Ryder froze against the keys, keeping his eyes on the screen. He stayed like that for several seconds, unmoving and silent. As we sat there awkwardly, the tension in the room thickened, until it was hard to breathe. I started to panic, a million questions rushing through my mind. What if my hand was sweaty or it felt weird against his?
I tried mustering up all the confidence I had and dismissed any more negativity. Before I could even reconsider, I gently squeezed his hand. If anything, it made Ryder seem more uncomfortable. He sat there, looking slightly pained. I knew he wasn’t particularly enjoying it, but once my hand had taken a firmer grip on his, I couldn’t let go. It was as if I had glued myself to him and there was no turning back.
Trying not to show how nervous I was, I swallowed and with a soft voice I said, “Are you okay?”
Ryder coughed awkwardly and nodded. “Yeah.”
Again, we sat there in silence, my hand just casually resting on his. My fingers thinking on their own accord and just kept squeezing his. I knew it was weird and Ryder especially thought it was creepy, me just squeezing his fingers like he had turned into a stress ball, but I couldn’t stop.
“Can I have my hand back now?” Ryder muttered after a while, kind of shy and awkward.
“Oh, right!” I answered uncomfortably. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he replied, wiping his hand on his track pants and keeping his eyes on anything but me. “Squeezing kinda hurt.” And it was kinda sweaty too. But Ryder had the decency not to say it.
We proceeded with the awkward silence. Ryder returned to tapping furiously at the laptop, brow furrowed like he was an athlete concentrating before they competed. I didn’t have anything to do, so I pulled out my notebook and a few coloured pens. I threw the pens on the space between us and flicked to a fresh page. Might as well do some study.
I started brainstorming some ideas for my advanced English Shakespeare speech. I gotten down two pathetic dot points in various colours to look like I had put in more effort than I actually had, but it didn’t work. Sighing, I reached out to pick up another pen right at the same time Ryder reached down to collect his. Our fingers touched for barely a second, but we both shot back like we had been shot by lightning.
“You just touched me,” I blurted.
Ryder, for the first time all night, turned and looked at me. “God, Nora, I touched your hand. I didn’t grab your boob. Stop overreacting.”
“Excuse me?” I argued, picking up my pen and jabbing him in his boob. “I’m not the one who’s suddenly developed a phobia for physical contact!”
“You have clammy hands,” he replied calmly.
“I do not have clammy hands.” Oh my God, I have clammy hands.
Ryder just gave me a look, and then returned to his work. Again, we sat in silence, a gentle, yet unpleasant tugging against my wrist as he started typing with both hands. When we first got handcuffed together, doing things was a hassle. The handcuffs would always bite into my skin and rub uncomfortably against my wrist. Now that we had spent a week together, the pain and discomfort was minimised to a few manageable tugs. And although I had just about gotten used to the feeling, the way we were acting made me lose my calm and suddenly, his movements were irritating. Suddenly everything was irritating and I blurted out the thing that was bothering me the most.
“Why are we being so awkward?” I asked, a slight anger tainting my words. “We’re like two awkward fifteen-year-olds on a first date.”
Ryder stopped typing, but didn’t look at me. “I think you know why.”
“If I knew why, I wouldn’t have asked,” I snapped, trying to control my temper but his tranquillity was just making it worse.
He sighed, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
His words caught my off guard. All anger drained and I was filled with hurt. All I wanted to do was get away. I stared at the links of the handcuffs in desperation, hoping that if I concentrated enough, they would just break and I could run for it. I kept my gaze down.
“What do you mean?” My voice shattered and it didn’t sound as unaffected as I would have liked.
Ryder placed his hand against mine, but I moved it from his grasp as if he had just injected me with poisonous venom. I tried to get as far away from his hand as possible, but it was hard when I was chained to it. His fingers hovered in mid-air for a moment, before he let them drop. I could still feel the way his fingers wrapped around mine; gentle touch with rough hands. I could still feel the warmth of his palm and the way my small hand could disappear into his, so protected and safe. Shaking my head, I forced myself to distance from those thoughts.
“A lot is going on right now, Nora,” he said, frowning. His voice was gentle but his words hurt like daggers. “There’s all this crap with Chris and then there was the fire the other day. Not to mention Caine who’s seriously troubled and I haven’t been the best friend to him. I just think that the kiss was bad timing.”
I knew we weren’t technically together, but it still felt like we were breaking up. I tried putting on a brave face but even staring at the handcuffs made me sick. Not having the courage to look up at him, I kept my gaze down, staying silent and letting a strand of hair hide away my eyes. I could feel tears welling up and my vision started getting blurry, but I bit my lip and tried to fight them back.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since Caine stormed off. I felt so hopeless sitting there instead of going after him. He’s all macho for show but really, when he’s hurt, he crumbles. And with the handcuffs and you-”
My head snapped up. “What? I was restraining you from comforting your friend, is that what you’re trying to say?” I demanded. “All this is my fault?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Are you crying?”
I wiped furiously at my eyes and looked away. “No. That’s ridiculous.”
