Special Episode: Flower Bud
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
Ralph is finding himself changed in all kinds of ways since he committed to spending most of his time alone.
At first he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. Getting fucked up isn’t as fun without other people around, so he ended up in an unintended stretch of sobriety, which gave him even less of an idea of what to do with himself.
That’s what brought about the first physical change. With empty time on his hands, Ralph cleaned up his house. Got rid of all the beer caps, emptied the overflowing ashtrays, tossed the crumpled takeout bags and pizza boxes and all of that shit.
He finally put the clothes strewn everywhere in the hamper. Washed his sheets, his pillowcase. Wiped the dust off of surfaces that hadn’t been cleaned in years.
He did it purely to fill his time, but he’s found that he likes the effect. It makes him feel better to not have his place look like shit. The air in the house tastes different, crisp and fresh. Good to have a clean mug ready for coffee when he gets up in the morning, too. He’s kept it that way ever since.
Still, though, he had so much time on his hands. Time spent alone, with nothing to do but try to look inward, so he could try to figure out where to start with making himself better.
He had no idea how to do that. All he was doing was making himself frustrated with his failed attempts.
After a few days of this, Ralph left the house without a plan, desperate to do something. Sick of being left alone with his thoughts for hours on end. Hating Jamie and Aiden for telling him to do this.
He ended up going for a long walk through the forest behind his house. It felt surprisingly good. Cleared his head, soothed his fragged nerves, swept away the terrible mood he’d been in.
Now walks through the woods have become a habit, too. And that’s not the only one.
Ralph spends time every day taking care of his plant. He dug up the old camera that he hadn’t even looked at in years, started bringing it with him on his walks. Started taking pictures again. He’s actually cooking some of his meals. He read the first book that Jamie gave him, and now he’s started reading the new one. He doesn’t find the same things funny anymore, not the same jokes or TV shows or movies, so he’s been watching different stuff.
Ralph is dropping old habits and picking up new ones all over the place. Slowly but surely, he’s getting more comfortable being alone with himself. He’s finding that he’s a different person than he thought he was. That there were a lot of things he didn’t know about himself, before.
Some of his new habits he can’t trace to their source. He likes taking long showers in the morning, now. He’s not sure where that one came from.
He rests his temple against the cool tile and closes his eyes. Lets the hot water spill down over his shoulders.
Maybe this feels so good because it’s the one moment of his day when he can let his mind go blank. His thoughts have been a struggle to face. Exhausting and guilt-inducing, occasionally producing painful revelations that cut him to his core.
Now he also gets the fun of thinking about what a fucking idiot he made of himself in front of Calla. One more for the pile.
Ralph takes a deep breath, then turns off the shower. He silently gets out and dries off. Catches a glimpse of himself in the broken mirror when he straightens up.
He pauses, staring at himself. Does he look different, too?
He feels like he does, and not just because he’s been shaving. Or maybe he just hasn’t really faced himself like this in a long time. Stopped and really looked into his own eyes. He normally doesn’t like to.
He gazes at himself uneasily, looking at the cut of his clean-shaven jaw, at his grey-green eyes. His blonde hair, wet from the shower. What changed?
It takes Ralph a long moment to figure it out. It’s something about his expression, the look in his eyes.
It makes him look so different, to the point that it kind of freaks him out.
His fingers drift to touch the two small, familiar scars on his shoulder. He roots himself with them. They mean he’s still himself. He’s had them for ages, since he was a little kid.
One of his mom’s piece of shit boyfriends had three gigantic dogs, all of them untrained and kept chained up in the backyard. Ralph had been left at the boyfriend’s house one day, and one of the skittish dogs, startled by a loud car tearing past, panicked and sank its teeth into his arm.
The bite left scars, because Ralph never saw a doctor about it. His mom never even found out that it happened.
“You’d better not tell your mother about this, kid,” the boyfriend had snapped, holding Ralph’s wrist so tightly that his fear and panic turned to outrage.
“I will tell her,” he’d sobbed angrily.
