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Deano's Summer: A Muscle University Story


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Twenty One

My stomach clenches as I walk up the drive to my house the next morning. I thought my dad would have text me to find out where I was. And to make sure I was still going to work today. But he hasn’t.

Ryan hasn’t text me either. Every time I think about him I get this horrible sick feeling in my stomach. I’m also pretty fucking pissed off with him. The way he was acting at the barbecue yesterday. He was just so OFF with me. The way he wouldn’t make eye contact when he first arrived at the house. His reaction when I suggested going up to my room. The way he looked at me when I upset mum.

I’m not texting him first. No fucking way. And if he’s hanging around the reception of the gym this morning when me and dad get there, I’m not speaking to him. I’m gonna let him come to me. To apologise. And explain why he was being so fucking weird with me and making me feel like shit.

When I walk into the house and head towards the kitchen, there’s this really strange atmosphere. Josh isn’t here. It’s just dad. He makes eye contact with me. This really serious look on his face. Then he stands up and puts his bowl in the sink.

“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” he says in a short, sharp manner.  Then he walks out of the room without looking at me.

My dad doesn’t say anything to me in the car. He doesn’t even look at me. This is when I know I’m really in the shit. Not when my dad’s shouting at me. But when he’s giving me the silent treatment. 

He parks the car outside the gym.

“Where am I today?” I ask, feeling a tug of nerves. 

“Juice Bar,” he says, in a short manner. “All day.”

Fuck’s sake. I guess I kinda deserve that. I don’t argue with him.

My chest tightens when we walk into the gym. Even though I’m pissed off at Ryan, in the split second before the door opens, a voice in my head says, “Please be here.” 

But he’s nowhere in sight. It’s just Big Steve, who greets me in the same friendly way he always does. At least there’s one person in my life who’s not pissed off with me right now. Other than Tony that is. 

Dad walks off without saying anything to me and Big Steve just looks at me like everything’s normal.

The Juice Bar’s fucking dead. Dad didn’t even give me his laptop. I sobered up at Tony’s last night so I don’t feel too rough after what I drank at the barbecue. I keep expecting him to walk in. Wearing one of his tight fitted “RYAN NORTH PERSONAL TRAINING” t-shirts, clasping his fist with the other hand in that way he often does. Biceps bulging. He’s usually in on a Monday.

I check my phone again. I look at the text message I sent him yesterday, about half an hour before he arrived at my house. Why didn’t he reply to that? My stomach tightens. I check his Instagram profile. There haven't been any new posts on his profile since last Thursday. I don’t have any messages from him either.

Why WAS he being so weird with me yesterday? Okay, I get it - it was awkward. We’re seeing each other (I think?) and he was there with my mum and my dad, who’s his boss. Who was asking him about his ex-girlfriend. Maybe that was it? No - he was weird before that.

I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me after I said what I did to my mum. It’s like the image is ingrained in my head. That fucking expression of shock and disappointment. 

Maybe this is it. Maybe after yesterday Ryan’s realised he doesn’t actually like me after all. Maybe he’s realised that I’m nothing more than a moody little loud-mouthed twat. My stomach churns. 

Big Steve drifts in and tells me to go to lunch. Ha - so dad’s sent his lapdog instead of having to talk to me myself. Okay, dad. I fucking get it. You’re pissed off at me. 

As Steve takes over from me at the bar, I take the plunge and ask the question, not making eye contact with him. “Is Ryan in today?”

Steve shakes his head. “No clients today apparently.” 

I nod. So he isn’t in. I don’t know whether I feel gutted or relieved. 

My dad gives me the same silent treatment on the car journey back home. Right up until he parks the car outside the house.

“Take tomorrow off,” he says.

What? I pretty much always work Tuesdays.

“Ummm … okay.”

That means I won’t get to see Ryan. Again. Dad’s not looking at me.

“How come?”

“There’s too many people in!” he says, impatiently. I nod, getting the feeling that my dad’s given me tomorrow off mostly because he just can’t stand the fucking sight of me right now.

“Work Wednesday instead!” he says, in a slightly more civil tone as he shuts the car door.