Ryder used his free hand and placed his fingers under my chin, bringing my face back to his. He looked at me with concern, those faded blue eyes glittering with worry. He gently stroked his thumb down my jaw and I tried not to let any more tears escape. I was embarrassed and angry and not to mention hurt. I clenched my teeth and tried to gather myself.
“The handcuffs have been restraining the both of us from lots of things. It’s been interfering with my practice and school. I’ve been distracted from things like my family and friends. Don’t try to deny it, but you know the same applies for you. You hardly see Mel anymore, it’s hard to study and your sister is just weeks away from giving birth. Plus your parents come home Friday for their holiday. It’s just been really hectic and we haven’t been giving our full attention to anything,” Ryder explained, holding my chin in place as he whispered.
I kept quiet.
“When the handcuffs get taken off, I think it’ll a great opportunity. I want to focus on my other priorities,” he said so quietly I almost didn’t hear.
My heart shattered, mostly because I agreed, but part of me also kind of wanted for us to fight for each other. Sure, the kiss was unexpected and wild but that’s what made it mean so much. I guess deep down I knew it was bad timing but I wanted to treasure the moment a little longer than just a night before other things brought us back to the cruelties of reality.
I let a tear slip after that and I had no regrets of letting it escape. It was just one tear, but it brought out so much passionate hurt and anger it was as if my heart had bled out the emotions into something physical so the whole world could understand. It ran down my face in a wild, hot mess.
Ryder leaned in and caught the tear in a kiss, letting it die on his lips. It was such a bittersweet feeling. His lips felt like both fire and ice against my skin. “I’m sorry.”
I wrenched free from his grasp and looked away. “I’m tired.”
It was still early but Ryder didn’t say anything. He just got off my bed and got down to his space on the floor, flicking the lampshade off o
n his way down. “Good night, Nora.”
When the darkness took me into its embrace and promised me the protection of shadows, I finally set free the tears.
Twenty Four
We fell into routine the next morning, silent but cooperative. There was the same struggle to get out of bed without ripping each other’s hands off. Then there was the awkward bathroom situations, consisting of an uncomfortable shower each, the difficult task of dressing (one sleeveless dress for me, one half ripped up shirt for Ryder) and as always, the peeing business. Ryder did his usual aim, fire, shake without complaint. I, on the other hand, struggled to pee without making it tense. I made Ryder sing a nursery rhyme, just in case something awkward happened, like a god forbidden fart.
When that was over, we went downstairs, made breakfast and listened to Eve read a Dr. Seuss book to her stomach. Throughout the entire morning, my mind had been screaming: This is the last time you’ll do this handcuffed. It made me feel both relieved and kind of heartbroken. Although they were a pain in the ass, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards them. Without the handcuffs, Ryder and I would have never reunited. And even though it was over, it was beautiful while it lasted.
We pulled into a parking space in the student lot and Ryder killed the engine. He sat there for a moment before turning to look at me. “Nora, I-”
But he stopped short, hearing a knocking on the passenger side window. Leaning over, he fiddled with the automatic window controllers until the glass slid down. A man with chin-length silver hair tied back at the nape of his neck bent down and shot us a smile. His eyes were a faint emerald and although the shade was pale, they still glittered like precious gemstones. Within the corners of his eyes, deep wrinkles lined his faded skin as he noticed the handcuffs and smiled wider.
“Hi, can we help you?” Ryder asked.
“Ah, just the kids I was looking for,” he said, reverting his gaze from Ryder to me. “I’m Hunter Evens, chief officer of the local police department.”
~♥♥♥~
Like the welcoming principal she was, Mrs. Westfield had organised a variety of different finger cakes and biscuits along a table at the back of her office. Some coffee equipment was also set up; real mugs, rather than foam and metal spoons in replacement of plastic. With the way she set it up, it was if we were gathering for a tea party, rather than further elaborating our handcuff situation.
“Cheesecake?” Mrs. Westfield gracefully offered him some from a platter, but Hunter politely dismissed with a flick of his thin hand.
“Lactose intolerant,” he explained, settling with his black coffee.
I never would have expected Hunter to be the chief officer. If anything, he could have just been a grandparent or even a substitute teacher. I mean, the guy had a freaking ponytail for crying out loud and he was wearing a sweater vest matched with a pair of beige chinos. He just seemed like a wealthy elderly man who would be better suited at a country club rather than a high school.
“Now,” he said, after taking a slip of his beverage, “how exactly did this happen?” Hunter gestured towards our cuffed hands.
“We were picked for a public demonstration during one of our career presentations. It was meant to emphasise the strength of these new handcuffs, but then the key got lost and some kid shoved half his rock collection into the keyholes. That’s where we are now,” Ryder said in one breath. “But down to what’s important: How are we going to get set free?”
Hunter placed his coffee down on the table and walked up to us, kneeling on the floor and gently placing his slender, pale fingers under the thick chain of links that bound Ryder and I together.
“Expensive, these things are,” he said, running the smooth metal beneath his fingertips. “The most innovative and specialised piece of equipment designed especially for the contemporary police force.”
“Handcuffs?” Ryder scoffed, just as unimpressed with them as he was on the first day we encountered them.
