Recurring Scars
Rating PG- for substance contact within the latter part of this story.
Proclaimers: I do not own the O.C. so yeah, just thought I would make that umm, noticable. Althought Owning a million dollar show and actually living in Newport would be nice, quite frankly,. at the moment, I don't. Enjoy!
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All is silent.
No one speaks.
A dog barks.
A knock is heard.
A tall, dark haired woman goes to answer a tattered screen door.
Reluctantly opening it, she sees a man, a man in a suit, dark hair mopped upon his head, with a distressed look strewn upon his face.
A face that carried hurtful memories, of past, and of present.
A briefcase was at his side.
This man, was non other then Sandy Cohen.
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The yellow colored plaster walls surrounding him were fading, and looked as if they were plucked straight out of Mexico. But Sandy Cohen was not in Mexico. He was quite far from it.
He was sitting at a kitchen table, being offered coffee.
Sandy was not in Mexico, or even near it.
He was sitting at a kitchen table, in Chino.
"No, thanks, no coffee." He said, distressfully.
The tall dark haired woman sat, and poured herself a glass.
"Mr. Cohen," She started.
"Please, call me Sandy." He interrupted.
The woman took a sip of her coffee, and tried to fix up her hair, it being just pulled back into a tight bun.
"Mr. Cohen," she continued. "He isn't here. He won't be back for hours, he's working, at the garage."
The woman took another sip and looked at a baby monitor anxiously.
Then she looked into her coffee, as if it was a whirling vortex, hypnotizing her.
"Sandy, She will be awake soon, please, tell me what exactly you are doing here."
"You know exactly why I am here." He said.
"I need to talk to Ryan."
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"How is she?" A soft voice said into a telephone.
A tall thin woman, with sleek blonde hair standing within a sitting area was in a bathrobe, and looked as if she was distraught. With red lines marking thousands of tears shed, all upon her face.
" I will try to let him know as soon as I can. Send her our love."
And then she hung up the phone.
"Kirsten?"
A man walked in, and laid a rest- assuring hand upon her shoulder.
She shuttered, then, turned around and sobbed at the familiar face.
"Jimmy! Oh My God it is just, wonderful to see you. This has just, been…"
Kirsten said, speechless, yet with a look of relief.
"Yeah, I know. Where's Sandy? I need to talk to him." Jimmy stated.
Kirsten sighed, and sat down. She looked up with heavy eyes. Then she said,
"He's in Chino."
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Sandy had sat in that yellow colored plaster kitchen for hours, finally accepting a cup of coffee.
Twice.
Make that three times. And just as he was starting his third cup, a tall, light haired man walked into the room, looking rather tired.
"Well, hello Mr. Atwood, finally deciding to grace us with your presence?"
With a sigh of relief Ryan sat down at the table, took a sip of coffee and looked up at Sandy.
"Sandy? What are you doing here? In Chino?" Ryan looked confused, and he glanced at the tall, dark haired woman.
She looked at him, with distain, and turned towards the stairs, and left rather abruptly.
"Sandy? Why are you here?" Ryan said.
Sandy took a sip of coffee, and stared into Ryan's eyes, as he had done many times previous, signaling dread.
"You have no idea? Do you?" Sandy muttered.
Ryan shook his head.
Silence grew.
Sandy stared, into his eyes, and looked as if he were about to burst into tears.
Sandy. Sandy Cohen, about to cry.
He didn't even grow emotional when his son was born.
He didn't cry when Ryan left Newport.
Yet his eyes grew misty.
This was the signal.
Something had gone on.
And Ryan needed to find out. Immediately.
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He had left Newport.
Left, just gone. He flew away like a flock of gulls towards the south.
A woman stood there, motionless, amongst a pile of boxes, and a four post bed.
She had long brown locks, which were flaying about due to her open window, and she just stood. Stood there, until she bent down.
She bent down towards a box, underneath her bed, and pulled it out, laying it across her lap.
Opening the box, she locked her bedroom door, and sat down again. As she pulled out a bottle of Vodka.
A tear dropped, and splashed upon the glass container.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she opened it and took a sip.
She whispered,
"Ryan."
As she coughed and trembled. Then started sobbing.
The woman smashed the bottle of vodka against the brick wall, and screeched,
"Ryan!" As the bits of bottle were strewn across the balcony.
She collapsed, and laid on the cement floor of the balcony crying, and sobbing horribly.
The girl picked up a shard of the glass and put it to her wrist.
She screamed,
"So help me God I will do it! I cannot handle this anymore!"
But she put the shard of glass down, and reached for her cell phone.
Dialing the numbers, she could think of only one number to call.
"Oliver?"
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Reviews are greatly appreciated! Can u guess who the dark haired woman is? hmmm hard one eh? LOL just kidding. anyways, Good Or Bad, Reviews are appreciated! Bon Appetit! Corny, yes, but I NEEDED to do that lol.