The next morning I hear my brother in the kitchen. I go downstairs, fully prepared for him to be arsey with me. Or just plain ignoring me. But he doesn’t seem massively pissed off as he says alright to me.

I get a drink of water. Josh is sitting at the table eating. I ask him if he’s working today. He says no. It’s kind of awkward, but at least he’s talking to me.

“So … dad pretty much ignored me all day yesterday!” 

Josh raises an eyebrow and nods without looking at me, like he’s completely unsurprised. And like I shouldn’t be either.

“Was he really pissed? You know, afterwards?”

“Yep!” Josh says, in a short, sharp tone.

Fucking hell. I look out the back door to the garden. I have a flashback to the barbecue. I’m thinking about Ryan’s face again. The way he looked at me.

“You made mum cry, D!” Josh says, in a calm tone.

I picture my mum’s face trembling as she started to cry. Which I fucking caused. I made her fucking cry. My insides clench. 

“I KNOW you’re still pissed off at her. But you need to let it go.”

I immediately feel defensive. Like I’m under attack. Again! 

“She walked out on us!” I mumble. 

“I know, D! I was there, remember? I was pissed off at her too. For years! But … she’s here now. She’s around. She WANTS to see us!” 

I don’t know what to say. We never really talk about what happened with mum. 

“You never … I mean, you never really seemed that pissed off!”

Josh just shrugs. “I just hid it better than you.” Then he picks up his phone off the table, chewing his food. As if that conversation was no big deal. Typical bloody Josh.

I stare at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“Sometimes I just …” I pause and sigh. “I HATE the way dad talks to me.”

I don’t know where that came from. I look at Josh. He’s furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. That’s just dad!”

I roll my eyes. Mum would get it. Mum would totally get it.

“He just does what he wants,” Josh says. “If you told him something pissed you off, instead of stopping, he’d do it even more.”

I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling. Because he’s so fucking right.

"That IS dad!' I say.

My talk with Josh puts me in a better mood. And now I’m lying on my bed, wondering whether I should text Ryan? But what would I say? No - I’m not gonna be that person. I’m not gonna cave in. He’s the one who needs to explain. He’s the one who needs to apologise. It’s up to HIM to text me.

But he doesn’t text me. For the rest of the day. And he doesn’t DM me on Instagram either.

And when I wake up the next morning, it hits me that I haven’t actually received any kind of text message or DM from Ryan since Saturday afternoon. The day after he let me fuck him (the most amazing fucking night). Four days ago. I’m suddenly a lot less angry than I have been, and more just worried. That Ryan really has gone off me. That what we had was over. Fuck. I can’t let me and Ryan be over. 

“Can I go on the gym floor today?” I ask my dad the next morning on the way to work. He doesn’t seem quite as pissed off at me today. I think I just need to give him some time.

“Okay,” he replies. “You can do the morning shift.”

I nod and bite my lip, my insides twisting with a mix of relief and anxiety at the prospect of seeing Ryan this morning. At maybe getting some fucking answers as to why he’s been giving me the silent treatment.  

I’m filled with nerves as I walk on the gym floor. He has to be here. He has to be working. At some point today at least. But there’s no sign of him yet. I ask Big Steve when he’s due in.

He screws up his face, looks around and says he’s not sure. “Deano!” he calls to my dad. Fuck’s sake. “Is Ryan in today?” 

My dad looks right at me, frowns and then shakes his head at the both of us. What the FUCK? So he’s not texting me. He’s not in the gym on the days when I am. My stomach lurches. Is Ryan North avoiding me? Is that what’s going on here?

This time last week I was at home waiting for him to pick me up to spend the day together. He was grabbing my fucking thigh in his car. Paying for my lunch. Taking me on that stupid dance machine thing on the pier (which I secretly kind of loved) and to me to my first gay pub where he held my hand under the table. And looked at me in that way that no one’s ever looked at me before. Was that really just a week ago?

I’ve had enough of this. I have to know what’s going on. I make a choice. I’m going to text Ryan. Even though I’m still pissed off at him. I’m just gonna take the fucking plunge, swallow my pride and text him.

I wait until my lunch break, when I get away from dad’s prying eyes. I’m sat on the bench just a few yards from the gym, the beach and the sea in front of me. Another ridiculously hot day. 

