A Bittersweet Life (1st draft)

Chapter 16

I never thought there were places like this in Harbor view. Checkered floors, red leather booths, old fashioned jukeboxes accentuated the diner. As we sat at our booth, a waitress snapped her bubble gum and handed us the menus. Complete bliss filled the room as people chatted and sipped on their chocolate malts and ate their cheese fries. My mouth watered at the smells surrounding us.

"This is my favorite place. They have the best burgers in the world." Rylands face lit up as he scanned the menu.

"The best huh?" He looked over the menu and furrowed his brows.

"You have not lived until you've had one." I laughed and averted my gaze to the doors. A tall, tanned man walked in. Holden? My heart raced. I wasn't ready to face him. Not now. Not again. The man turned to face me, it wasn't him. I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You alright?" Ryland's eyes filled with concern as they peeled over his menus once again.

"Holden... Holden Perez. You knew him?" My voice shook as I tried to settle my quickening heartbeat.

"I did. We were friends when we were younger."

"What happened?" I pressed.

"We got older. We changed, I guess." He folded up the menu placing his hands on top of it. His voice became cold, full of hate.

"How so?"

"You know how things are, Talia, people just change. They outgrow each other. Become interested in," he paused, "different things."

"Different things?" I didn't know why I was pushing him to tell me more when he was clearly uncomfortable doing so.

"Well," he huffed, "I found myself in a pretty fucked up situation with Holden a few years back. I'd rather not rehash it. But, just make sure you don't find yourself near that guy again." My back stiffened and I sucked on my scabbed lip. "So," he perked up, "are you ready to order?"

"Whatever you're having is fine with me." He stood from the booth.

"Great. My treat."

"You don't have to do that," I protested. He leaned closer to me and smiled.

"It's the least I could do after you helped me with my car." He crossed the diner to the counter, leaving me sitting alone playing with the jar of sugar.

"We meet again." My body froze at that familiar voice. Kristen stood next to my table. Her hair finely undone from her top knot, obviously cleaned up after that little "accident" with Ashley. And, how is this bitch literally everywhere?

"Can I help you?" She rested her hand on my table while the other one gripped the back of my seat, blocking me in.

"I knew you would be here," she taunted. "I've been tracking Ryland's phone. I thought I told you to stay away."

"Um... Stalker much?" I looked past her at the counter where Ryland was no longer standing. "Can you please move?"

"Not a chance," she said through gritted teeth. "I knew I didn't like you from the first moment I saw you. You don't fit in here. And, a guy like Ryland will never want you." She eyed me up and down at my frigid body, heaving with every angry breath. "So, why don't you pack up your bags, get the hell out of my town and go back to living with your sorry excuse for a mother." She flicked my bottom lip which sent me flying out of my seat, tackling her to the ground. I grabbed a fistful of her thick hair. I crouched over her, holding my other fist in the air. Before I could even get one blow, she let out a scream. An ear-shattering scream. The scream of a banshee.

"What the fuck?" Ryland hovered over us as well as every other customer. Of course, this is the part that he sees. An older gentleman in a suit pulled me away from Kristen, who was lying limp on the ground even though not a scratch was on her. The man held my arm tightly. Ryland proceeded to lift Kristen from the ground, paying no mind to me at all. She gripped his shirt as tears pooled in her eyes. Her eyes panned over to me and a slight raise of her eyebrow let me know she was full of shit. I shook myself from the man's grasp and pushed past the crowd.

As I walked through the diner's parking lot, I glanced over my shoulder once just to find that Ryland was not following me. I was an outsider at that time. No one gave a damn about me. When it came down to it, all people cared about was the kind of money you had and not the kind of person you were. And, if you had no money, the rich thought they could take advantage of you.

I slid behind the wheel and started up my truck. The faint smell of Ryland cologne filled the surrounding air. I turned up the A/C to full blast in hopes to blow away the smell, but that only made it stronger. I rolled down my windows and proceeded out of the lot. Still no Ryland.

Being home felt like a huge relief. I was able to forget about everything that happened at the diner. That is until I saw the file I had stolen sitting on my desk. I grabbed it and sat on my bed, I needed to immerse myself in something to make me completely forget about Ryland. Maybe thinking about Charles was the best way to do that. I opened the file, spreading its contents around my bed. I had gone through this thing a million times, but I still felt I was missing something behind this story.

"Hey." My head shot up to Ryland who was standing in my doorway. I scrambled to shove all of the papers back into their rightful place, but not fast enough. "What's all this?" He picked up one of the papers, but I snatched it out of his hand and shoved it into the file.

"Nothing." I hid it under my pillow. "What are you doing here, Ryland," I said rubbing the bridge of my nose.

"I wanted to see if you were alright..."

"Well, I'm fine. Just go back to Kristen." Crossing my arms over my chest, I avoided all eye contact with him.

"I broke things off."

"You what?" My eyes met his.

"The way she was talking about you... It just wasn't right. And you and I are friends. I can't be with someone who is so hateful." My heart raced inside my chest, then slowed once I realized I had been majorly friend-zoned.

"Oh. Well, good for you." He sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now, why don't you show me what you're hiding back there." His eyes locked on my pillow. I couldn't show him. He leaned past me with a grin on his lips and pulled the file from hiding. All he had to do was look at the name on the cover. "This is The Clarke's?" He paused, looking at it then at me. "Why do you have this?" I snatched it from his grip and pressed it against my chest.

"You ask too many questions."

He ripped it away from me, opening it, "and you never have answers." Examining the papers, he furrowed his brows.

"I borrowed it... Stole it actually." His head cocked as he looked at me.

"Well I thought you were a lot of things, but never a thief," he teased. "What is all this anyway?" He dangled one of the papers in front of his face, eyes widening as he read the descriptive and horrifying words.

"I had a bad feeling about Charles, so I just took it. And, from the looks of that," my voice became hushed, "I'm pretty sure he's unstable. Dangerous." I watched as Ryland read. "I mean the manic behavior, bipolar. The scar on Clarissa's arm was not from any suicide attempt. I think he hurt her." He closed it and laid it on the bed.

"Well, if he is dangerous," his voice hushed as well, "then you need to get rid of that thing before he finds out it's missing if he doesn't already." Luckily, I had Ryland on my side to believe me about Charles. I just needed more proof.