“Okay, then I’ll tell her that it was your fault, that you harassed the dog until it got spooked, even after I told you to stop. Brought it on yourself. She’ll believe me, not you.”
Ralph had stared up at him in blank shock, tears streaming down his face. Up until that moment, he’d never known that you could win so easily with a good lie.
“And stop fucking crying,” the boyfriend had snapped, letting Ralph go. “It’s embarrassing. Pathetic. Be a man.”
Ralph looks at the two little scars in the mirror, suddenly holding very still. A realization is dawning on him.
He’s been so fucking humiliated about how he cried that night he realized that neither Grant nor Noah was coming back. No one saw, but that doesn’t make a difference. Ralph’s face burns with shame just thinking about it.
Before now, he hasn’t really given any thought as to why that is. Why he practically never lets himself cry at all. Never lets anyone see his emotions.
Except he did let someone see them. When he had his breakdown. Jamie and Aiden saw him with all of his defenses shattered, and Aiden said -
I don’t know why you’ve got all these smokescreens up. Just put them down, like they are right now. I like this version of you so much better.
Ralph leans closer to the mirror. Is that why he looks so different? Is this the version of himself that he let Aiden see, that day?
Yeah. That’s it. His emotions are showing clearly in his eyes. There are lots of little differences about him, but that’s the real reason why he barely recognizes himself.
Has he been keeping this version of himself down all this time - because of something his mom’s shitty ex-boyfriend said?
Ralph fucking hated that guy. He never wanted to be anything like him, not like him or any of the others. He knew they were all total assholes. He just thought that they’d taught him about how the world works, plain and simple. Facts, not opinions.
Jamie’s words echo in Ralph’s head. What he said when Ralph got caught trying to force Noah to come back to the house.
This isn’t helping you.
That shit stuck with Ralph. It’s got him constantly thinking about why. Why he’s doing the things he does. If it’s actually helping him, and if not - why is he still doing it?
People like this version of him better. The version he’s looking at in the mirror right now. And he’s pretty sure he just figured out the reason why this isn’t the version he lets people see.
It’s an empty, hollow reason.
Ralph gazes into his own eyes for a moment longer, then hangs up his towel and goes out into his bedroom. He pulls on some boxers and sweatpants, then takes the camera from the night table. He goes back into the bathroom and stops before the mirror again.
He’s not sure why, but he holds up the camera, takes a shot of himself in the half-shattered mirror.
He looks down at it after. The breaks in the glass have mostly obscured him, but he can make out his own eyes reflected back in the mirror. Exposed and vulnerable, swimming with emotion.
Feeling stupid, he moves his thumb to delete the picture. Then he changes his mind and turns the camera off.
This is the version of himself that he wants to keep. Good to have a reminder of that.
Ralph slips back out into his bedroom, finds a t-shirt to pull on, and pads downstairs. He puts on a pot of coffee, then crosses the kitchen to check on the plant, which he left there in the sunshine.
He takes a leaf between his thumb and forefinger, checking to make sure that it doesn’t feel dried out. Then he leans over the plant to check on the bud.
He honestly hadn’t known that’s what it was until Jamie told him. But he would have realized now, even if he hadn’t asked. Because it’s starting to open.
Ralph’s breath catches in his throat. That bud was closed up tight just yesterday, but now the hard green casing is starting to soften. At the very end, the tiniest hint of the velvet petals cradled within.
Ralph reaches out to touch it, then thinks better of it. He goes back upstairs, retrieves his camera, and takes a picture instead.
He stands there staring at the bud, shifting from foot to foot. He’s inexplicably caught in a wave of excitement. He wishes he had someone to tell about this. To show it to.
He doesn’t, though. So after a moment he puts the camera aside and goes to make himself a cup of coffee.
He takes a sip, leaning back against the counter, and his thoughts drift to Calla.
The night they met has played on repeat in Ralph’s mind a thousand times already, and every time it does, his heart burns in his chest like someone lit it on fire.
He’s been trying hard to put the thought from his mind. Jamie and Aiden said he should stay focused, keep working on himself. He hates to admit it, but he knows that they’re right.
