Chapter 4 You Just Wasted It

~Lila~

For the remainder of the day, Ryan and I do our best to avoid one another. Each basking in the solitude of our own room to ensure we don’t come into contact with another.

The exile we both seek is only intensified when Jenna leaves the house that night to meet up with Drew, the guy she’d met at the club the night before, and the two are forced to be inside alone. Both take extra precaution when leaving our room for food or bathroom breaks, pressing our ear to the door before daring to venture outside the confinement of our four walls to make sure we don’t hear the other, then slowly inching the door open and peeping behind the cracks to make sure the other is nowhere to be seen. Neither knowing the other is mirroring our actions each time.

I take my time in solitude to work on my paper that’s due the following Wednesday, busying myself well into the night while blasting Aretha Franklin songs to keep my focus. After the third playback of the album, and the fifth time that night I’d listened to I Never Loved a Man, I feel my eyelids growing heavier and heavier and finally give in to the exhaustion and call it a night. It must’ve been around two or three a.m. when I fell asleep which is why I’m none too thrilled to wake up to the “pow, pow, oof, oof, wham, smack,” noises that abruptly pull me from my slumber only hours later.

I shoot up in bed, startled from the unexpected chaos which sounds like it’s coming from directly across the hall. My heart drums in my chest from the surprise of the noise and the sudden way I’ve been woken up, and I jump out of bed, my brunette hair tousled in wild curls.

I’m about to dart out of my door and into the hallway in only the black boy shorts and sports bra I’d fallen asleep in, when I suddenly realize the reason for the noise is likely coming from my new, unwanted roommate.

I huff and pull my favorite black and yellow kimono from my closet to provide more cover for myself and wrap it tightly around my waist as I stomp through my door, down the small hallway, and into Ryan’s room where I snatch it open, fully prepared to bite his head off for causing a disturbance so early on a Sunday morning and disrupting my sleep.

With my hand still on the golden doorknob, I open my mouth to yell, but am suddenly left slack jawed and frozen in place at the sight in front of me; the sight of Ryan beating the hell out of a punching bag that he must’ve hung from the ceiling sometime during the 12 hours since we last spoke.

And it’s not just Ryan going to town on the punching bag that has me temporarily turned to stone. It’s the fact that it’s a shirtless Ryan going back and forth with the punching bag that’s fixed me in place

I don’t mean to, but I can’t take my eyes off him as he swings his arms back and forth, connecting his balled fists with the red leather bag with impressive speed and precision. I watch as sweat that’s beading around his forehead drips from his brow down his face, my eyes skim lower, taking in his sculpted arms, then they dip down to his lean but defined chest and they follow down his toned abdomen as it dips into a v-shape and disappears behind the waistband of his gray sweatpants.

Instinctively, I lick my lips and my heart thuds in my chest again, but this time it’s not due to the fact that I’m surprised and alarmed. Though in a way, I am, because I absolutely should not be having the thoughts I’m having right now.

But I can’t help myself, and I still can’t bring myself to speak or move, transfixed by the sight before me and bewildered by my own reaction to it.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ryan barks as he pulls his airpods out of his ear after finally noticing me standing in his doorway through his peripheral vision. “I thought I told you to stay out of my room?”

His rude tone breaks the trance I was in and I bite back, “What the hell am I doing? What the hell are you doing? It’s five in the morning. I was trying to sleep and then I heard all this ruckus and I thought you were murdering someone in here or something.”

He points to the punching bag and grumbles, “I’m working out. Or I was, until you barged in here.”

“Can you maybe do that at a more reasonable hour so I can get some sleep?”

“No.”

“No?” I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you serious right now? I was up almost all night working on school work and I’m freaking exhausted.”

“Yeah, I am. You didn’t care that I was trying to sleep a few hours ago when you kept playing that garbage you call music that sounds worse than a herd of cats dying. Why should I care now?”

“I didn’t even know that it kept you up! You didn’t say anything!”

“You were only playing it as loud as humanly possible. So loud you didn’t even hear me,” he points to the punching bag, “installing this.”

“I would’ve turned it down if you asked!”

He simply shrugs and places the earbuds back in his ears, returning to his task as if I wasn’t even there.

I narrow my eyes dangerously at him. “Are you seriously going to be this petty?”

Ryan doesn’t acknowledge me and continues his assault, “Bam! Pow, Whack, Thud!”

