So... I just wrote a four page research paper in two hours, so I'm celebrating with some Fallen. Oh and last chapter, I said you'd all hate me, but I think I was thinking of this chapter when I wrote that.
Yeah.
Enjoy?
Music: sometimes I can't get it started, back from nothing
"My first was this girl at a party. I don't really remember her name, but she and her boyfriend had a fight, so she dragged me up to a bedroom and that's when I lost it."
"How old were you?" she asked, letting her eyes shift in and out of focus as she stared up at the ceiling.
"Thirteen, I think. How about you?"
"Fourteen," she sighed, blinking slowly as she watched a cloud of smoke drift through her field of vision. She kind of liked the smell of cigarette smoke – it was familiar. Her mom had smoked and even though she hated the woman – had hated the woman – the smell was still comforting. "It was with my piano teacher." He shifted to flick the ash off his cigarette into the mug on the bedside table, but didn't say anything. "My mom signed me up for piano lessons, I think so she could get me out of the house more, and I had this major crush on my teacher. He was like, twenty-something. I remember him being really nice to me and he always told me I was pretty."
"He couldn't have been too nice," he murmured before taking another drag. "I mean, the guy was twenty-something and you were fourteen. That's sick."
"I started it," she shrugged and he turned to lift an eyebrow at her. "I'd had a bad day. Marissa, Summer and Holly dumped grape Kool-Aid on me at lunch and my mom told me I was fat when I got home. But then Shane told me I was pretty and I kissed him. So I started it."
"Doesn't change the fact that he was twenty-something and you were fourteen. Did he get in trouble?"
"I never told anyone. And we never really talked about it again and a couple weeks later, he quit. I think he felt guilty or something."
"Makes sense."
He didn't say anything else and she didn't either. When he was done his cigarette, he dropped it into the mug she'd given him for it and shifted to lay back down.
He hadn't left afterwards, this time. Actually, he'd asked if she wanted him to go, but she'd told him it was 'cool' if he stayed. It had been awkward and it was honestly still awkward, but it was nicer than feeling guilty and alone.
He lay on his back and she curled up on her side, facing away from him, and fell asleep.
What the hell was wrong with him?
When had he turned into such a complete jackass?
He'd come over last night to get laid; there was no use in trying to deny it. He didn't go to her apartment to 'talk', he didn't go to check up on her. He'd gone there for the pure and simple motive of forgetting all the bonfire shit – Marissa and Johnny, Seth and Summer.
The worst part was, he didn't even feel that guilty.
Yeah, there was a tiny part of him that was – guilty for using her, especially because she obviously had problems. She'd just lost her mom, she had no friends, she'd been taken advantage of in the past. She had all the makings of a lonely, desperate, easy girl and he'd taken the opening.
But there was a bigger part of him that just felt relieved, because he was actually doing something for himself for once. It was nice, being able to relax for a while; it was nice, to get off. One bonus of needy girls – they were certainly eager to please.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Where was his constant guilt, his brooding, his angst? Where was his regret? Where the fuck was his conscience?
But it was just so damn good – to want something and get it. It felt fantastic to not have to watch from afar at some unreachable goal. It'd always been like that with Marissa and at school. Even with the Cohens, it still sometimes felt like he was watching them from outside, through a window, at this perfect family that he was only lucky to catch a glimpse of.
But Taylor was real. She was attainable and not flawless in any sense of the word. She was rude, she was argumentative, she was obsessive to a fault, she was stubborn, she lied, she despised everyone, especially herself.
She was so flawed that she was perfect.
Well, perfect for what he needed, right now.
They didn't talk in school, they didn't go out to dinner, they didn't sit and watch movies together. But nearly every night, he'd come over and she would let him. He didn't say much and neither did she.
She was beginning to think that Ryan Atwood was just as screwed up as she was.
Well, it kind of figured. He wasn't actually a Cohen, so he didn't have that gene that made him automatically perfect.
It was actually kind of nice.
"You hungry?"
She twisted around to look at him and shrugged. "If you are." There was a brief hesitation before he got out of bed and went into the kitchen.
She wasn't sure why he hesitated. She was letting him sleep here almost every night, why would she have a problem with him getting food? He had free reign in her place for all she cared.
It's not like she had any dignity around him, anyway.
"Or you could just tell her you didn't get into Brown," he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.