It would never happen, anyways. Him and Calla. Ralph knows when he’s got his hopes up too high. When he’s reaching for things miles beyond his grasp.
He walks out into the living room and heads for his desk, the one place that has remained as messy as it was before. He sets his coffee down and looks over everything laid out there. His work.
One of the few things Ralph prides himself on is his ability to see far down the road. He started his business in high school, saved every dollar he made so that he was prepared when his mom finally, inevitably ran off with one of her boyfriends and didn’t come back.
At fifteen, he quietly started paying the rent on the house with money from his own pocket. Let everyone think his mom just wasn’t around too often. Forged her signature on every document he needed to for school. He didn’t tell anyone the truth, not even the guys. He was meticulous and careful. Never let one detail, one word slip that might give him away.
No one ever found out, so no one ever came to force Ralph out of his home.
He applies that same carefulness - that same level of foresight and extreme attention to detail - to his work. That’s why none of his people ever get picked up, not once in all his years of doing business. He goes so far as to insist that they all check the exterior lights on their cars before they go anywhere. No burned-out tail lights to give a bored cop probable cause.
Ralph runs his tired eyes over the multiple phones on his desk. He’s had to do everything by himself, lately. He’s got a tightly organized network of dealers working for him, operating in towns well beyond Ketterbridge. But he’s lost two of his top people, his closest people.
Without Noah as his second in command, and without Grant as his source of information - everything falls on Ralph’s shoulders.
He taps a finger on the mouse of his desktop, waking it up so he can read the day’s headlines. He’s careful to stay on top of the news. See if there have been any arrests in the area, any other underground businesses getting busted. He needs to know how high the heat is turned up, so he knows when to tell his boys to lay low.
He’ll do it, like he always does. He’s just tired. Really tired. All kinds of thoughts have been keeping him up at night.
He places his palm on the desk and leans into it, runs his other hand through his damp blonde hair, waiting for the website to load. Then he pauses, going still, his eyebrows furrowing.
His desk sits before one of the back windows of his house, and he could swear he senses someone watching him through it. He feels eyes on him.
Ralph thinks for a moment, then straightens up. For a moment he continues doing what he was doing, gazing at his computer. He pretends to read for a minute. Then he slips his phone out of his pocket, has another sip of his coffee. Acting as if nothing is different, but scrolling to a specific app.
There’s a reason he keeps the outside of his house looking so broken-down and derelict. People look at the house, and they don’t think it’s home to a successful business. They don’t expect there to be a lot of money inside, stashed in a fireproof, dual-lock safe. They don’t expect there to be a top-of-the-line security system with cameras that continuously send a live feed to Ralph’s phone.
Ralph installed it to give himself, Noah, and Grant a head start if the law ever came down on them. But he’s pretty sure it’s not a cop out there. Ralph doesn’t often let himself get snuck up on, and definitely never by the cops.
He opens the security camera app and scrolls through the different camera feeds, until he sees -
Someone just dropping out of sight, near the roof of his house. Like they’re… climbing down from it?
“What the fuck?” Ralph murmurs, his eyes widening.
His thoughts go to the Louisville Slugger hidden in the coat closet, but there’s no time to go get it. He drops his phone onto the desk and rushes into the kitchen, an electric storm of adrenaline spreading through his body.
He pulls the back door of his house open and steps outside, just in time for the intruder to drop down from the wall and directly into his arms.
He hadn’t intended for that, but he recovers quickly. He keeps his arm locked around the person’s torso, whips them around. He shoves them back up against the wall of his house, then plants one hand on the wall above their head, the other on his hip.
He pulls an icy expression onto his face, glaring down at the person he trapped.
“Alright,” he says, in a tone to suggest that all of this is boring, expected, and a waste of his time. “Who are you, and what the fuck do you think you’re doing sneaking around my propert-?”
Ralph breaks off sharply as the intruder’s hood falls off, and he sees who he’s got backed up against the wall. He freezes, his already wild heartbeat kicking up to a new pace.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmurs, before he can stop himself.