“Don’t be fooled by the simplicity, Mr. Collins,” Hunter answered, letting the handcuffs slip from his grip. “You’re wearing one of the most modernised pieces of equipment that could essentially improve consistency in the police department. The one you’re wearing now is the only copy we own, that’s why we’ve been so hesitant to just cut them off.”
Obviously Hunter had been doing his homework, considering he knew our names prior to us even introducing ourselves.
“So, basically, you let three members of our local police force bring in the only pair of high technology handcuffs into a high school and let them demonstrate on two students?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mrs. Westfield scolded me for approaching a highly appreciated officer with such a disrespectful attitude, while Hunter gave me this snobby look. The kind of look the girl behind the counter gives someone when they ask for an item of clothing in the next size up. Or the look the checkout person at the supermarket gives me when I fiddle around in my purse looking for a stray ten cents so I can pay for my pack of biscuits. The same look I get when I look at a shirt and try to fold it the same way but it still ends up looking like I just ate it and spat it back onto the table.
“Obviously, it was never intended to conclude in this kind of situation. All people make mistakes, Miss Montgomery. It was meant to be an opportunity for promotion. To really emphasise our area of expertise and get people inspired to join our workforce. Evidently, we may have done the exact opposite,” the chief police continued, standing up from his position on the floor and leaning back on Mrs. Westfield’s desk.
I watched as our principal craned her neck behind him to see what was going on. She struggled for a few brief seconds, but when she decided she couldn’t grow a longer neck to get a better view, she stood and walked calmly over to us. She smoothed her navy, polyester skirt and crossed her arms.
“How do you suggest we approach this?” she asked, in her most business-like tone.
Hunter examined the handcuffs for a while longer. “I suppose we’ll have to just cut them off. It would seem even more highly unprofessional if we remain them handcuffed. Our reputation is already in the downfall. It’s a shame we don’t have a replica. These handcuffs would have had a huge impact on the contemporary police department and I bet it would have been recorded as a significant historical event.”
I was starting to think Hunter had a fetish for the handcuffs.
“I’d just like to examine the material that has been blocking the compartment where the key is meant to go,” he answered.
Then, that’s when something seriously magical happened. Now, it required a lot of awkward arm positions and wrist twisting, which made me wish I was double joined to reduce the pain shooting through my limb. When the keyhole was facing the floor, Hunter tapped it three times with his long, slender finger and a majority of the pieces of rock and gravel just fell out and dropped onto his palm.
But, to Hunter, it was as if the handcuffs had crapped out Jack’s magic beans. He studied them with great intensity like he had never seen a rock in his life. When he was done staring at them, he placed them onto Mrs. Westfield’s desk then did the exact same miraculous thing to Ryder’s side of the handcuffs. Again, it just fell out. I stared at him amazed. This could only have one reasonable explanation:
Hunter was secretly either a) Jesus, b) Santa Claus or c) Obama. Because all those people were seriously powerful.
Hunter looked up at us. “That seemed easy,” he said, seeming a little surprised himself as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a little silver key. Patiently, he placed the key carefully into the hole and turned slowly, as if careful all this easiness was going to backfire.
But it didn’t. With a satisfying click, the handcuffs cracked open and instantly the new sensation of freedom was bliss. I rolled my wrist, listening to the cracks of the bones and felt my muscles relax from their tension. It was kind of like taking off a cast that had been plastered on for months. Minus the awkward growth of hair
, the air exposure was refreshing. I couldn’t help but stretch and wave and do all sorts of simple things that had been such a hassle being handcuffed.
When I had recovered from my excitement, I looked over at Ryder who had been released and was rubbing his wrist. He examined it, as if he expected it to look different. As soon as he was done, he dropped his hand, got to his feet and scooped up his bag.
“Thank you, sir.”
His tone was polite, but his face was expressionless. They shook hands in an extremely business-like manner and Mrs. Westfield announced our dismissal to class. Ryder was already heading for the door and I wanted to catch up with him so I quickly picked up my books. I was ready to scamper out of the room but thought it would be much more appropriate if I showed my gratitude beforehand.
So I walked up to Hunter and said, “Thank you.”
I didn’t know what else to do. Ryder had shaken his hand but he had that formal, business element to his attitude. Something I didn’t possess. Besides, ever since Ryder called my hands clammy, I had been afraid to touch everyone’s hand. I considered hugging the old man, but that would have been inappropriate, so, like the socially awkward person I am, I just curtsied.
Yeah. That’s right. I full on curtsied like he was the queen or something. And before I could process the weird expressions on their faces, I ran for the door. Once I was outside and the chilly air could cool my cheeks, I searched for Ryder. I walked down hallways and passed classrooms, climbed stairs and went out into the quadrangle.
But I couldn’t find him.
Twenty Five
I saw little of Ryder after that. The classes we had together, he always seemed to be absent and whenever the whole school had lunch, he was always with his group of friends. It was as if the past week had never happened. Ryder was back, basking in his shower of popularity, his shirts no longer mangled and looking much more in place with his blazer full of badges.