A/N.: So guys, here's a sequel to 'wind of change'. And yes, I was faster with finishing my assignment, as planed. For all those who don't want to read that story first I give a brief summery of events you might need to know.
What happened previously: Ryan donated his blood to Seth and thus got to know the Cohens. Kirsten didn't like him, but later started to melt down more and more, until she's the motor letting him stay permanently. Ryan's mother died after a routine surgery, his brother got shot from a ploice officer in front of his eyes. He ended up in juvies and in a foster home ( not too bad) and then came to the Cohens, his foster family. And yes, he and Marissa are a couple.
Legal side: The law of my home country is taken as basis for the description for the dutys of foster familys. Sorry, if it differs from the law in your country. But I'm looking forward to get to know how things work in other countries.
Disclaimer: I don't own any rights related to the original plot or the character of the O.C. I only own this one.
Now, enough explanations. Have fun and enjoy and of course let me know what you think about this.
Insomnia
I watch him sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen. His eyes are sad and the circles around them show me he still doesn't sleep properly. He didn't since he came to us. I see something is bothering him, but he won't tell me. He's hardly talking to my husband. He's not mute. Small talk is okay. But serious conversations – those who could be help and relieve for all of us – are barley happening. It's not that I want to know what it is, I already do. I only want him to say these words that bring relieve. But I also know that his demons demand him to keep everything deep inside. I start to doubt it had been the right decision to take him in. It's obvious it doesn't do him any good. But I also doubt his life in this institution had been better than here. What's my biggest concern is the fact that I start to feel we already lost the fight -the fight for a second son and I start to lose energy. I don't want to blame him for that. He hadn't forced us to this decision. But he could be a little more cooperative. On the other hand, I know what had happened in his past. I should know that this is no easy situation for him. He never had trusted someone – even relied on. This is a learning process and I start to think of the small steps he had already made. He had stopped drinking when he was upset. He still likes fights too much and sometimes I smell he had been smoking. I don't reprove him then, as I know he never would smoke in our presence. That's it. He respects us and he tries to stick to the rules, like a guest. He can't imagine that this isn't enough for me or my husband. He can't imagine our desire for him being our second son. And I can't blame him. Thus I try to encourage myself from new. I watch Seth talking to him and him listening carefully, trying to give advices. Their relationship is a very good one. It seems as if Seth knows how to handle him, without pushing him too hard or annoying him. I watch the scene and put up my mask of happy mother, not showing my concerns to the boys – especially not to him. He would feel embarrassed if he knew.
"Hey, good morning!" My husband storms into the kitchen. Sometimes I ask myself whether he's reluctant to recognize the conflict in our family. But I know too well, he does know. And he's trying his best, at least that's what he's telling me day after day.
"Ryan, you look tired. Everything's okay?" He asks. It's strange. When I ask questions he never ducks his head. With my husband it's different. I thought after all what had happened between us, he should act easier around my husband, but that's not true. Out of some mysterious reasons it seems as if he's easier around me than him.
"I'm fine, thanks." I feel how rage crawls up my spine, making my want to smash my mug against the fridge. This was a lie. He knew it, I do, my husband does and my …son does as well. I want to grab him by his arms, shake him until he starts to burst into tears – he has all reasons to. But he covers his cracks with politeness or aggression. Something between these characteristics doesn't exist.
"Everything's okay at school?" My husband asks on.
"Yes, everything's fine." Was this a lie? I have no idea. I only see my son's face and know they both have a secret. But this is normal. I used to have my secrets with my sister, some my parents still don't know about. Parents. And what are we for him? Something between parents and watchdog.
"Okay, it's time to go. I need to see Summer, after she's been away the whole weekend." My son says out of a sudden and in less than a second both are gone. I let a sigh escape my chest.
"He's far away from okay, is he?" I ask my husband, whose face had darkened in the second the boys left.
"That's my assumption." He only answers. This isn't enough. I want reasons, because reasons give you something to start with. If I had reasons, I already knew how to solve this conflict.
"Sandy it can't go on like this. He's not sleeping, he's hardly talking and I can't consider this as eating." I point at the not even half eaten bowl of cereals.
"It was just a lot that happened. He only needs time." Time. We have no time. With every passing day the boy is drifting further apart from us – drawing back into his shell of loneliness.
"Sandy, it's time he starts to recover from it."
"I know. I talk to him this evening." Again. And there is this tired look. There are a lot Sandy-Ryan-conversations. Either ending with an only yes and all admitting Ryan or ending in a fight, with a Ryan coming home late night – bruised or smelling after smoke, sometimes both. I'm glad that he quit drinking, though.
I work part-time now, if it's possible. I figured I need to stay home more. My own son had admitted he felt like a toy and – although it might be late – I wanted to show him he was more and that I took him serious. And Ryan needs someone who is always around, knowing that there is always someone there for him. I'm not sure if this works that way, maybe it only keeps him away from doing anything stupid. I hear the front door open. My son is coming home, alone.
"Hey Seth, how was school?" I ask him.
"Boring, despite the breaks." He answers. I don't want to smother both of them. But I have to.
"Uhm…Seth, where is Ryan?"
"Still at school."