This conversation was going nowhere.
He loved Seth; the boy was a better brother than Trey had ever been and the best friend he'd ever had. But sometimes talking to him was like going in circles or hitting his head repeatedly against a very thick, very dense wall.
Seth – predictably – ignored his advice and continued to talk. He felt his muscles tense up.
This was why he kept going over to Taylor's.
He was done with always giving advice and not being listened to. He was sick of being taken advantage of. He was sick of everyone worrying about themselves while he sat by the sidelines.
He was – honestly – sick of his life.
"You're serious," she whispered; desperate to muffle her hope.
She hated hope.
It always came back to bite her in the ass.
"I'm completely serious," Sandy nodded, handing her the paperwork. She stared at it, not quite comprehending the language, even though she knew – somewhere in the back of her mind – that it was English. "This is a good thing, Taylor."
"I know. I just don't believe it."
"Well, try. And please, tell me you aren't going to back down, not now."
Her eyes flicked up at the man, at the complete sincerity in his face.
He cared.
About her.
Why?
"I'm not backing down," she shook her head, putting the papers down. "I'll testify."
"Good. With your testimony and that of Miss Banks, we should have enough on McMahon to at least get him on questionable conduct and sexual harassment in the workplace, if nothing else."
Sexual harassment in the workplace.
Sandy had dug up an old secretary of McMahon's who was willing to testify.
Her testimony, it had turned out, wouldn't be enough; not if they wanted to make sure they got him the first time around. But with this other woman...
This was actually happening.
"How about you come to dinner tonight?" Sandy leaned back in his chair, triumphant smile on his face. "We'll celebrate."
Celebrate?
She hadn't had anything to celebrate in thirteen years; not since her fifth birthday party.
The last one her dad had thrown her before he'd stormed out of the house for good.
"Alright."
If denial were an Olympic sport, they'd be a fucking gold medal team.
Seth was hiding his rejection from Brown; Sandy was oblivious to his client's discomfort; Kirsten oblivious to everyone's.
He and Taylor, though, were caught up in a marathon lie.
He didn't think one person suspected.
To be fair, though, she was really good at lying, so maybe it wasn't so much that everyone else was stupid; he and Taylor were just that good.
Something had changed though; some small dynamic. Taylor hadn't eaten here in over a month, yet here she was. And there was something else – maybe the tense set to her shoulders, the triumphant grin that seemed permanently etched on Sandy's face.
Something had changed, he just couldn't tell what.
"Has Sandy been telling you stuff? About my case?"
She sat on her counter, stirring the cereal around in her bowl absently. He shrugged, not moving from his place, leaning up against the other counter. "Not really. I think there's some legal confidentiality thing."
"Since you told him about McMahon, he's been… checking up on his past and apparently I'm not the first one."
"Figures," he muttered.
"He got an old secretary to testify. And me. We're going to court."
He looked up from his own bowl of cereal and fixed his eyes on her; calm and level. "You're serious?"
"That's what I said. And yes, I am."
"Good."
He didn't say he was proud of her, he didn't offer support.
He wasn't her boyfriend.
He was just barely her friend.
The ceiling of the pool house was infinitely interesting.
He'd been staring at it for a while now.
It was good – Taylor testifying against McMahon. It was good – getting the bastard for sexual harassment.
But he couldn't help but wish it weren't happening.
Because he wasn't stupid enough to believe that Taylor was sleeping with him for the hell of it. He was painfully aware that this was a mutual thing; a way to hide from their messed up lives and the people in them. It wasn't just him using her to get over Marissa; she was using him to forget McMahon and her mother.
And now that problem would be solved.
It was horrible, because he couldn't help but hope that Taylor's mommy issues were enough to keep her needy; to keep her dependent on him.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if he actually had to face his life.
Marissa and Johnny.
Seth and Summer.
College.
Leaving the Cohens.
He was sick of his life, but he couldn't handle it changing.
He thought he'd be free of this now that he'd broken up with Marissa, but he wasn't.
He was stuck; not able to move backward, not willing to move forward, not capable of handling where he was.
He didn't have Marissa anymore; Kirsten was focused on her sobriety, Sandy on his new client, Seth on himself. Every day that passed, he felt more and more stretched; like a t-shirt passing through the wash.
Every day, he faded just a little bit more.
Was he even really here to begin with?
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