Disclaimer: I don't own 7th Heaven or any of its respective characters.

A/N: So, I'm jumping around a little on my stories if you haven't noticed. ;) Happy New Year, everyone. Hope you like this one.

Last Call

One

A cool breeze lifted the chocolate brown, curly tresses slightly from her shoulders as she stood, leaning against a sturdy willow tree, observing the crowd of people that surrounded the foreboding hole in the ground, from a substantial distance. Her dark eyes slid up and fixed on the oak casket that was waiting to be lowered into the unforgiving darkness.

My dad's in there, she found herself thinking, and then instantly forced herself to rip her eyes away before the tears came.

She hung back in the shadows, isolating herself from everyone her father ever knew, met, helped. There were so many people. So many people waiting to suffocate her with their condolences and insincere sympathy. Even her family was unbearable to be around, so she avoided them as well.

Ever since she had come back from Scotland two years ago, she hadn't felt like she was really a part of the family anymore. Something within her had changed and suddenly she realized that she couldn't stand them. They didn't know her, not really. They didn't understand her. Couldn't understand her.

And she was sick of them.

Ruthie saw Reverend Hamilton's lips moving and she knew he was saying something incredibly profound about her late father, especially since they had been very close friends for years, but she wasn't listening. All she wanted was for the funeral to be over with so she could get on with her life. She had loved her father, and part of her felt guilty about feeling the way she did right now, but she just wanted it over with. The tears, the pain, the emptiness, she wanted it all ended.

And it was ironic that with that thought that her eyes landed on Martin Brewer. He was there, of course, with his baby's mother, Sandy, his arm around her shoulders as she dabbed underneath her wet eyes with a crumpled tissue. The sight of them made Ruthie want to be sick. She had adjusted to the fact that they were together now, trying to make things work between them for their son, Aaron, but she had never really accepted it.

Ruthie felt an involuntary twinge in her heart.

It still ached whenever she saw him.

As people began hugging each other, Ruthie gathered that the funeral was over. She took one last look at her father's casket and said a silent goodbye to him before turning away. Deciding to skip the reception at her father's church, she began walking and left the cemetery the same way she felt: alone.

–

The house was still empty when Ruthie arrived there. Everyone was still at the church, and would probably be there for the rest of the day. Vaguely, she wondered if they would even notice that she was missing. Ruthie almost laughed at the idea. No one had seemed to take any interest in her at all.

They hadn't noticed that she had lost about twenty pounds and that all her clothes were like nothing more than sheets hanging around her thin frame. They hadn't noticed that she had been going out almost every night for three months, sometimes never coming home. And they certainly hadn't noticed all the scars on her arms from where the razor blades had cut deep when she slipped up and absentmindedly rolled up her sleeves. That one she was partially thankful for, but it just reassured her that they were all a bunch of self-absorbed fuckers.

Ruthie made her way up the stairs to her attic bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Something crashed to the floor as the walls shook from the force. She turned and her eyes caught sight of a black photo frame face down in a pool of glass haphazardly spread around the floor. It had fallen from the shelf near the doorway.

She walked toward it, kicking glass away, and picked it up. Martin's clear, gray eyes beamed up at her. He and Ruthie had posed for a photo at her father's birthday a couple years ago. She remembered not wanting to take a picture, but he had wrapped her in a bear hug from behind, long enough for her mother to capture the moment for all eternity.

Ruthie had it framed when she realized she had romantic feelings for Martin and displayed it proudly in her room so she could gaze at it from her bed every day. When she learned that he had knocked up some college girl, she had thrown it face down and forgotten about it.

Now, of all times, it wanted to make a reappearance. Ruthie's lips pursed tightly together as anger and hatred boiled rapidly inside her. With all her might, she launched the frame across the room where it collided with the opposite wall, notching a hole, then falling noisily to the floor, the frame coming completely apart in splinters.

For a moment, she just stood there, her breathing unsteady and jagged. Then, without thinking, she bent down, picked up a large, pointy piece of broken glass, shoved up her sleeve, and dug in, not even flinching as the satisfying appearance of blood trickled down to her wrist and dripping off. She could feel her anger slipping away at last and she took a deep breath to compose herself.

Ruthie tossed the glass shard aside with a lazy flick of her hand as she looked around her room. Dirty clothes from the day before were piled in a dark corner and her school books lay open on her bed. She was in her second year at the local college, Crawford, that her eldest brother, Matt, and two sisters had attended before her. Her brother Simon had moved away to go to school after he had some problems in his senior year of high school.

She wished she could be like Simon now – just move away when things got tough and forget that she even had a family. She and Simon used to be the closest of the Camden children, had even shared a room with each other, but now she might not even have known him. Ruthie rarely saw her brother anymore and he hardly ever called unless he had a problem that he wanted someone else to fix for him.

