Breathe Me || Completed

6.0 - Ryann

The inside of Ryann's house is dark and messy. In the living room, magazines and old mugs are stacked on the coffee table, blanket and pillows on the floor and splayed across chairs like casualties of war. There are water stains in the ceiling and less identifiable stains in the carpet. I catch a glimpse into the kitchen as we walk by, which is spilling over with unwashed dishes. They are stacked all over the counter, all over the kitchen table, some even on the floor. All the walls are gray, the carpet, grayer.

I can't think of a house interior that could be more opposite Ryann, her colorful cheer and laughing eyes making for a direct antithesis to the drear and squalor of the house. I would never have guessed.

"Ugh, gross, pass," says Samantha the moment she steps in the door. She wrinkles her nose at the slight stench in the air.

She turns around to leave, but I grab the tail end of one of the grocery bags and pull her back. Ryann stands in her living room watching us, her face blossoming cherry red with humiliation. Her eyes are red and puffy and she seems to be shrinking in on herself.

"Please," I hiss. Not right now. Samantha's been good all day (well, save for the pancake incident). Can she not keep it up for a couple more hours?

"Let the fuck go of me."

Jesus Christ, the demon has reawakened. I do let go of her. "O-okay, fine, just . . . Can I have the g-groceries."

Samantha sits herself down on Ryann's front step and says, "Fine", but not before digging through the groceries to pull out her package of cigarettes and the box of cornflakes. She bullied Connie into letting her have the Camels even though she didn't have ID to prove her age by basically calling her a faded, dried up, scrotum-faced spinster for the entire time we were checking out, in so many words. So maybe she hasn't been good. She's been . . . better.

I can feel Ryann's eyes on my back as Samantha hands me the four shopping bags, tearing open the seam on the corn flakes. "Um, those are for my sisters," I mumble.

She tears open the plastic pouch inside and shakes them straight into her mouth.

Well. She won't eat all of them, right? I turn back to Ryann and shove the door shut behind us. Phew. It's probably for the best. Samantha can do less damage outside.

Ryann rubs her hands over her face. "She's right," she sighs. "It's gross in here."

"No, it's not. Really, don't listen to her. She's just. . . cranky."

Ryann shrugs, half-heartedly picking up one of the blankets on the floor and tossing it onto the couch. "I should clean up." She looks around, taking in the volume of the mess. I can see her give up on the thought, the way her eyes fade back to emptiness again after the feeble light of possibility goes out. She shrugs. "Do you want to come upstairs?"

"Alright."

She takes the groceries and puts them in her fridge, which takes awhile. I don't watch, but I can hear her rustling around for space, chucking expired food into the garbage as she searches. When she's done, we proceed upstairs.

There's even trash on the stairs. Ryann climbs through the landmine of dirty plates and boxes of newspapers, cans, dog food, and more, like she doesn't even notice them. I step carefully through the obstacle course, wondering if Samantha made the right choice in staying outside.

When I reach the top of the stairs, Ryann has already disappeared into her own room. There are three rooms on the second floor, one with the door wide open, revealing a filthy bedroom crammed tight with cardboard boxes and papers and clothes and cups.