I get my phone out and open up my messages to Ryan. The last one I sent on Sunday still without a reply. Should I have texted him sooner? Am I an idiot for being so stubborn and letting it go on for this long?

I have no idea what the fuck to write. I type out one word. “Hey”. Then delete it. Fucking stupid. Then I write something else. “What the fuck???” but it seems too aggressive. Too over the top. UGH. 

So I just type, “Are you okay?” Then hover my finger over the send button. Fuck it. I hit send. And my stomach clenches.

And now I’m instantly regretting the text. “Are you okay?” For fuck’s sake. Now it seems like I’m not pissed off at him. Now the power is with him. It’s all with him. “What’s going on?” That would have been so much fucking better.

I put my phone back in my pocket and look out to the sea, telling myself that I’m not going to obsess about Ryan responding. But about five minutes later, I’m getting my phone out of my pocket to check if he’s replied. And five minutes after that I’m opening the messaging app to see if there are any dots to imply he’s composing a reply. And it pretty much goes on like that for the rest of my shift at the gym. This horrible feeling in my stomach getting worse and worse as the minutes and hours tick by without a response from Ryan North.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s training at Infinity Fitness. But when Ryan doesn’t reply by that evening, I start to panic. And start thinking that he really doesn’t wanna see me anymore. And that whatever we were doing is really over. I can’t let it be over. Not this soon. I’ve finally found something. I’ve finally found someone. I can’t let that go. Not now.

“Is Ryan working today?” I ask my dad the next morning. I don’t feel nervous about asking any more. I don’t give a fuck. I almost feel … determined. To see Ryan. To speak to him. To get some fucking answers as to what the hell is going on. He can’t avoid me forever. 

“He’s booked the next few days off.”

Fuck. What. The. FUCK? 

“When did he do that?”

My dad shoots me a confused look. “Yesterday. Why are YOU so bothered?”

Fuck.

“Ummm. I’ve got one of his DVD’s,” I lie.

Dad groans and rolls his eyes. “Another bloody kids film!” At least he’s not ignoring me anymore. The silent treatment seems to be over. 

“So he’s not in at all this week?”

My chest tightens. Why the fuck is this happening?

“Bloody hell. Can’t you go a week without seeing your new bezzie mate?”

No, dad. I don’t think I can. Because he’s not just a mate. He’s not just a mate at all.

My dad lets out a big sigh. “He’s got a client on Saturday. He’ll be in then.” 

Saturday. When I’m not working. When I never work. I guess I’m training at the gym on Saturday then. I look out of the window, trying to ignore the sick feeling churning in my stomach. Trying to tell myself that everything will be okay. That this is just a blip. That Ryan North still wants to see me. That he still wants to be with me. And kiss me. And hold my hand. How can I not hold his hand? Now that I know what that feels like?

When I wake up on Saturday morning, I have this horrible feeling that I can’t explain. I seem to be back to being pissed off at Ryan again too. 

All he has to do is text me back. But he hasn’t. Why the FUCK isn’t Ryan texting me back? Did he book the past few days off work to avoid me? I didn’t think he would be the type of person to do something like this to someone he wanted to avoid. Just ignore them. Like a fucking coward. I thought so much of him. I still think so much of him. But it’s like, it’s been tarnished. Like there’s a big scar etched across my feelings for him. And HE did that. 

It’s a really fucking weird day. It’s glum and dull but it’s still warm. My hands seem to feel constantly clammy. And it feels like there’s this really weird atmosphere everywhere. I looked at my dad’s laptop the other day to find out what time Ryan’s client is. I have no intention of training at the gym. Or pretending that I’m there to train. Or that I’m “accidentally” running into him. I’m just gonna confront him. He owes me. He fucking owes me.

I’m hanging around outside the gym. On the wall by the seafront. Dad’s not working today so there’s no fear of any awkward questions. A few lads I know walk in and out and nod at me. 

About twenty minutes after I show up, there he is. Fuck. Walking from the gym to his car in the tight red hoodie he wore last Friday after our workout and on the car journey to his flat. He hasn’t seen me. My stomach lurches.