Calla looks up at him, a little out of breath. She puts a hand on his chest and pushes him away. He falls back immediately, but she leaves an invisible, burning handprint on him.
“Nice,” she says, frowning deeply. “This how you greet everyone who comes to your house?”
Ralph points a finger upwards. “Most people don’t come in via the roof.”
“I thought you might have an attic window I could get in through. All the other ones are locked.”
Ralph stares down at Calla in disbelief. He’s in a daze, not sure how he keeps getting words out. He honestly can’t believe this. What is she doing here? How did she even find him?
“Cool if I ask why you’re trying to break into my house?”
“Jamie passed along your apology,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I accepted it, because it sounded surprisingly sincere. But now I’m thinking I might have accepted it too early. I only heard it from Jamie, not from you. I came here because I wanted to know if Jamie just sold it on your behalf, or if it was real.”
Ralph is more than a little taken aback, then eager, then unnerved. He had badly wanted a chance to tell Calla how sorry he is, but - once again, she’s somehow managed to catch him completely unprepared.
There is no way I don’t fuck this up, Ralph thinks desperately. No way I get it right.
But he’s sure as hell gonna try.
The first thing he wants to do is get his defenses back up. He doesn’t want Calla to see one flicker of emotion in his eyes, and he’s feeling so many, right now. He starts to force it all down, struggling to get that closed-off look back.
And then his thoughts go to the picture he took of himself in the mirror.
Just put down the smokescreens, like Aiden said.
It’s absolutely terrifying, and it goes against his every instinct, but Ralph leaves himself vulnerable. He looks down at Calla and knows that it’s all right there, in his eyes.
His extreme nervousness, his agony over how stupidly he behaved, his happiness at seeing her unexpectedly, his hope that she’ll forgive him - it’s all exposed, silently spoken.
Calla stops still, looking into his eyes. She tips her head very slightly to the side, stares at him.
Ralph realizes that he still hasn’t answered her.
“You came to see if my apology was real?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even. “And that - led you to break into my house, for some reason?”
He hesitates, then pins on: “Attempt to break in, anyways.”
Calla pauses, startled, then lets out an indignant little laugh.
“Security around here is tighter than I thought it would be.” She glances back at the house. “You know, I’m pretty good at what I do. Definitely didn’t expect to get caught breaking in here, of all places.”
She turns to face Ralph again, and she almost looks - a little impressed?
Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, pal.
“You didn’t answer the question,” he tells Calla, and she shrugs.
“Jamie told me that your brain broke when you saw me. So I thought I’d check out your house, see what I could learn about you. That way I can see if you’re a person who would give me a sincere apology. Someone who’s working on himself, like Jamie said. That way you don’t have to talk, and say stupid things.”
Calla is talking about this like it’s a completely reasonable thing to do. Ralph could honestly laugh, and not just from that. Relief is breaking over him in a big wave.
He doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, because she doesn’t want him to say anything. Although - it sounds like she expects his home to do some talking for him. Who knows what it’ll say to her?
He nervously pushes his damp hair out of his eyes, then gestures to the open door.
Calla’s eyebrows lift in surprise. It’s clear that she wasn’t expecting to be invited in after being caught trying to break in.
She gives Ralph an unreadable look, then steps into the house. Ralph follows her inside.
“So - just to be clear, you saw that I was home, but you were just gonna break in anyways?”
“Well, I already drove all the way here.” Calla shrugs her shoulders, gazing around at the kitchen. “Figured I’d go room to room, just avoid you.”
Ralph lets out a laugh, in spite of himself. “I’d say that’s a ridiculous risk to take, but I’ve seen you in action, so. I know the confidence is justified.”
Calla casts another hard to read look at him over her shoulder, then turns away from him again.
Ralph falls silent, leaving her to look around. He’s hoping he hasn’t said anything too stupid yet.
Calla decides to start in the living room. Ralph follows her there, nervously nibbling his thumbnail.
