recap: April's parents and Ryder's parents now know that Ryder have been sleeping in April's room. A huge fight ensues. Ryder decides to move out from April's room.

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24: Rendezvous at a Funeral

"I'm not going to do whatever the hell you want me to do just because you're sick, Ok? It's my life! I deserve to have a say in my own life!"

Ugh. Now we had stepped back to this again.

"I will not tolerate you speaking to me like that, you scum of the earth! I'm your father!"

"Yeah? Will be easier for me to think you're my father if you act like one!" 

A thousand needles jabbed all over my head from the cranial center of my brain. This was what happened whenever I was woken up with a jolt. This was what happened when I didn't get my eight hour of beauty sleep.

And I couldn't believe that I had to listen to them Blacks fighting again.

Ryder and his father had already started yelling at each other ten minutes before my unconsciousness started to wake me up. Apparently, after about a month of waking up with a normal alarm, it was still hard for me to adjust myself with the alarm of living creatures. I guess it was true what they said about 21 day to make it a habit. I had already accustomed myself to not hear the Blacks fighting, and thus when they started again (naturally because Ryder was back in the house) it felt like a new, nifty, very annoying thing.

Downstairs, my whole family was sipping coffee with their eyes half-open. I had a feeling that they shared my predicament.

"Morning, sweetheart," Mom stretched her lips into a small smile, but I wasn't sure if she was looking at me at all with those almost-closed eyes. "Cheery morning today, huh?"

I shrugged. I skipped the coffee and since it was already Sunday again, I grabbed for the strawberry milk.

Ten meters beside us, the three members of the Black family were still bickering with full volume.

"There should be a law against people who scream in the morning," my father droned.

"They do make nice, reliable alarm," I said.

"I hate them," Quentin said as he pressed both of his hands on either sides of his head. Yesterday he had gone partying and had gone home at dawn. There was a trash bin with questionable content near his legs that smelled a lot like vomit.

"Bad hangover?" I asked.

"The worst."

"I don't know how they manage to wake up so early in the morning just to scream at each other," Mom commented.

I tried to block my ears from truly listening at the kind of topic that they were yelling about. Ever since the confrontation last week, the whole family finally knew that Mr. Black had stadium IV cancer, and we made a pact to avoid gossiping about them.

But from the way Mom's mouth kept twitching at every sentences that were heard ten meters away, I was sure she had a hard time not giving commentaries.

Just a few seconds later, I could already hear some plates being thrown around, the clacking sound nearly shattered my ears. I had to remind myself to tell Ryder not to throw the glasses and ceramics early in the morning, no matter how very angry he was.

Quentin groaned. "He's going to come here, isn't he?"

"I think so," I said. It had become yet another new habit of us. Whenever Ryder and his father fought and both of them couldn't stand each other anymore, Ryder would run off to our house.

This time, through the front door.

Quentin's premonition came to fruition as we heard the bell rang.

I was the one who opened the door, and standing in front of me was a very livid, very awake  boy who somehow still managed to look good despite all the crease that was going on around his eyes.

"Don't throw the glasses and ceramics," I said to him. "The sound of it," I circled the air around my ear with my index finger. "It makes me dizzy."

"Noted," Ryder said. "Hey Mr. Hale, Mrs. Hale, hangover-guy."

Quentin managed to flip Ryder the bird as he retched to the trash bin.

"Hey Ryder," both of my parents said solemnly, not quite yet out from the morning-dizziness. "No pancake today, kiddo. You guys woke up too early today."

Ryder blushed, but he managed a chagrined grin. "Sorry about that."

"It's ok. We just hope that you know that you're welcome here anytime," when faced with Ryder's good looks and exceedingly neat eyebrows, my mom couldn't help becoming the nurturing, kind woman she was always meant to be. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks," Ryder said. "Can I talk with April?"

Dad flinched a bit as he saw Ryder putting his hand on my waist. I guess it was his fatherly DNA or something, but he always looked away whenever we had bodily contact, as if it was something vile to see.

My mother, on the other hand, looked like she was watching a live soap-opera. "Fine, you kids do your business upstairs. Just remember-"

"I know," Ryder's pale cheeks reddened as he said it. "Just talking."