I stand up and walk after him. When I call his name he jumps, stops and turns around. He looks so fucking surprised to see me. Almost scared.

“You scared the shit out of me!” he says. His voice sounds weird.

I’m just standing there, rolling my tongue around the inside of my mouth. I’m so fucking angry.  I want to fucking scream at him. But at the same time, I just wanna reach out and touch his hand. Hold his waist. Bury my face into his neck like I did those times when I was in his bed.

“Deano, what are you …”

I bite my lip and look at his midsection, covered by that tight red hoodie. I’m finding it kinda hard to look at his face.

“Were you waiting for me?”

I look up and my chest tightens. “Where the fuck have you been?” I spit. I’m surprised at how pissed off I sound.

His chest goes up and down as he breathes a heavy sigh. He looks around. Then he cocks his head towards his car for me to follow.

And now I’m sitting next to Ryan in the passenger seat of his car. I usually love sitting here. But this time it feels different. This time it feels like I don’t belong here. 

I’m looking out the front view mirror. “You didn’t reply to my texts,” I say, not looking at him. God - I hate how that sounds. Fucking pathetic. Maybe I am fucking pathetic. How could I let a guy treat me like this?

“I know!” he says, in a pained voice. Like he knows he’s in the wrong. He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, D.”

Fuck. It feels like it's been so long since he called me that. I turn to him and he’s glancing back. This sincere look on his face. Suddenly I don’t feel so angry.

“Is it … because of what happened at the barbecue?” I ask, my stomach clenching.

Ryan bites his lip, shakes his head and looks away from me. “No, D!”

There's a pause. Then what? You just don’t wanna be with me anymore? That's what I want to ask him.

“So … what’s going on?” 

My stomach twists again. I want to know. But I don’t. None of this makes sense. None of this makes ANY. Fucking. Sense.

He stares straight ahead and out of the front window. “I saw Katie.”

Fuck. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. 

He looks at me, a mix of nerves and worry on his face. 

I screw my face up. “Right?!” 

I think I know where this is going. I feel fucking sick. I look at his thigh. Bulging under his trackies. And his hand. Still a little tanned from his competition a few weeks ago. I want to touch it so fucking badly.

He sighs. “We’re giving things another go.” 

My stomach fucking lurches. 

“WHY?” I cry.

I don’t believe this. I don’t fucking believe this. Ryan shakes his head with his eyes closed, chewing his lip.

I don’t understand. After everything that’s happened since the expo. How can he want to be with HER and not me?

“I thought …” I say, but I can’t finish my sentence. I feel a sudden sharp sting in my eyes. Don’t cry, Deano. Do NOT fucking cry. 

“Is it me?” I say, looking straight ahead at the dashboard, my insides churning.

“NO!” he says, firmly.

I turn to look at him. Oh my God. I can’t believe I had him. And now he’s gone. How the fuck can what we had be over? I move my hand to Ryan's. He closes his eyes and lets me hold it for a moment. Then he shakes his head and tries to move it away. But I carry on gripping.

“D!” he says, in a warning tone, trying to pull away. But I carry on gripping his hand. I don’t want to let go.

“Deano! STOP!” he snaps. And I let go of his hand. Embarrassed. My chest is tightening. And all of a sudden I feel fucking pissed off.

“So now I can’t even fucking touch you?” 

“D!” 

“What - so that’s it?” I’m raising my voice now. “You want me one minute and now - what - you’re going back to your ex-girlfriend? Whose fucking … embarrassed about the fact you’re a bodybuilder. Why would you wanna be someone like that?”

“It’s not that simple!” 

“So tell me! Just tell me what I did!”

“She’s pregnant!” Ryan cries.

Fuck. I feel like someone just winded me in the stomach. Like my breath just got stolen.

“Katie’s pregnant!” he repeats, quieter.

I don’t think about what I do next. I just need to get the FUCK out of this car. I need to get away from Ryan fucking North. I open the car door, get out and slam it behind me. 

And now I’m just walking. And I don’t look back. Ryan doesn’t try to follow me. Because it’s over. Whatever we had is over. That special, amazing thing I found has gone. And I’m so. Fucking. Angry. This is some fucked up cosmic shit. 

