WHAT AM I NOW

riley: im calling maury to dispute this live..

riley: how great would that be!

witney still gives him butterflies in his stomach, that feeling he’s constantly chasing -- like it’s a high. rejection tended to do that to him, prolong the infatuation, turn his fragile heart into something of a game. he would never admit it, though, especially not to her. he didn’t WANT to still crave her approval. to still feel his heart skip when he saw her across campus, or at a ratty house party. they had just slept together, after all, and just once, and he hadn’t even spent the night. ( never mind the fact that he had been kicked out. ) “and i don’t care if you care who i’m sleeping with,” he snorted, and he sounded confident. like he was fully telling the truth. “it’s a good thing you don’t care, too. it’s a pretty long list.” he raises his brows at her, testing the waters, trying to get a rise out of her that he’s not sure he’s capable of conjuring. 

he wants to tear his eyes away, to give greg a LOOK. something that will scare him. he’s pretty sure he can roll his eyes all the way to the back of his head, classic possession, just the whites of his eyes, but he can’t break from his game. he feels like it means something, the intense staring, like it’s less creepy and more intimate, but he isn’t quite sure. “if she’s one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, maybe the end of the world won’t be so bad,” he shrugs, biting at his lip to keep from breaking a smile. “dude. there’s a fetish for everything. haven’t you browsed pornhub recently?” riley speaks knowingly but says no more. the beer has become a real problem, in his haste he’s pretty sure he emptied the whole bottle into their laps and it’s sticky and it’s cold and it’s downright uncomfortable. “i bet i could jump on it and break it,” he hums, suddenly transfixed on the table. he gets like that, when he has an idea formed. it’s almost impossible for him not to follow through. he’s always acting like he has something to prove, being in a band, wanting to be a rockstar. rockstars do things like this, smash tables at parties and ruin perfectly decent couches. “it looks kind of sturdy but i’m wearing really heavy shoes,” he holds up a leg, revealing his black boot. “want to watch me try?”

he’d loved her, once upon a time -- something he could say about more people than he’d like to admit, feelings caught between his ribs, fluttering until paper wings burned up. he’d stare at her from across a table in the library, envisioning a future together, art galleries and interlocked pinkies. he’d write her letters, long ones, while she sat next to him trying to single handedly salvage his european renaissance grade, then crumple then up when the studying was done. all for the better, probably, when his passion simmered into admiration, head finally back square on his shoulders. it was comfortable now, to sit next to her and people watch, to fawn over others so openly that the old love didn’t find time to cross his mind. that’s just how riley was. tessa knew this by now. a romantic, of the hopeless variety. “maybe i would have been watching mr. kreuger, if he had been staring at me like this,” a finger wags between himself and the aforementioned francesca flatiron, but his interest in her wains as tessa speaks. “that means i’m, like, casper. some loser ghost that follows you around for all eternity. or until you help me with my unfinished earthly business, which, i believe, is landing that girl’s number.” his smile is toothy, a grin that warms his cheeks. ‘i’m so wet, riley, and it’s your fault.’ thick eyebrows skyrocket, words he’d once dreamed about hearing leaving tessa’s mouth, and he has to clutch his gut to keep from doubling over. he has to grab her shoulder to stabilize himself, laughter wracking his chest and he leans in, trying to look sultry. “i always knew i had that kind of effect on you,” he purrs, winking before he throws his head back. he’s reveling in her embarrassment, holding onto it longer than he should. “really bold of you, to announce it to the world like that. and in front of my new wife?” he hikes a thumb towards the other side of the room. “you’re shameless! i’m scandalized. if only the cameras had been rolling, so i could live in this moment forever.”

