Disclaimer: The OC and its characters belong to Schwartz & Co.

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Chapter One

So, exactly how had things gotten this fucked up? In one sense, the answer is easy. Mom has a new boyfriend. One that doesn't mind the drinking and the drama. One that is as much of a drunk as she is. More even. A complete ass. It's disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. I'm still reeling from her breakup with her last boyfriend. A genuinely good guy. He'd been nice to Trey and me. He'd never hit us, he had a job, there was always food in the house, the electricity and the phone had been paid, he'd even offered me a job last summer. But, he'd been too good for Mom. Too good for us. I should have known he'd never last in our lives. Nothing good ever did.

And so here I am. At school at 7:30 in the morning. In the cafeteria with all the fat girls and losers. Because, c'mon, who doesn't have enough money for a box of generic "froot puffs" in the morning? Who can't get by on what's in the house for breakfast? Well, besides me, that is.

For the first time since I started school and qualified for the "Great Start" program, I'm using it. With AJ in the house, there's never any food and the free lunch I get from school doesn't fill my stomach for 24 hours. So, here I am, swiping my card through, verifying that I'm amongst the poorest of the poor. What a fucking loser. Never mind the black eyes and split lips that have become part of my daily life, this is about as low as you can stoop. Eating breakfast on the county's dime cause your mom's too fucked up to keep a box of fucking Cheerios in the house. So fucking low that I can't even meet the cafeteria lady's eye when she's verifying that my family is so fucking broke I can't afford a fucking poptart before school.

At least Theresa'd let me fuck her last night. I'd long ago started marking when she gets her period. She's regular, every 28 days, and I know that if I proposition her a few days before or right after she bleeds, she'll let me do her without a condom. She can be clingy, she can be annoying, but at least she isn't going to get pregnant from me. She's put the brakes on the fun many a time when the timing isn't right. Oh, I know it's not exactly safe sex. Nothing's foolproof and she messes around with other guys plenty, but I trust her when she says that I'm the only one that doesn't have to wrap it before sticking her. And she's the only one I trust to screw without a condom. So, I guess we're safe enough.

Last night I'd knocked on her window and we'd done it in the back seat of Arturo's car. I'd left immediately afterward and she'd been pissed. She wanted me to stay. She wanted to talk. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. She'd thrown something at me. A battery that had been on the floor of the car. Struck me in the back of the head. I still have the knot. But, I know she'd let me fuck her again tonight if I want to. She's never said "no."

Maybe I should have stayed and talked to her. Maybe that way I would have avoided what happened when I got home. What the hell was I thinking? Trey told me to leave it all alone and I couldn't. I heard AJ smacking her around and I couldn't just let it be, even though she's the one who brought him into our lives, into our house, invited him to stay, to eat our food…all of our fucking food all of the fucking time…. I went in there. Into her bedroom. She was in a tee-shirt and shorts. Blood was dripping off of her face, down her shirt, on her legs. How could she let him fucking beat her like that and not throw his sorry ass to the curb?

Yet, she defended him when I went in there. I was all about throwing him out. All about calling the police and enduring another night of those obtrusive motherfuckers as they rifled through our house and looked down their snouts at us. But she pleaded with him…pleaded with him! To forgive her. Like she had done something wrong! Fuck her. Fuck him. I'd gotten my ass kicked. My cheek is an angry mess of throbbing pain. My bottom lip is split. My eye is starting to bruise. I'm just waiting for a teacher or a counselor to call me in. How the fuck am I supposed to explain this away? A fight? That's what I always say, but sooner or later, they're going to send someone to the house. There'll be social workers involved. I might even be taken away. And that sucks, because I haven't done anything wrong and because she promised. She swore on her life when we moved from Fresno.

