, but Ryder tried to keep his distance from the underclassmen. He’d spent many class periods with Maggie under the bleachers, among other places, smoking as much as anything else. Speaking of Maggie, the girl had shown up on his door step Friday night looking like hell. She’d arrived shortly after the sheriff had dropped off his precious bundle. A good thing she hadn’t been any earlier, one look at the girl and he’d have the police office down his throat for abuse. One less thing for him to deal with, as if tending to his unexpected guests’ nose wasn’t enough, the very next day she’d been going on about his non-existent interest in other men.
His eyes slid open into slits, his gaze downward as the smoking bit of tobacco hung in his mouth limply. Had she been talking about his little encounter with prison bait at prom? That had been before he’d heard wind of her being in town hadn’t it? She couldn’t have possibly known about that so quickly, right? Besides that he’d only pulled the closest guy at the moment to him. Whatever, at least he was out of the double date catfight. That had turned out a lot worse than he’d anticipated, honestly. The boy had only been an excuse, a diversion to get the girls off his back.
This school and its damn gossip. There were probably a number of various stores floating around about what went down at and after prom by that point. He could have sat and thought about the possibilities, but he didn’t. He merely sat content in pulling the sweetly warm smoke into his lungs. Long drags, long hold, long releases that often ended in his playing and making smoke rings in various sizes. It wasn’t like he really had anywhere to be, guitar class was a dud without a guitar to play on. There was no reason to go to that class until further notice. Ashton had the f** in his—Ryder’s—hand to thank for still holding his life. It wasn’t quite as affective at calming the belligerent man as weed, but it did the trick for a quick fix.
The tingling buzz hummed to him, soothing the rage that threatened to claw its way out into the world. Leaning back against the table, his legs sprawled out carelessly; he dropped his head back with a deep breath. Maybe he should just go home? Without Guitar to wake him up he felt the yearning for his soft pillows and lush mattress pull at his eyes even more. He’d have stayed in bed, not even bothering to come in, if he hadn’t brought Maggie to school that morning. Now that she was serving her time, in some useless class no doubt, he had little use for the day. Guitar did so much more than wake him up in the morning, it gave him inspiration. Without the inspiration of the morning, his day was shot. Sure he had Trig and Astrology, but Creative Writing, Poetry, Film and Music and Dance would have nothing to build on. A complete waste of his time, he decided, keeping his rear planted right where it was. A new cigarette found its way between his lips, followed in suit by a little blue lighter that ignited the chemical reaction he’d just finished moments before. The little white rod bounced between his lips, his eyes closed once again, “What the hell am I still doing in this s**t hole…?”
< Don't need to know your name >
< Just how hard >
MY NOTES
Daddy loves you sweety but I'll still put a leash on you if I have to. -Ryder
So young, so sweet, so totally out of my contorl. She's becoming more and more like her father every day. -Wolfram
Momenti == means to "relax" or "take it easy"
 lollipop-heart-stab · Sat Jul 05, 2008 @ 05:26am · 0 Comments |