riley isn’t sure if he’s joking, not at first. he’s half smiling, having pulled his eyes away from the contest finally, trying to gauge whether he was in real trouble or not. “good one,” he huffs, but his smile is falling and his heart rate is quickening. he wonders if the other boy can hear it, pounding in his ears. this is how people used to get beat up in movies, hitting on the wrong guy’s family member, and it feels like he’s back in high school. small, insignificant, a target painted brightly on his forehead. a sign taped to his back. KICK ME. “are you-- c’mon. prove that’s your sister.” he allows a glance back to the other side of the room, but the girl is gone. her outline is still tattoo’d across his eyelids, like when you stare into a light for too long. he’s almost frozen, stuck in a situation he always knew he’d find himself in, only he always thought the one to throw the first punch would be his brother. “c’mon, man,” he repeats the word, tone casual, aloof, but he knows it’s a plea. he feels so small, sitting down, so he stands too, but it only makes him shrink further into his skin. he’s well aware of his size. his stature. his punchable, punchable face. “am i-- stupid? now that’s not nice--” he’s stammering, and god, yes! yes! he’s fucking stupid! his brain’s gone blank, his smart mouth abandoning him in his time of need, but maybe it’s for the best. “if you’re going to hit me, can you not hit my face? i know everyone says that, but i really, really mean it. i don’t want to be known as the funny guy. quite like being attractive enough to pick up guy’s sisters from across a room.” and the words are out before he realizes he’s being a smart ass again, provoking him. “who knows, though. maybe she digs a black eye?”

riley: i bought one of those household deep friers so i could fry my pizza but i've made a grave mistake

“hey, ryan!” the words echo around the room before finding him, and he has to furrow his brows in confusion only for a moment, before he realizes he’s being spoken to. he offers a feeble wave back, unsure how to respond to someone who’s literally across the room and also totally wrong. she looks too excited by the knowledge though, like she’s been let in on a secret, and maybe he won’t correct her at all. he could be ryan this time. ryan could have better luck than riley, it wouldn’t be hard. he catches the roll of paper towels with very little fumbling and begins to sop up his pants. most of the spill landed in his lap, and if it weren’t for the blackness of his jeans, he would surely be sporting a wicked yellowed stain. “not usually,” he chides, smiling up at the mystery girl, finding his footing easily. “i think you cast a spell on me.” it’s cheesy and it’s gross but it’s all riley knows. he laughs this time, thankful he’s being called out and it’s not mean, it’s not soul crushing, it’s light. “i think you started it,” he smirks, patting the spot on the couch next to him with a wad of paper towels still clutched in his fist. “i could have lasted longer. foul on the play. i could go again, if you would tell me your name. you know, so i can keep score. i’ll tally it on table, try and ruin as much furniture as i can before i’m kicked out.”

riley leans closer to greg, like he’s trying to view the girl from his perspective, see if it’s true, if he really can see her. “have you ever seen sixth sense?” he whispers, hauntingly, like he’s recanting a horror story by the campfire and not asking a question about a movie in a house party. “we see dead people.” his eyes light up and he breaks the eye contact to turn and raise both brows. “my brother convinced me i was invisible once. i got really excited and started running around with forks and knives and stuff, trying to scare everyone. still think it would be kind of nice.” he appreciates the way the other tries to be kind about the situation. he’s pretty sure his face has turned a deep shade of red, warmth spreading to his ears. “fuck, here,” he’s pulling out the spare change in his pocket, a quarter and two dimes, holding it out for greg to take. “use this to.. well i’m not sure if you can buy a pair of jeans with this but maybe it’ll cover a load of laundry.” he sometimes misses having a job, working long hours and providing for himself. but then he wouldn’t be able to sit on the couch and having staring contests with strangers, and how could he give that up? “i don’t know what’s wrong with me today. i think i broke my toe on that coffee table earlier. possessed by the ghost girl across the room, maybe.”

“shy,” riley repeated, mulling the word over in his head. it carried with it a history, one of houses full of children running, small legs trailing behind. lunch room conversations where others spoke on his behalf, ‘don’t worry about riley. he’s shy.’ he wondered where that quiet boy had gone, whether he would be proud of the person he was today. tugging on the chain of his belt, he smiled, eyes still locked across the room. “i peed my pants the first time i got on a stage. fifth grade talent show. i cried.” his hands fly to the damp couch, surveying damage done but only managing to make things worse. “fuck. are you the host? please don’t kick my ass. i’m not trying to embarrass myself in front of anyone today. not much of a fighter. you’re a lover, not a fighter! my mom. you’re a disappointment! my dad. fun roleplay.” so maybe he’s an oversharer, and maybe he can’t shut himself up when he’s nervous. but he’s also clumsy, and that has to count for something, right?

@smileyriley: @elipax i think we have the same std!