This is a piece about Summer. It's set after the finale.
Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue.
You try hard to stop the tears from rolling down your face. It's not easy, and it hurts. There's a lump in the back of your throat, you can't breathe, your choking on your tears. Then, your body convulses in wracking sobs. You hate yourself for crying, especially over this. But you can't help it. You feel weak. You feel stupid. You feel helpless, hopeless; you can no longer tell the difference.
This happens every time he does this to you; every time there is no e-mail in your account, no messages on your phone. Sure, he's away on 'business'. But you know he's not. He's a plastic fucking surgeon! They don't go away on business. No, he goes to Los Angeles, rents a room, a couple of hookers, and gets high off the finest drugs L.A. has to offer. You only found out because you walked in on a conversation he was having with one of his dealers. He didn't notice you; you ran out before he could.
So, you cry every time he does this to you. You don't want to. You hate him for having this much power over you. Especially when he hurts you so fucking much. And you can't say a thing because he has no idea you know his deepest, darkest, secret. And because you're not strong enough. You act like you are, your 'friends' think you are. This is enough, for now. But you don't know how much longer you can hide it; it's killing you, eating away at your stomach. And your so fucking sick of it! You wish you could hurt him, you wish you could break down.
But you can't. There's no way it'll go away while your still here. You know it would go away if you killed yourself, but you're too scared to do it. So you don't. You'll wait until you die a natural cause, or by someone else's hand. But not your own, because you're scared. And a part of you wants it to stay that way. The other part, the silent part? Never goes away.
And the one thing, the one person, that made it all better, sailed away on a boat like a little bitch. It's not like you can turn to your friends, either. Nope, they all abandoned you after you started dating him. Oh, can't forget your best friend, who is currently living in a large bottle of Jack D. You have no one. You can't do anything. You wish you would get hit by a car and fall into a coma and when you would wake up, all would be clear. That would be a miracle.
Instead, you cry. And you hate yourself, your father, him, your mother, your best friend. All of them. Hell, everyone you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. And you'll keep it a secret. No one will ever know, because no one will ever stop to look close enough to see your tears.
As much as you want them to notice, to care; you really don't. Well, they can't know. They would make you get help. Make you see a therapist. And that, that's the last thing you want; to be proclaimed clinically depressed. They would do it, too. Your father would probably do it just in spite of you.
People that see you around school know more about you than him. He could care less. But, still, you want him to be proud of you, to love you. God, even realize you exist! And it's all because of him; that you're like this, that you cry, that you feel weak, stupid, self-conscious. He's the reason you have low self-esteem. Sure you don't let anyone see it, you hide it behind all your make up and designer clothing, but you're never good enough, pretty enough, smart enough. Not for him. And not for yourself.
You just feel stupid! You're a fucking idiot! You're a fucking worthless piece of shit! That's how he makes you feel. That's how they all make you feel. You're not tall, skinny, beautiful, blond, smart, fucking social chair. You don't have artistic skills, a good sense of humor, you can barely look at a frog let alone dissect it. You can't punch through walls, you're not 'cool', and you don't have awesome adopted parents. There is always something that makes you less than them.
You're sobs come to a rest because you can't breathe. You're hyperventilating, but you don't have the ability to even think of where a paper bag might be, so you try to calm yourself down by taking slow deep breaths. It eventually stops. And you can feel the cool air against your skin where your tears were, and it's calming, soothing. And you're okay now. You're always okay after you have a freak out. It's your way of venting. But you know it's not right. That you feel this way. But you can ignore for a few more days; until you check your e-mail account and there's only an e-mail from Then you'll have another freak out. But you'll be okay, until you finally fall apart and break down.
So, it's time to become Summer Roberts. It's time to fool everyone you know. Act like nothing ever will or ever has bothered you. You'll act like you didn't cry when you're father comes home later today from his 'business' trip and greet him with a huge hug and smile so fake it would put Pamela Anderson's boobs to shame. And then you'll visit Coop, wake her up from her mini-coma, the one you so desperately want, and take care of her before her mom comes home. And it'll all be okay. For now.
That's all. Hope you like. Please r&r! Thnx