Beta'ed by Melanie39

Disclaimer- I own nothing to do with The OC.

Lost Chances

Ryan drove the SUV around the faded streets of L.A. He had officially fucked up. He knew that. He'd been fooling himself that he could be a different person. He was an Atwood through and through, rotten to the core. He managed to taint everything he came into contact with and he'd infected the people around him he loved most. The Cohens had been a contented unit until he had shown up, now one was in rehab, one was walking around in a daze and one was scared of him.

He saw the look on his friends' faces that night, the look of abject horror as they'd witnessed the violence. He hated that even in death Trey had got what he'd wanted. Trey had destroyed everything, and taken the one thing that Ryan needed…Marissa. The stunned shock on her face as she looked at Trey lying broken on the floor had told him there and then that she would never be able to go near him again, that the mere sight of him would remind her that she had killed a man. He'd snapped. Kicking his brother's dead body again and again had not eased the ache he felt in his gut. The arms he'd felt pulling him away, the shouts and the sobs, as he tried to inflict pain on a person who couldn't feel were all distant to him.

All he felt was the powerful red haze of anger and hate. It was cathartic to hear the sound his boot made as it rained its blows down, all the past years frustrations and disappointments centring on Trey's body. It had taken the three of them to pull him away and only after he'd given Trey's torso one last jolt, did he realize that he'd finally lost everything. He stared up at them, his breath uneven and he'd seen the look in each of their eyes…they were scared of him. They'd finally seen the monster hiding under the façade he'd created. Things would never be the same again.

He swung the wheel and turned down the side road. The sidewalks were littered with garbage and the shops here had the worn, neglected look of the wrong side of the tracks. He saw what he'd come for. He cruised slowly down the street. He ignored several catcalls and curses as he drove by; he homed in on one woman. She stood apart from the others and she wasn't making a song and dance. She wasn't dressed in a clichéd way, her dark hair hung in a simple bob around her shoulders. She stood with confidence and had the body of a woman, soft and rounded. She wasn't tall and angular, nothing there to remind him of her. He locked eyes and pulled the SUV to a halt.

------- ------ ------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------
Elise

Elise was tired; it had been a long night, the constant bickering of the other girls grated now. She wanted nothing more than to go home to her apartment and write, even though her hopes and dreams had been quashed a long time ago. When she'd arrived in Los Angeles all those many years ago fresh from London with an English degree from Magdalene College, Oxford she'd thought she held the world in her palm. She had the unwavering confidence that she'd be a published author in record time, that she'd be somebody. Shooting for the dream had been a lost cause, in a place where everyone was the next John Steinbeck or Jack Kerouac. She had simply sunk below the surface. She still wrote but the rejection letters hurt less now as the years had gone by.

She worked for herself, no pimp… she was an independent. Once you got past a certain age they left you alone anyway. She had been bullied and pressured in the early days but she'd managed to gain respect from the local hoods with her feisty English will and her steadfast refusal to kowtow to anyone. That's the way it had been for her and everyone now left her alone.

She didn't interfere in anyone's business and she asked that no one infringe on hers. She was fiercely private, no one knew her real name and she wanted it to be kept that way. The name Elise was a joke, a memory back to happier days when she'd been young and idealistic. She'd been seeing a young investment banker. She had thought it was just a casual thing but he'd gotten too serious too quickly. He had proposed to her and as an engagement present he'd brought her a Lotus Elise sports car, metallic blue and sleek with leather bucket seats and a fast engine. She had felt suffocated by the image of living in suburbia with two point four children. She'd wanted her dream. She'd handed back the keys of the car a week later and headed out to the land of plenty.

And here she was twenty years later, competing for Johns against the typical American identikit blondes, with their silicone tits and their never ending legs.

She noticed the SUV cruising down the street; the other girls started their displays. The car spoke money and they wanted some of the action. This part of town tended to cater to the upper end of the blue-collar sector. Cars like this were a rarity. She had long ago stopped the ridiculous posturing and head tossing that the girls were throwing the cars way. It was like they were all working off the same script of a fucking low budget hooker flick. She just stood her ground.

The SUV pulled to a halt next to her. She looked around just to make sure she wasn't stepping on anyone's toes. The pimps tolerated her but they wouldn't let her get away with poaching other girls' tricks. The window eased down and a pair of the most soulful blue eyes she had ever seen drew her in. The kid looked to be just out of his teens if he was lucky. He didn't have the brash quality of a frat boy out to humiliate a hooker, or the demeanour of a shy kid out to score with a woman who wouldn't judge. She was intrigued…why would a good looking rich boy be out here at this time of the night looking to get laid?