I don’t know where I’m going. I’m just walking along the seafront. Past the railings and lamp posts that are painted green. It’s busier than usual. There are loads of people around. I feel like I wanna go crazy. I feel like I wanna get wasted. I feel like I wanna forget. 

I’m walking towards the pier where all the gay bars are. I hear so much noise. Loud music seems to be playing. When I get to the bars, I realise just how busy everywhere is. There are crowds of people in the street and outside every pub. And then it hits me. I remember the flyer on the table of the pub me and Ryan were in last week. It’s that Pride thing this weekend.

People look at me as I walk through the crowd. Some guy touches my arm. I keep walking. This mix of rage, determination and sadness coursing through me. But the party atmosphere of the street is giving me this weird sort of adrenaline too. I find the pub me and Ryan went to last week. A crowd of people are outside. I push my way in (more hands - and guys smiling at me) and head to the bar. I don’t look in the corner. I don’t want to look at the table Ryan and I were sitting at last week. The table he held my hand under.

I order a vodka and coke and two shots of neat vodka. Some guy’s just eyeballing me at the bar. Just fucking staring at my arms. I shoot him a stern look and he quickly looks away, clearly getting the fucking message.

The barman gives me this look as he gives me my shots. Like he’s judging me. Fuck. OFF. I down them both, not giving a shit what he or anyone else thinks. 

Because I’m only thinking about Ryan. What he said to me in his car. How he tugged his hand away from mine. How he didn’t want me fucking touching him. My chest fills up. I start getting these thoughts. This urge. To do something. To act out. To get my own back. Just like I did that day I saw the illustration of Sebastian Wood kissing Luke Henderson. Just like I did when I posted it to the Montgomery University Facebook page for everyone to see.

I get my phone out and open up Instagram. What if I messaged Katie? What if I sent her a screenshot of Ryan’s messages to me? Telling me how sexy I am. Telling me he can’t wait to kiss me again. That would fuck things up for sure. There’s nothing new on Ryan’s profile. I scroll down. Looking at his pictures. Looking at his stupidly good looking. His perfect face. The face I love so fucking much. And that I want to kiss. And touch. And any thoughts of getting my revenge slip away. And I just feel this ache instead. For Ryan. And to have back what we had.

I click on the home screen on Instagram. And then I see something else which makes my insides churn. Sebastian Wood and Luke Henderson. Side by side. Their faces close together. Smiling and looking happy. They’re spending the weekend together in London. Right now they’re in London. And I feel like … fucking … throwing my phone across the bar. Why do THEY get what they want and not me? Why do they get to be together? Why does Woody get a happy ending and I don’t?

I spin around and a guy is standing right in front of me. Looking me up and down and smiling. The big, ecstatic grin on his face. Like he can’t believe what’s standing in front of him. 

He’s fit. Really fit actually. Brunette with big ears, a handsome face and wearing a tight black t-shirt. He’s taller than me. Definitely no bodybuilder but he’s got a good body on him.

He leans into me. “What’s your name?”

She’s pregnant.

“Sebastian!”

He furrows his eyebrows, nods and bites his lip.

“People call me Woody!”

Katie’s fucking pregnant. And Ryan doesn’t want to be with me anymore.

“Brighton boy?”

I shake my head. “From Surrey.”

And without saying another word, he leans in and starts kissing me. I close my eyes and kiss him back, my body pressing against his. But it’s not him. He’s not Ryan North. And then it hits me. That I might never kiss Ryan North again. I might never touch him or hold his hand. Because whatever we had is over. That special fucking thing has been ruined. It’s gone. 

I pull back. The guy’s looking me in the eyes and biting his lip. He’s half-smiling. He can clearly sense that something’s wrong. He leans in again and I kiss him for a bit. But I feel a sting in my eyes. And I feel this heavy sadness. This … crippling sadness. It’s so fucking strong. This is not the guy I want.

I pull back from him. He looks confused and grips my body with his arms tightly. But I suddenly don’t want him touching me. I don’t want this fucking guy touching me. I try to get out of his grip, but he’s not letting me go. Fucking. Let. Me. Go. I grip his arms and push. He looks so confused. 