"It's ok to steal a few kisses, but nothing beyond the third base."

"Mom," Quentin drawled. "I just threw up inside my mouth."

My mom was unaffected by Quentin's lack of hyegenie. "Then spit it out to the bin, Quentin! That's what it's for."

We left our family as they started discussing the smell of Quentin's vomit and what kind of drinks that he'd chugged last night. Ryder's gaze lingered a little bit too long at them, before then he turned away and walked to my room.

Once we were inside, he took the spot on the floor near my bed. "So, are you still going with me?"

"Going where?"

He cast his eyes down. "Linda's funeral."

"Oh!" I inwardly smacked myself because I had forgotten about it. "Do I need to?"

"I'd like it if you come."

"I've never been to a funeral before."

"Ghosts?" he offered.

I shook my head. "Zombies."

He snorted a laugh.

"I'm serious," I said, although it was hard to impart seriousness when I was blushing mad. "I regretted I ever watched 'The Walking Dead'."

"Linda won't be a zombie," Ryder came closer to me. "And if she came to life as a zombie, she'd be a nice zombie who would dig the vegetarian afterlifestyle."

There was so much positiveness on his words, and yet I couldn't help wondering. "You really were close with her...?" 

And now I couldn't even ask a question right, because what I had just let out sounded half like a question and half a statement. If Mr. Black were here, he'd give me a grammar lesson Gestapo-style.

Ryder shrugged, which I came to know as his way of not wanting to tell. He leant his back against my bed as he sat on the floor, but his fingers kept playing with my hair. 

"That... that tickles," I said. 

"A good tickle or a bad tickle?"

I contemplated about it. "A little bit of both."

His hand moved to my neck then, and he started massaging me gently. "What the hell, I tried to stop, but I just can't help touching you."

"Is that because you like me? In a boy girl way?"

"You mean to say that you're not inclined to touch me at all?"

I bit my lip as I contemplated more about this, too. "I guess. I like your hand. It's big and rough, but it's also warm and your hands never sweat. I also like the curve of the collarbones on your shoulder."

And then both of us fell into silence.

"That's it?" he asked. "You told me your favorite body parts, and then you're going to leave it at that?"

I was still enjoying the way his fingers could release and add tension on my shoulder at the very same moment. And then I noticed the added pressure on the tip of his fingers, the hard edges of his voice. "I should have touched you... Right?"

"Return the favor, Kitten."

He turned over and offered me his back. I then massaged him, but then his shoulders were too hard and my hands were not used doing this thing. Ryder had to actually move my hand to the sweet spot, and once I hit it, he sighed deeply.

"You have really small hands," he said.

"Well, females biologically have smaller hands than males," but before I could elaborate more on that, Ryder interrupted me. "The point is, you're fragile," there was a pause. "Now I sound cheesy. Geez, April, I was about to embark on some romantic 'you're so fragile and breakable and I need to protect you' shit, but you ruined it with your comment about scientific research."

I giggled. "Have you just read 'Twilight'?"

He wasn't facing me, but I could hear him muttering a 'shit' under his breath.

"It's a nice book," I commented, because the moment I saw him picking up that book from my bedroom window, I immediately bought that book and read it myself. "I think Edward is secretly a transexual woman. He talks like one."

Ryder laughed, his voice sounded like music because it was so long since the last time I could hear him laugh. "You're reading romance books now?"

"Yeah..." I grasped for words, because this was important, because I didn't want him not know about this. "I'm trying to be... more..."

Ryder waited.

"More..." I still struggled for some words. "Um, helpful?"

"Sympathetic?" Ryder offered.

"No, like more emotional, but tactful."

"Compassionate?"

I shook my head. "No. I mean, right now you're having a hard time and I don't know the first thing to do about it. What's the word for that?"

"Understanding?" Ryder offered again, but he was smiling. "Seriously, the way we woo each other doesn't make sense."

"Sensitive!" I applauded in glee. "That's the word I'm looking for, sensitive. I want to be more sensitive for you, Ryder. You know, since you're so into subtext and all that."

When Ryder turned around to face me, he was having an ear-splitting smile on his face. "You really are something, April Hale."

-

-

-

We were a strange case of a trio. Mr. Black, Ryder, and the weird girl next door came together to Linda Bate's funeral. 