The soft way he asked 'how much' sent shivers down her spine. As she replied she gazed into his eyes and knew…she had seen the same look each time she looked in the mirror. He had the look of someone who had given up on life, or more accurately life had given up on him. They discussed terms; he showed no embarrassment in what he was asking for, this was purely business to him. She was impressed that he didn't waver even though she knew that he was aware that she was ripping him off. He nodded as if he'd expected it.

She opened the car door and slid into the seat. He waited for her to buckle up. The same soft voice asked for directions where they should go.

------ ----- -------- ------- ------ ---- --- ----- ------- ------- - --- ------- -------
Ryan

Ryan pulled the car up in the alley. He quietly asked her name, not that he wanted to know, it just made things less awkward. He was struck by the name, it was unusual. He detected a European accent, that was even better, fewer reminders. Elise was businesslike. No small talk. He knew that he was just another in a long line for her and that suited him fine. He didn't want anything else. He didn't even bother to check around him to see if he was about to get rolled. He didn't care. He handed over the money and watched as she discreetly placed it down the side of her boot.

He got out the car and went round to open the door for Elise. He pulled her into the shadows. He trod on the used condoms that were strewn over the uneven floor. They told him this alley was a regular haunt for girls like her. He backed himself against the wall and waited for her touch. His body cried out for human contact, he needed this. Her hand grasped the front of his pants and squeezed. He shifted his legs and stared at a point behind her head, a green spray painted tag from some street gang high on the wall drew his focus. He let his mind go blank as she undid his pants and pulled his erection free. She gave a few firm tugs before she squatted down. He felt her hot mouth push the condom down his shaft and he shut his eyes as she engulfed him. He started to thrust his hips and she let him fuck her mouth. That was one of the advantages of paying; you didn't have to worry about hurting what a young girl's expectations of what a blowjob should be. Some girls thought that just by taking you in their mouths that that was enough, that you owed them your undying gratitude for a quick suck. No, a blowjob was more than that and Elise was a master. He wound his hands in her hair and thrust deeper and deeper, safe in the knowledge that Elise could take what he was giving. Her hand reached for his balls, rolling and stretching the sensitive skin. He felt his legs tremble as she used her skills to bring him to a quick climax. He didn't feel cheated; in a job where time meant money he expected no less.

He removed the condom and tossed it on the floor to join the others. He zipped himself up and got out a cigarette, he offered one to Elise and silently lit it for her when she accepted. They stood in silence both listening to the sounds of the fast moving traffic and the wails of the distant sirens…the mantra of a busy weekend in the City. He ground the butt under his boot when he finished and turned back to Elise.

-------- ---- ---- --- ---- --- --- --- ---- ---- ---- --- ----- ---
Elise

Elise took him to one of her spots. The local cops left her alone here; she paid a lot of money and gave favours to the local patrols for the use of this alley. He pulled her by the hand deeper into the shadows. The hand contact threw her but she realized that this kid was not like her usual clients, he had already surprised her with the simple act of opening the car door for her, he'd made her feel good. He had made her briefly feel like a person rather than a commodity. She watched as he positioned himself against the wall. She stretched one hand out and found that he was already hard and gave a silent sigh of relief. It made her job easier if they were ready. She hated the Johns who had a problem and expected her to work miracles. She pulled down his zipper and freed him. She was curious about this boy. As she tugged on him he stared off into the distance. It was an almost vacant expression on his face. She was used to reading people. She had seen the look of disgust on some men's faces, disgust that they'd lowered themselves to a cheap poke in a back alley. She'd seen guilt many times. She'd seen the look of hate angled at her but she'd never seen this level of detachment and desolation. It was like his head had divorced itself from the proceedings and it was his body running the show now. She squatted down having learnt long ago not to kneel in this shit hole, and removed a condom from her purse. She put it in her mouth and angled her head so she could take him in her mouth and slide the latex down his length.

She lifted her eyes as he began to buck his hips. She saw that he'd closed his eyes now. She felt better about that, and it was certainly more normal. She let him go deep but she made sure she kept her hand firmly at the base of his cock in case he got carried away. Some men thought that just because she was a working girl that gave them Carte Blanche to try and choke her, but something told her that this kid wasn't out to humiliate or hurt her; he had his own agenda for being here and it strangely didn't involve her, even though she had his prick halfway down her throat. Her jaw began to ache so she used her free hand to grasp and knead his bollocks, a trick she found that usually sped things up. She rolled the soft skin in her hand and felt him tense then spasm in release.

He removed the condom, then zipped himself away. She liked that he did that; it again showed a certain amount of respect to her. Some men would have just let it all hang out as a sign that they hadn't finished with her. She accepted the cigarette that he offered and again was touched by him lighting it for her. Part of her was desperate to ask what the hell he was doing here. What she did know was this kid did not belong here for all the confident ways he'd shown in picking her up. Her years on the job meant she could usually suss out the reasons why men came to her but this kid was an enigma. He was good looking, he had money, he was clean and he had a soothing demeanour. He was every Prom Queen's dream. So why was he here in an alley on a Sunday night with a prostitute?