Ruthie sneered at the thought of her brother as she grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and held it to her still-bleeding arm and sat on her bed. Her eyes fell on her notebook with a third of her economics essay written in it. Suddenly, she realized that she didn't care anymore. She was about to rip it up when she heard the back door open and close long enough for one person to enter.

Someone had come home early.

Ruthie tossed the tissue into the wastebasket and pulled her sleeve down, absolutely sure that whoever it was, would be looking for her.

There was a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" Ruthie called, completely annoyed.

"It's me," Martin's voice answered from the other side. "Can I come in?"

"If you're here because someone asked you to come find me, you're wasting your time. I'm fine and I'm not going down to the church, so you might as well just leave, Martin," she replied, not even bothering to move from her spot on the bed. "And I don't want to talk," Ruthie added as an afterthought.

Not bothering to ask permission again, Martin pushed open her door and came in. Ruthie stared daggers at him, but said nothing. He started towards her, but stopped when his shoes crunched the glass beneath his weight. His brow furrowed as his eyes trailed up and across the room, landing on the broken picture frame. He walked towards it and retrieved the photo from the wreckage.

"You smashed our picture?" he asked, puzzled, turning to look at her.

She averted her eyes. Ruthie knew he was waiting for an explanation, but she wouldn't satisfy him with one.

The mattress sank under her as she felt Martin come to sit beside her on the bed. They sat there together in silence for a few moments, Ruthie still not looking at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying.

His warm hand rested on her leg and she stared at it, a little surprised at the contact. "What's going on Ruthie?" he asked, softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, catching his eyes.

"You seem so different. You look like you haven't eaten in months. I know something's going on with you and I want to know what it is. I'm worried about you."

Ruthie almost laughed as a strange smirk appeared on her face. The whole situation was laughable and she was almost embarrassed that she was a part of it. She knew Martin was confused, but she didn't mind.

"Well, Martin, my father just died. You out of all people should know how that feels," she spat, referencing Martin's mother, who has passed away when he was young. Ruthie knew that the excuse of her father's death was a lie and that throwing Martin's mother in his face was heartless, but she didn't care. She didn't even feel badly.

A flicker of hurt passed behind Martin's eyes for only a second before it was gone.

"I know it's hard to lose a parent, Ruthie, especially one like your dad," he agreed, brushing off her remark. "But that's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

Ruthie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just let it go, Martin. You really don't want to know about my life," she replied. "Believe me." Ruthie pushed Martin's hand off her leg.

"What happened to you? You used to be able to talk to me about anything," Martin said, putting his hand in his lap. "I miss you."

I miss you. His words reverberated in her mind and felt like a slap in the face. She pushed herself off the bed and swung around to stare down at him.

"How dare you, Martin," she started in on him, her voice dangerously low. "How dare you come in here and tell me that you miss me. Where's Sandy? You know, you're girlfriend, mother of your child, her. Does she know you're here telling me that you miss me? After all, she's the one you should be missing and giving a shit about. Not me. You want to know why I'm so messed up, Martin? Do you really?"

Martin just watched her. He had only seen Ruthie this angry when he had told her that he was going to have a child with another woman. He remembered how she had screamed at him and cried. He also remembered how remarkably hard she could punch, and he absentmindedly scooted a little father away from her.

"It's because of you," she finished. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

He got up off the bead and stood up to his full height, towering above Ruthie. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that had come to his mind:

"Sandy and I aren't together."

This seemed to catch her off-guard. She didn't know what she expected him to say, if anything, but definitely not that.

"And I do miss you."

Ruthie was still scrambling for words when Martin put his hands on her shoulders. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face that still smelled slightly of minty toothpaste.

"I'm sorry I've cause you this much pain. It was never my intention. I care about you so much and think about you all the time, I just didn't know how to say it. I know this isn't the greatest time, but I couldn't help it." His eyes were looking back and forth at both of hers, looking for any sign of expression. "I love you, Ruthie."

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers and he was kissing her. His clean scent filled her nose and her heart skipped a beat. Martin's hands were in her hair, behind her head at the nape of her neck. They were warm and comforting. For the first time in months, she actually felt emotion that wasn't full of darkness.

And she resented it.

Ruthie dug deep within herself to find the strength to forcefully push him away and slapped him in the face on instinct. Hot tears bubbled up in her eyes and instantly spilled over before she could stop them. She saw his bewildered face through blurry sight.

"Fuck you, Martin Brewer," she said and swiftly turned, grabbed her messenger bag from the floor, and left the house.

–

A/N: Ahhh! ;) You guys are awesome for reading! Now, shoot me a review! ;)) I appreciate each and every one of them! Thanks!