The ride to the funeral was had an air that matched the most intimidating cemetery, most of that air oozing off from the older man. He made it clear that he wasn't very fond of his own son, despite the blood-relation, and not only that, he made it clear too, that he didn't reserve any fondness towards me. Mr. Black was a tall, imposing man with a nice career (used to, before he got sick), and he delivered all the stereotypes about Stern Fathers that I often saw in television.

On the other hand, Ryder also made it his first order of business to show his father that his will to keep the silent-treatment was unwavering. He took the passager seat as Mr. Black took the steer, and both of them sat while facing away each other. No, they weren't even looking 90 straight. There would be a slight slant in which their head would be faced away from each other. 

And they say I was the crazy one.

The road to the Billy's house was not that far, but what greeted me when I got there was astounding.

Hooligans. Hooligans everywhere, that's the first thing that crept into my mind. Billy's house was modest, and he owned two big motorcycle and one battered car. But then the rest of the yard was covered with more bikes and more battered cars, all of which belonged to Linda and Billy's relatives and friends. Next to these lot, the Black's modest car looked like a model vehicle.

Billy was just standing right in front of the door, greeting everyone who came inside. His face was smiling, but there was muted sadness on it. When he saw us, his beard unfurled. "Thank you for coming, man."

"No problem," Mr. Black said, his face softened. "I'm sorry about what happened."

Billy was mid-way on hugging Mr. Black, but he saw the implicit refusal of body contact. Ryder, however, stepped up and hugged the big guy. "I'm really sorry, Billy."

"It's fine. It's fine. At least now we know she's in a better place," I had now decided Billy's bush of beard constricted and expanded with the amount of water it retained. Water that came from his eyes. "I'll miss her and her skeletal smile, but goddamn, I'll be lying if I say I'm not relieved that she can finally get out from hell on earth."

"Yeah," it was uncharacteristic of Ryder to not let out some kind of mindboggling comment, but he only repeated another 'Yeah'. 

Mr. Black clearly didn't feel comfortable staying here. A lot of these people were male with long hair and a tendency to put regretable tattoos on unflattering body parts. Sanskrits were I about 24% of these men's neck. Meaningless tribal that only meant to look cool on 70% of biceps here, and the rest were filled with power animals: eagles, wolves, lions, and even a lizard.

"Now I know where you got your tattoo inspirations," I said to Ryder.

He rolled his eyes. "These guys can be nice."

"Man," a guy in his mid thirties slapped Ryder from the back. Hard. "Nice to see you here!" Like most of the attendants, he was tattooed, wearing short-sleevees and very probably have a barely legal wife at home. "Sucks on what happened, huh?"

Ryder smiled tightly. "Yeah."

"She was good to you, too," the man grinned, showing a set of yellowed teeth beneath his brown moustache. "Is she your new girlfriend?"

"Yes," Ryder held me closer to him. "She is."

"Man, you know you don't take current girlfriend to previous girlfriend's funeral," the man groaned. "Bad omen. That's why I left my girl home."

Thankfully, he walked away after that comment, and I could finally exhale. That guy was wearing the worst smelling perfume ever and I had to hold my breath to avoid looking spiteful.

But then, the torture didn't end here. 

It seemed that Ryder was pretty tight with Linda and Billy, because a lot of people who attended her funeral knew Ryder, too, and they constantly reminded him about his brief time together with Linda. Maybe it was amusing to them, because Ryder was so young, because he dated a girl twice his age. But certainly, over the time, I started to feel that attending this wasn't Ryder's brightest idea to spend Sunday afternoon.

-

Here's the typical conversations with the thirty somethings:

30+: Man, I'm so sorry.

Ryder: Me, too.

30+: Yeah, but you dated her. Must have been harder for you.

Ryder: *show an obligatory smile as he squeezed my hand in an attempt to not punch his conversational partner*

30+: Is that your girlfriend?

Ryder: Yes, she is

30+: Bad omen, man.

-

Typical conversations with Linda's 'homies' and 'BFFs'. Usually they were middle aged women dressed in black plunging neckline dresses, just revealing enough to glimpse a bit of tattoos, but covered a substansial amount of of skin so that it was still aproppiate for a funeral. 