He leans in as if trying to kiss me again which is clearly the last fucking thing I want right now. I push him away harder, this look of confusion on his face. And suddenly we’re pushing and shoving each other. And his expression turns aggressive.

“FUCK OFF!” I shout as I push harder and more aggressively. The guy trips back, suddenly looking fearful and he quickly retreats and drifts off.

And now the atmosphere has completely shifted. People around me are looking and reacting. And I just feel … so … fucking ... angry. I turn around to face the bar when I feel these big strong hands tightly gripping my forearm. What the FUCK? And this big scary bald dude in a black t-shirt is trying to pull me away.

“Come on, mate. Out you go!”

I fight back, trying to get him off me and then everything seems to happen so fast. People are screaming and I’m being pulled through the crowd and towards the door. Scuffling with the bouncer guy. I’m telling him to get the fuck off me. He’s telling me to go home and sober up. But at some point, I give up struggling and before I know it, I’m outside again. Back in the noisy, crowded street with the party atmosphere. But now people are looking at me with these weird, judgmental looks on their faces. All these negative fucking looks. 

I don’t belong here. I don’t fucking belong here. I walk away from the pubs and the crowds. Feeling the effects of the vodka. Feeling pissed off. Feeling like I want the whole world to just fuck off and die.

When I get to my house, I don’t know what comes over me, but I slam the front door hard in a rage. 

I hear my dad shout, “What the hell?” from the kitchen and I run upstairs.

“OI!” he shouts up at me.

“FUCK OFF!” I scream, from top of the stairs. My dad at the bottom. His face full of rage. It’s like something’s taking over me. It’s like I’m a different person. “Just FUCK OFF!”

And then my dad charges up the stairs towards me. I’ve never seen him looking so fucking angry. I run to my room, slam my door and push my weight against it. He’s pushing from the outside trying to open it. Fucking hell. Is this actually happening? It doesn’t feel real.

“OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!” my dad screams. And I’m yelling him to fuck off. And I’m crying. Now I’m fucking crying. Pushing all my weight against the door as my dad tries to open it. Yelling and crying and fighting with my dad through my bedroom door. And all I can think about is Ryan. All I want is to be with Ryan. 

And now I can hear Josh. “Dad! STOP IT!” he protests. “You’re gonna break the door. DAD!”

I can’t hold the door anymore. I give in and back away, falling to my floor and leaning against the bed. I bury my face into my arm and cover my head with the other to protect myself from dad. He’s grabbing at my forearm hard, trying to prise my arm away.

“Dad! STOP!” Josh shouts.

“You DARE fucking talk to me like that. What the fucking hell’s the matter with you!” my dad shouts, as he grips and shakes my arms. But I don’t care anymore. I’m just sobbing into my arm.

“Dad - calm down!”

“You fucking little - I bloody do everything for you, Deano! Pay for you to go that fucking university and this is the thanks I get!”

“Dad!” Josh says, in a calmer tone. I’m still crying into my arm. Stuttered sobs.

My dad finally lets me go. “I’ve fucking had enough of you, Deano! I dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do with you anymore.”

And then I hear him leave my room.

“D …”

I don’t look up at my brother. I can’t look up. It’s like my face is stuck to my arm. 

“What’s going on?”

I feel my brother’s hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off, still letting out stuttered sobs. 

“D - you can talk to me.”

But I still don’t look up. Josh gives up and I hear him leave the room, closing the door behind him. And I’m still just sitting here on the floor, leaning against the bed with my face buried into my arm and my eyes closed.

Feeling like I just want to sink into a void and disappear. Where I no longer feel like this. Where it no longer hurts to fucking breathe because I can't be with the one person I want to be with. Because whatever I found and had with Ryan North has gone.

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Wonderful writing but this is so sad for Deano. It is seems like the world is going after him one after another. I cant wait to see what happen in the end (cross finger Katie is using Ryan) 

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Ummm... For some reason... I’m thinking.... if Katie sucks at using birth control... I’m going to also think... that Katie was fuckin’ around too.  Ryan and Deano need to get back together.  Pronto.  

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