Calla goes over to the desk where he’d been standing while she was watching him. Her eyes travel slowly over the many different cell phones sitting there, some of them burners. Clear signs of illegal activity, which he’s now wishing he hadn’t left out.
But he could swear he sees Calla smile as she turns away from the desk.
She leads the way upstairs, where the doors to Noah and Grant’s rooms are open. Calla peers into them curiously.
“Two empty rooms, huh?”
Ralph desperately wants to lie, to say something that paints him in a better light than the truth would. He fights down the urge, but he can’t make himself tell her what happened.
All of his defenses are still down, and Calla sees the surge of pain and guilt that comes into his eyes when he glances at the empty rooms. She doesn’t press him to say anything, only looks at him curiously.
She stops before his bedroom, then slips inside. He follows her anxiously, feeling like he suddenly can’t remember how he left it. At least, thank fucking god, he’s got all the drugs put away.
Calla stops by Ralph’s night table. The book that Jamie gave him is there, along with printouts of a few photos he’s taken. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with them, he just likes how they came out.
Calla sifts through them, then looks up to stare at Ralph’s bed.
It’s not made up, but the bedding is clean, so he’s not sure why her gaze lingers there.
“What?” he asks, too nervous to help himself.
“One pillow.” Calla faces him, pointing to the bed. “Only one blanket, too.”
Ralph’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “So?”
“So, that sends a message to any girls who might want to stay over, doesn’t it? They don’t get a pillow, and they’ll be cold.”
Ralph stares at his bed, and it must be plain on his face that he hasn’t thought about this before. Calla arches a puzzled eyebrow, looking at him.
Goddamnit. The truth is always so fucking humiliating. So much easier to lie.
“Not too many girls have stayed over,” he admits haltingly, rubbing his elbow. “Not for a while, anyways.”
“Well - for the future, right?” Calla says, and goes walking right past him, back out into the hallway. “Just a tip for you.”
Ralph stares blankly at the wall for a second, then follows after her, his heart hammering.
Calla leads them back into the kitchen, where her eyes go to the plant. She gently trails her fingertips over the leaves. Her eyes stop and linger on the bud, then drift to the camera, which Ralph left on the kitchen table.
She picks it up, turns it over in her hands. “Kind of old-school, isn’t it?”
Ralph hesitates, trying with all the force of his soul to be the more truthful, open version of himself.
“It - was my dad’s,” he says, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets. “One of the few things of his that I’ve got left.”
Calla looks down at the camera, thinks quietly for a moment, and then turns it on. She opens the picture of the flower bud that Ralph took.
Ralph’s racing heart begins to stumble. Oh, fuck - that picture he took of his own face in the mirror is right before the flower bud.
He’s about to panic, to rush forward and snatch the camera back - but Calla scrolls to the next picture before he can make a single move.
She looks down at the shot of his face in the mirror for a long, silent moment. Then she turns off the camera, and hands it to him.
“I accept your apology,” she says, then heads for the door.
Ralph stands frozen, watching her slip outside. Then he sets the camera down and rushes after her.
“Calla - I didn’t say it, though! I’m s-”
Ralph stops just outside the door, cuts himself off with a heavy exhale. She’s already gone.
“I’m sorry,” he finishes, then shakes his head, stunned.
He needs to process everything that just happened. He needs to calm down. He needs to figure out how to breathe again.
But first, he needs his car keys. He rushes inside and snatches them up, seizes his jacket, and flies for the door.
His phone buzzes as he strides down the gravel pathway towards his car. One of his runners is calling him for a routine check-in.
Ralph answers it without slowing down. “Hey, man. I can’t talk right now. Gonna have to call you back later. Sorry.”
“Oh, alright.” He sounds taken aback to hear Ralph apologize. “Everything okay, boss? Where you rushing to?”
“Been advised that I’ve gotta buy a pillow.” Ralph lets out a dazed laugh before he can stop himself. “And a blanket.”
The runner sounds even more surprised now, to hear Ralph laughing. “Um - for what?”
Ralph smiles, a tiny bit of hope glowing in his heart for the first time in a long time.
“For the future,” he says, and ends the call.
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