He stubbed his smoke out underfoot and turned back to her. From the light that filtered down from the fire escape above she could see that he was ready again, the denim pulled taught over his hardness. She had been sceptical when he had quietly told her his needs. She had been concerned that it was the brashness of youth that made him think that he'd be ready again so soon, 'cause she sure as hell didn't want to hang around all night in a dank alley that smelled of piss.

She flicked her cigarette away, pulled him to her and stroked him through his pants. That was something she didn't normally do but a hooker could make exceptions. He buried his face in her neck; he seemed to instinctively know not to kiss her, which was a big no-no with clients. It was funny that you let them stick their pricks in just about every orifice but kissing was too intimate? He fumbled with his pants in his haste to fuck her. She got another condom from her small purse and handed it to him. The logistics of a stand up screw was off. He wasn't tall but at 5' 3" she was hardly an Amazon. She was just about to suggest they convene to the back of the car when his strong arms lifted her off the floor and held her firmly in place. She wrapped her legs around his back as he pushed into her. She gasped as he started to pound into her like his life depended on it. She let herself get carried away and for once she didn't have to fake. She thought back to the times when sex hadn't been a means to earn money, she thought back to the times when sex had felt like this. She felt free again if only for a while. She spoilt it by looking into his eyes again and saw the same detachment, a detachment that told her this was purely business for him. Whatever demons he was running from were etched straight onto his retinas. She shut her eyes to block out the pain she saw and fooled herself that this was real.

------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ----------- --------- -------

Ryan

He thrust again and again into her. He felt the same ache in his stomach that that had been a permanent fixture since that night. He tried to block the thoughts assaulting his head. Sandy reading the police report and telling him that there was to be no charge for the post mortem damage he'd inflicted on Trey's body, the way that Sandy couldn't meet his eyes spoke volumes. Seth couldn't bear to be in the same room as him and Summer just didn't come to the house anymore. Marissa had been sent away to get over what the Atwood boys had done to her fragile mind and the one person who might, just might have told him that things would be O.K had been kept in the dark. Kirsten didn't need his shit added to her problems.

He clung onto Elise, held her close, willing his body to feel something other than the numbness. His arms were tired now, he shifted her higher on his hips. He was aware that he was grunting, almost shouting with each lunge in a sort of battle cry. He'd been given a chance and he'd wasted it…fucked up again and again until he'd used up his chances. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. He knew where he was heading and it had come full circle…Sandy shouldn't have bothered that day all those months ago. It was fate…he was an Atwood.

He found an untapped source of energy and renewed his pace.
Elise was sobbing now, her hands tangled in his hair. He backed off thinking he'd gone too far. He didn't want to hurt her but she cried out for him to go faster, deeper. For the first time he looked into her eyes and actually saw her…looked at the woman behind the job. They locked eyes and shared a moment of understanding. They were two people who were at one for this brief time. They both recognised it…they were destined to be the flotsam and jetsam of life, human waste not unlike the used condoms that littered the floor. Life had used them and thrown them both away, and for a second he didn't feel alone. His body purged itself into her and he shuddered and clung on.

------- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- --- ---- --- ----- --- ---- ---- --- --- ----

Elise

She felt awkward. Something had passed between them and it had made her feel exposed. She watched as he re-arranged himself. He was quiet again now. She'd been surprised at his loud exclamations when he'd been screwing her, it seemed out of character but then what did she know about him?

He asked her if she wanted a lift back. She told him that she was finished for the night, that she lived near here. She frowned to herself; she never gave information to clients. You never knew which one was the psycho but here she was telling him things. He didn't appear to be listening anyway. She watched as he walked back to the SUV parked at the entrance to the alley. He got a hold all out from the back seat and rummaged in it. He pulled out a tee shirt and got back in the car. She got closer to see what he was doing. He was in the process of wiping down all the surfaces inside, anywhere where they might have touched. He slammed the door and wiped the outside of the doors, locked the car then dropped the keys down the drain. He slung the bag over his shoulder and in his measured tone said two words that made her want to cry, 'Thank you'…and he seemed to mean it. He turned away and started to walk up the street. She caught up to him. He looked startled when she stopped him. She had to ask…something inside her was willing her and she didn't know why. She still had her hand on his arm when she asked if he needed any help. Despite first appearances the kid was obviously homeless but had wasted a good chunk of money on her tonight for whatever reason. He looked down at her hand and gently shook it off.

She watched as he continued down the block, his shoulders slumped. He turned around after a few paces and gave her a sad smile.

"No one can help me."

Fin