"What is he doing there?" A curious feeling develops in my stomach and I don't know what this is supposed to mean.
"Learning. He said something about being more concentrated if he stays in the library." I know he's ambitious. But like that? This is new to me.
"And this everyday of the week?" I admit my question seems to come late. But if I had asked earlier it might have seemed as if I want to control them and this could become a hairy situation. That's why I waited so long.
"Uh…yes. I know it's weird, but I'm not able to convince him from studying here. Don't know what's wrong." And this is what I don't buy from him. He knows where the cat jumps, but doesn't tell me.
"Seth, are you sure that this is no measure of avoiding us?" This is my biggest fear, that he never realizes that we only want to be his parents. I fear he might turn away from us, never letting us closer than he does now.
"Dunno, but I don't think so. If he wanted to avoid you, he probably would run." And that's the other thing that's not right. He's on probation and he's smart enough to not to want be back in juvies again. So he stays with us. Everything else would bring him back to juvies and he knows that.
"Okay, I talk to him later." I say, trying to get something out of my son, but I fail. Maybe there's really nothing. But I have a suspicious feeling and I can't switch it off easily.
It's already time for dinner, when he comes back. He usually comes back that late.
"Hey, nice to see you." My husband says when he enters the kitchen.
"Hi." He replies shy. He still has no idea how to react on some kind-hearted words.
"How was school?" I ask him too. He's my son two and I need to treat both the same.
"Uh…fine…a lot of work." He says until he apologizes and heads for the pool house. I look at my husband and I see in his face what I'm feeling. My husband takes the opportunity and walks after him. A new round of conversation. I take the time and set the table. I'm still wondering how strange this must be for Ryan. Few years ago he had to steal something to eat and now everything was ordered in huge masses, so that everybody had something he liked. My husband comes back and I can say the conversation wasn't different from the others. But I still want to know.
"And what did he say?" I ask him.
"He's having a lot of work at school."
"That's all?"
"That's all." Fight lost. We have to wait for the next day to come.
The doorbell rings and our dinner arrives. I tell my son to bring everything into the kitchen. I go to Ryan. He's sitting on the bed, an open book on his legs and writing. Homework. I ask myself what was left to do, after he spent so much time for it at school. I know Harbor is a lot of work, but not even Seth has to work so much and hard for his grades. Maybe this is really a measure of avoiding and my heart clenches at this idea.
"Dinner is ready." I say.
"Thanks." He says. He had stopped saying: I'm not hungry. He must have figured that this was no excuse for not eating in this house.
"Is everything okay with you?" I ask. I'm his mother now, so it's my job to figure out what's wrong, although I know. It's my job to talk to him and listen to him.
"Yes, really." He answers.
"With you and Marissa everything's okay?" And then there is this huge bright smile, like every time, when I mention his girlfriend. He blushes a little.
"Yes…more than okay…I guess." I'm glad of getting another answer despite his standard ones. This little sentence gives me the feeling as if he tries to open up to us. He gets up and walks to the door. I put an arm around him. He had stopped fighting physical contact and if I was carefully enough, he sometimes didn't even flinch. This was progress. But it was little and I start to be inpatient. He's my son and I want to treat him like that, not longer like a guest.
We're eating, my son and husband talking eagerly about their day – especially my son. It's the first evening I start to watch Ryan's behaviour carefully. I start to worry – really worry and I need to do something about his behaviour. He's sitting there listening, offering a lopsided smile once in a while and answering questions politely and short. He doesn't offer us one of his experiences of the day.
"Hey Ryan, what about some videogames? Relaxes your brain for a while." Her son asks when dinner is finished. Seth had eaten more than his body seem to be able to contain. He was young. He had all right to use the advantage of a well functioning metabolism. In comparison to him Ryan had again eaten hardly anything. He was even eating less than I do. This can't be right. He's same age as my own son, what means he needs at least more food than I do.
"Sorry, …I have to do an assignment in English Literature." He answers. If this was not enough reason to worry: assignment instead of videogames. Not good at all. I look at my husband, who only shrugs his shoulders. Of course this is not enough for me, but I have to let go, if I don't want to scare the boy away with my maternal feelings.
Ryan disappears in the pool house. That was it. Five minutes in the morning, five in the afternoon, and twenty in the evening. This was all. Does foster care mean we don't deserve more than thirty minutes of our new son? I'm not sure, but also I'm tiered of mentioning this topic again.
When I go to bed I see the lights in the pool house are still on. Later I wake up from my sleep, for some reason and then go to the window, to see the lights were still on. I see the door open. A form snuck out - a tall, thin one, with long hair. They kiss goodbye and I figure it is Marissa. At this time? That's strange. This was not typical Marissa. But they are young and in love and then one wanted more than only holding hands and kissing. But with the whole light on? I can't imagine that this was the reason for his lack of sleep. Or? Just to be on the saver side, I'll tell my husband in the morning to have a conversation with him. But they are fully clothed now and she is carrying a big bag with her. I look onto the watch and I feel my body was crying for sleep. One last look to the pool house only to see the lights were still on. Why aren't you talking to me – us? What's so damn wrong with you? What's holding you back? Why can't you trust us? What have I – we done?