H+BFF: Sweetie boy, I'm so sorry

Ryder: Yeah

H+BFF: Is there anything we could do?

Ryder: We should listen to the eulogy

H+BFF: No, seriously, is there anything we could do?

Ryder: *looks aproppiately horrified and then starts to introduce me as his girlfriend*

H+BFF: *saying goodbyes as fast as they come, and then a lot of them had an afterthought comment somewhere along the line of 'I thought he's into cougars!'*

-

Safe to say, seeing my Precious Person having to face so many obstacles when he was trying to grief was painful to me. That, and I was craving for some strawberry milkshake. I wanted to get out from here, I wanted to smell the roses and fresh fruits, not the sharp stench of questionable brands of perfumes. Plus, there was a dead person in this house.

"Hey, man," another voice boomed from behind, but when we turned around, there wasn't a single thirty something man or woman. 

Instead, we found the youngest guy in the house. Aside from us.

"Alex," Ryder said in a muted awe. He obviously was also psyched that there was someone whom he could talk without commiting aggression.

"Dude, I haven't seen you for so long!" that Alex character grinned as he offered his fist on the air. Ryder met it with a tight-lipped smile.

Alex's green eyes flickered towards me, and I instantly quivered and tried to hide myself behind Ryder's back. There was something dangerous on this guy's eyes. Maybe it was the way they were shaped, maybe it was the way he used them. He expertly narrowed and widened his eyes as he spoke. One couldn't really need to hear his words to know what he was trying to say, Alex had a facial expression that worked like a whiteboard.

And right now, he pulled the 'Curiosity' facial expression. "Is that your neighbor? April, right?"

I nodded once. 

"She's my girlfriend," Ryder said, but there was something in the way he said it that indicated something else. Possesiveness. Instead of just holding my hand, he slung his arm around my waist and then snuggled closer to me.

"Easy," Alex held both of his hands. "I'm not interested in your leftover."

"I'd believe that if you stop ogling at her."

"My option is to look at a pretty girl or look at an angry-faced guy. Sorry, I'm as straight as a pole. I'll stick with the first choice, please."

"Dude, if you want to pick a fight here-"

"No, no, no," Alex was still smiling. He had really red lips. The kind that you'd think would only be possible if it was photoshopped. "I'm here to grieve. But I've been trying to find you for the last couple of weeks, because you suddenly went MIA."

"I've stopped street-fighting," Ryder said. "April doesn't like it."

"Oh right, your status has been elevated now, April" Alex didn't lose the smile, even though Ryder regarded him the way he would regard Joffrey Baratheon. Alex really did look the part with his dirty blonde hair and wildly freckled green eyes. "Pity. I always thought that if we spend a little more time together, we can be real close."

I was tempted to put a handful of fingers inside my mouth because his overflowing confidence was setting me off, but Ryder had told me several times that generally people wouldn't like to see other people put their hands on their mouths.

"No, no, I don't think so."

Alex glanced at Ryder. "Seriously, I thought you liked them older."

Ryder groaned. "I'm warning you."

"Grow a funny bone, man," Alex's smile widened lopsidedly. "And we want you back on the streets. Crowds are bigger now, and they're throwing fat stacks. We'll be making good deals with you around."

Ryder was quiet at this.

I reached for his shoulder and grasped at it. I wouldn't like him to fight on the street. I had only see him once on the street, and even thought he was the victor of the battle, I was also reminded by the amount of bruises that he had to sustain to attain it. 

Plus, the people that was around him that time (chapter five) looked dangerous.

"You're a good fighter, Ryder, because you're always angry," Alex looked at Ryder firmly. "And I know you need the money."

"Just fuck off," Ryder said, swatting his hand. Alex grinned again, and then walked away from us, but not before winking at both of us. 

Well, actually, I didn't even realize that he was winking at us if Ryder didn't mention it.

"Did you see the fucking bastard winked at you?"

"I-I don't make it a habit to look at eyes," I reminded him.

"He winked at you," Ryder seethed, his hold on my waist tightened. "And he wants to make me his bitch. That asshole."

But for the rest of the funeral, Ryder looked preoccupied. And he didn't need to say it to me, but I knew, I