Dear Bad Boy || Ransom Drysdale

"Well, if it isn't the biggest brightest star in New York City! To what do we owe the pleasure?" Roger bounces towards me grinning like a cheshire cat he pulls me in for the warmest hug, and suddenly I feel at home.
Returning his wide grin I set myself down on one of the stools at the counter, "I had a craving for the best lemonade in Massachusetts, and I wanted to see my old friend." I pat the back of his hand looking at the jolly man who took a chance on me when I felt at my
lowest. His once thick mop of dark brown hair now speckled with flicks of grey and white matching his bushy beard.
I love it here, just here.
"How long you in town for Eva?" Roger asks as he slides over the chilled bottle, "glass?"
I wave my hand reaching for a straw from the glass cylinder on the counter, "mmmm..." my eyes roll into the back of my head as the flavour zings around my mouth, "just a few weeks before winter auditions start, I thought I'd swing by before going to visit my dad." My gaze falls on the jar of cherries that sit neatly next to the register, suddenly my mind is dominated by memories of Ransoms lips brushing the palm of my hand as he placed the stalk there with his mouth, hearing the clatter of stools when he tried to choke out Jake, God...sometimes I wish I'd had let him. This little place that I love so much teaming with the memories of my angsty adolescence.
"Eva?" Roger clears his throat grabbing my attention.
I offer him an apologetic smile my cheeks flushed with embarrassment at my momentary lapse, "sorry Roger, you were saying?"
"I only asked if you were staying at your fathers?" His eyebrow arches, he's concerned. Of course, he is.

It's a small town, word got around about the catastrophe that was Christmas.  The Thrombeys, Chapmans and Millers are well known and highly thought of families in town, it was a great scandal. Roger and I always kept in contact, he and his wife Sophie even came out to Manhattan to see a matinee performance, in some ways he was more of a father to me than Preston.
I shake my head trying to disguise the dull ache that's now spreading through my body, "I'm gonna book in at the motel—"
"Absolutely not...you are staying with us and I wont hear another word about it!!" Roger cuts me off, taking the spare key off his bunch.
It was so lovely of him...to have someone actually want me was like Tylenol for the soul.

It took some convincing, and a little white lie but I managed to decline his offer. I've gotten so used to being alone, it hurts more to be surrounded by people. I'm not even sure who the real me is any more. I paint on so many faces to disguise myself using the camouflage as protection, I truly believe I've lost sight of who I am.

***
There isn't much to talk about with dad, not that we ever had much of a relationship but it's worse now, it's almost derelict. There's not much left to salvage now...
"I uh...I wondered if you had a partner?" Dad shuffles around the kitchen nervously trying to make small talk as he fills out two glasses of red wine.
I was a little disappointed to see that he was still drinking.
Shaking my head as I stifle a pathetic laugh, "no... definitely not. Too busy!" I gulp the wine as flashbacks of Ransom bore their way into my mind.
"What about you dad...have you met anyone?" I regret the question as soon as it left my mouth. He'd only ever had one girlfriend that I recall and after she met me it fizzled out.
His mouth corners into a smile, "As a matter of fact..."
Oh fuck.
"I have, you know Fran? Harlans housekeeper." He blushes into his glass of red.
NO! Shit a brick.  My mouth hangs open my eyes gaping wide.
"No way! Fran? Seriously. Fran? Fran Fran?"
I choke on my wine trying not to picture them together.
Dads eyes scrunch together obviously dissatisfied with my reaction, "are you quite fucking finished?" He snaps defensively.
"I'm sorry," I look across at him sheepishly, but a part of me was happy that he was able to display some emotion towards me even if it was brash.
He puts his hands up releasing himself from the strain of awkwardness.
He tells me they've been dating for a few months, and I'm the first person he's told. They don't go out much, they enjoy cooking together and watching movies. It's nice to hear that he has someone, and that he has the ability to feel something for someone.
I wonder what that's like, I haven't had a connection with anyone for seven years.  It's lonely trying to keep yourself busy.

Before I know it, it's midnight and we've drank two bottles of red wine, we laughed about the few good memories we have and glossed over the shit. I can't dredge it up anymore. I've had to try and let it go. Holding the grudge is back breaking, being so angry all the time as wore me down to the quick. But we both know it will never be normal, whatever that is.
"Fuck!" Realising that I haven't called ahead to the motel I pull out my cell and dial the number, "Hi I'm looking to book a room...around five nights?...from tonight...oh I see...well okay...I'll see you tomorrow...take care."
Shit. I slam my cell on the table.
"Eva, your room is exactly the way you left it. You are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need." Dad gets up and rinses the glasses in the sink.
"It's just for tonight, thank you."

***
He wasn't lying, it was exactly the way I left it.  Its a little stuffy so I make my way to the window struggling at first to slide it open but when it finally does, I can't stop myself from looking out to the Thrombey mansion, its lights twinkling in the distance.

I brush my teeth ridding my mouth of the bitter red wine taste, heading to my drawers to see if I left some pyjamas. Running my hand over the smooth wood. How can an inanimate piece of furniture hold so many feelings?  Like the emotions are engrained into the fibres.
My pinkie finger brushes against something out of place, the cherry stalk, dried and frail. I lift it carefully gently tracing the outline of my lips, it's not as soft as it once was, but it stirs the same feelings. I place it back on the dresser, I could never part with it.  The little token of emotion, the match that started our fire.

I choke on a little sob as I look at myself in the mirror.  I don't even recognise her anymore.  Little lines have formed in the corners of my eyes, when I close them, I see my younger self dancing around the room.  I remember the first time Ransom startled me by sitting on my window sill, how I protested that he shouldn't have been there, but it would have devastated me if he left, and of course the bitter sting of tears when he did. Because he always left.  I never actually had him.  He always belonged to himself, and that was okay.  I just wish I could have been as strong.  I would have let him do anything to me.

I open my eyes tears forming in corners threatening with all their might to cascade down my cheeks.  This room representing so much sadness, but there was also more love felt in this room than most experience in a lifetime.  At least I was lucky to have loved.  And he loved me back, in his own way he loved me too.  Just not enough.

The wind outside my window howls, blowing the drapes around ferociously I turn around from the dresser to go over and close it.

I wasn't even startled by him, I half expected it.

"Hello you." He purrs from the sill.