Fresno. Her infamous free-fall. After dad was sentenced, she'd gone on quite the bender. She'd disappeared for over a week. And Trey tried to hold it together for us. He really tried. And we'd almost made it, but she just kept…not…coming…back…and eventually someone was going to notice and eventually someone did. And social services showed up and it took her four fucking months to get her act together enough to get us back. Brutal fucking foster care where that asshole beat me senseless and where Trey—I don't know what happened to Trey in foster care, but he came back different. There was an edge, a meanness to him that had never been there before. We'd been getting smacked around pretty regularly since—well since forever—so it had to be more than getting his ass kicked. Especially for Trey. Trey was always one tough motherfucker, even when he was little. Not even Dad could always make him cry. Dad could always make me cry. Every time. Didn't even have to hit me to make me cry. Maybe still can.

But, I try not to let myself think too much about Trey. I don't really want to know what happened to him in those months that we were apart. What made him come back just so totally different. We fake it. We try to pretend that things are the same as before he left. But they aren't. And he resents me for it. He's never said anything. But I can tell. It's there. Just there in the air around us. The tension between us where there'd never been tension before. My brother is gone and he isn't coming back. Trey's still around, but he isn't my brother anymore. Not really.

And Mom, oblivious to it all. She swore on her fucking life that things would be better and she'd be there for us and she's a fucking liar. And AJ's a fucking asshole. And since I'm 16, this is my fucking life. I go back to that fucking house every fucking night where he fucking beats me and she fucking lets him and we have no fucking food and that's why I'm at school at 7:30 in the fucking morning eating fucking corn flakes with a bunch of fucking fatties and other fucking losers just like me.

And fuck Dad. Seriously, fuck him for doing something so supremely stupid as knocking off a convenience store with a gun. I mean c'mon how fucking cliché. Use your imagination, Atwood. The least you coulda' done is make it a good story. But, at least when he was around—at least what? I don't know. Life wasn't much better. Wasn't really better at all if I'm honest with myself. But, at least it was Dad kicking my ass. Somehow it's different. Because somehow I could tell myself—fool myself?—who the fuck knows…but I do it anyway. I could tell myself that despite the anger and the words and the fists, he's my dad and since he's my dad, he loves me. It's a rule, right? Dads love their kids, even if they don't show it hardly at all.

But this is life, not math. So maybe there's no rule. I wish life could be like math. You follow the rules, you don't make mistakes and you get an answer. It's as easy as that. There's an answer to every problem and if you just follow the formula you can solve it. But not life. Not my life. There are no formulas. I know. I've been trying to figure out the problem that is that asshole AJ for months now. And I can't solve it. I can't get him out of my mom's fucking life and I can't get him to leave me the fuck alone. I've tried being invisible. I've tried being reasonable. I've been good. I've been bad. I've been quiet. I've yelled. I've let him beat me senseless. I've fought back. And nothing fucking works. There is no fucking solution. He will not leave me alone or us alone and I fucking hate it. And I fucking hate him. And I fucking hate her for letting him. And I wish I could just stop caring that he's hurting her. But I can't. And I can't fix it. So, where does that leave me? Tired. More than tired. Exhausted. Frustrated. Furious. And while we're going with "F's" Fucked up. Because I am. Because Mom is. Because Dad is. Because Trey is. Because we all are.

So there's a solution for you: "Atwood Fucked Up." Now that's an easy one, but not exactly a secret, either.

"Hey, Ryan." I look up. It's Theresa. I glance at the clock on the wall. We're 5 minutes away from the first bell.

Hey." And because I feel I should. "Sorry about—about me leaving."

"S'okay, Ryan. I'm sorry I threw that battery at you."

"I'm sorry you hit me." I grimace and rub the back of my head. Theresa grins and I'm relieved that she's not still pissed at me. Because even though I know that she'll let me fuck her tonight, I don't want her pissed at me. I like Theresa. And she likes me. And there are so few people that like me right now. So few people that I like. So why fuck it up just because I'm angry and tired and fucked up?

So, what're you doing here so early?" She asks, looking around. I pack up my Trig book and put it back in my bag as I stand to take my tray to the trash.

"Just getting a great start."