Chaos Palette

15.

The sound of the doorbell pierced through the silence of the penthouse.The air hung heavy in Ryle's penthouse, a stark contrast to the perfectly manicured appearance of the room. Laura, his ever-observant sister, took it all in – the forced cheer of the neatly arranged furniture, the slightly too-perfect symmetry of the throw pillows, the way Ryle's smile seemed to not quite reach his eyes.

He looked...different. Thinner, paler, a haunted quality lurking in his usually vibrant gaze. His long hair was well-brushed and styled, and his clothes were clean and ironed, but his voice was hoarse and a faint tremor ran through his hand as he greeted her.

"Hey stranger," Laura greeted, her voice laced with concern as she entered. Ryle offered a hug, his usual warmth a little too forced.

"Come in, come in. I was just about to..." he trailed off, his voice lacking its usual teasing lilt.  A forced smile stretched across his face, a stark contrast to the dull ache in his eyes. He cleared his throat, the sound a touch too loud in the sudden silence. "About to, uh, make myself some dinner. Fancy joining me?"

"Funny, I specifically came here to make your favourite dish, Boeuf Bourguignon," Laura spoke before she busied herself in the kitchen, the familiar sounds a comfort in the tense silence. As she chopped vegetables, she couldn't help but notice the overflowing ashtray and the telltale clinking of empty beer cans discreetly hidden behind the trash bin.

Ryle flashed a smile, "Laura, dinner is delicious. Thank you. Did you try something different this time?"

"Ryle," she interjected, her voice gentle but laced with steel, "This... act you're putting on? It's fooling no one."

Ryle flinched, a muscle in his jaw clenching. He took a long swig of wine before mustering the most oblivious tone he could. "What act?" he spoke.

"The 'I'm perfectly fine' act," Laura countered, her voice rising slightly. "You may have fooled everyone else, but you can't fool me."

Ryle slammed his wine glass down, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. "What do you want from me, Laura?" he snapped. "Do you want a parade of my misery? You think I don't know I'm not okay?"

The anger subsided as quickly as it flared, replaced by a deep exhaustion that settled over his features. He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture a stark reminder of the life he was clinging to.

"It's just...everything," he admitted, his words laden with pent-up emotion. "Losing Lilith, struggling with my blindness... It's all just too much."

Laura's heart ached for her brother. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey," she said softly. "It's okay to not be okay, Ryle. You don't have to bottle it all up."

He scoffed, a humorless sound. "What's the point, Laura? My passion for art, the only thing that ever truly mattered to me, feels like a cruel joke now. How can a blind man be an artist or a football player?"

The raw pain in his voice sliced through Laura. She squeezed his arm gently.  A heavy silence descended upon them, broken only by Ryle's ragged breaths. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You happy now?" he rasped. "I said it all. The anger, the fear, the...suffocating darkness."

Laura felt a tear roll down her cheek. "No," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm not happy. But I am relieved. Because now we can start to deal with this, together."

She wiped her tears, forcing a small smile. "Have you given any more thought to that surgery, Ryle?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not really. It's a big decision, Laura. I'm not sure I'm ready for all the complications, the adjustments..."

"I understand," Laura said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

The silence stretched for a moment, a hesitant hope blooming in the air. Laura watched Ryle, the flicker of curiosity in his eyes a precious flame.

"There's something else we need to talk about, Ryle," Laura said gently, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

Ryle's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of apprehension replacing the nascent curiosity. "What is it?" he asked, his voice guarded.

"This whole situation," Laura began, choosing her words carefully. "It's been...a lot to handle. You've lost a lot, Ryle, and it's okay if you're not coping alone."

"Therapy, huh?" he echoed, his tone laced with skepticism. "Sounds like a blast. Sign me up for the 'Existential Crisis 101' class, why don't you?"

Laura chuckled softly at Ryle's mood shift. "It's not about classes, Ryle," she explained patiently. "It's about finding someone who can help you sort through everything you're feeling. You don't have to face this alone."

Ryle's expression softened, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his gaze. "I appreciate the concern, Laura," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But I'm not sure talking to a stranger about my problems is really my thing."

Laura nodded understandingly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "I get that," she said gently. "But sometimes, talking to someone outside of your immediate circle can provide a fresh perspective. And hey, maybe you could find someone who appreciates your...unique sense of humour."

Ryle mulled over her words, the weight of her advice sinking in. "I'll...think about it."

Laura smiled, a sense of relief washing over her. "That's all I ask," she said warmly. "Just know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

As they lapsed into a comfortable silence, the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a sense of shared understanding.

"But the way," Laura as she swirled her wine around, "Mum and Dad are coming tonight."

Laura's casual revelation hit Ryle like a ton of bricks, his eyes widening in disbelief as her words registered. A choked cough erupted from him, a physical manifestation of his shock.

"Whoa there!" Laura exclaimed, her hand reaching across the table to pat his back soothingly. "Easy with the Boeuf Bourguignon, or you'll be needing a therapist for heartburn on top of everything else."

Ryle's response was a strangled mix of disbelief and horror. "Laura, are you serious?" he spluttered, his tone tinged with incredulity. "By the way," he mimicked in a high-pitched whine, "doesn't get more casual, does it? Plus, your wedding isn't for another week or two."

"They just want to see you," Laura persisted gently, her tone softening. "They'll just stay here for one day, before they go to the hotel."

Ryle's face contorted in a mock smile. "Wonderful," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just what I needed. A pop quiz on the latest experimental eye surgery my retinas probably wouldn't survive anyway."