With a final snarl, I slam his door and trample back to my room, hearing him shout, “And stay out of my room!” before I slam my own door and jump into my bed, shoving my pillow over my face so I can try and drift off to sleep.

~

I groan at the sound of rapping on my bedroom door and Jenna’s voice calling out, “Are you alive in there? It’s almost eleven?”

I jolt awake at that revelation, stunned that I slept past nine on a Sunday morning. I curse under my breath as I scurry off towards the bathroom to get ready.

By the time I’ve brushed my teeth, dragged a brush through my matted hair, and changed into a loose tank top and a pair of purple yoga pants, I exit the bathroom and head towards the kitchen. On my way out I come across Ryan, still clad in those gray sweat pants from last night but now wearing a white t-shirt.

The two of us exchange a courtesy nod and I curtly tell him, “Good morning,” to which he responds the same, albeit in a more gruff voice. Ryan takes my place in the bathroom and I make my way into the kitchen, where I find Jenna has breakfast waiting.

Taking a plate, I thank my roommate and ask about her night, to which Jenna blushes, looks away, then takes a sip of her orange juice to avoid the question. In return, I smirk, swat my friend’s arm playfully, wiggle my eyebrows and say, ‘somebody got lucky last night.” To which Jenna only chuckles and nods.

Ryan takes that moment to enter the room and groans, “Can we talk about something else? Anything else at all?”

Jenna averts her eyes from her brother and down to our cedar table, embarrassed her brother just heard that.

“How did y’all’s night go?” She inquires. “You both slept pretty late. Did you guys decide to actually be civil to each other and spend the night getting to know each other?”

Ryan picks up the pre-made cup and plate Jenna left him and takes a seat across from me and beside his sister.

 “No,” he grumbles. “Someone decided to play Aretha Franklin all night so I didn’t get any sleep.”

He picks up the piece of bacon from his plate and takes a bite as he scowls across the table.

“It wasn’t all night,” I sigh. “And somebody else decided that 5 in the morning was the perfect time to beat their punching bag to a bloody pulp so I couldn’t sleep.”

Before he can argue back with me he spits the bacon he was chewing into a napkin he quickly snatches from the table and says, “I think you cooked the bacon wrong. It’s dry and chewy and it doesn’t have any flavor.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. “I didn’t cook it wrong. It’s turkey bacon.”

“It’s horrible is what it is. Where’s the real bacon?”

“It’s good for you,” I chime in between chewing my own piece.

Ryan glowers at the three remaining pieces of bacon on his plate and shakes his head. He grabs the cup of milk Jenna left for him, knowing that he’s always loved a cold glass of milk for breakfast, and takes a sip, hoping to rid the horrible taste of the unsatisfactory meal from his mouth.

Two seconds later, he spits it back into the cup.

“It’s Almond milk,” Jenna informs him before he can question what’s wrong with it, too.

“What– why?” He howls. “Why don’t you have real milk?”

“Almond milk is better,” I once again interject.

“No, it’s not,” Ryan huffs.

“It is,” I insist. “Studies show it contains less saturated fat, it has higher amounts of potassium, magnesium, calcium, and vitamins A, D, and E. Plus, it tastes better and lasts longer.”

He holds up a finger and argues, “One, it quite literally tastes like ass. And two, it’s bad for the environment. Almond milk contains way more water than dairy milk and it’s predominantly created here in California where we’re already in a constant water shortage. Plus, there are just as many studies that show it’s not healthy and raises the risk for a lot of diseases.”

“Oh, and dairy milk doesn’t?” I counter, pushing my plate to the side and leaning across the table. “Humans are the only animals that drink other animals’ milk. It’s not natural and take into account that many humans are lactose intolerant…”

Jenna’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us as we continue to argue about almond milk v.s. dairy milk and she sucks down a big gulp of orange juice, wishing to herself that her glass contained wine instead and pondering that she may become an alcoholic before this new living situation is said and done with.

After what feels like ten minutes of arguing between the two of us, Ryan pushes in his chair and stands, announcing that he’s going to go grab some “real food,” and that he’d be back later.

“The least you could do is tell your sister thank you for making you a plate and including you,” I instruct him as he scrapes the uneaten food into the trash bin before leaving. “Especially since you haven’t bought any groceries yet and the food you were eating is technically ours and you just wasted it.”

“Lila,” Jenna scolds.

Ryan simply narrows his eyes and glowers at me, but between gritted teeth, he thanks Jenna before heading out the front door.