A/N - Sorry for the wait, it's been a crazy week and to top it off, I've been computer-less. Anyway, this is part four of five, all from Ryan's POV. I realize after watching last night's episode, that this has veered further into AU than originally intended, but I'm not going to stray from my initial goals.
Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews and enjoy chapter four.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 4
Ryan
-The Air-
I start towards the poolhouse, my eyes on the stack of homework in my hands with which Seth had so graciously loaded me down. I take a second to deeply inhale the fresh scent that immediately ensues a heavy rainfall. The cool, salty air is still traveling rapidly, delivering several different aromas that range from flowers to grass to food - as someone nearby is busy grilling their meal. As the last smell registers, I find myself fighting the nausea that represents my body's rebellion against the small amounts of my meal that I had forced down during dinner. Every swallowing attempt was an all encompassing effort, the food having a hard time squeaking through the picket line of my stomach's strike. Despite the sickening feeling that resulted from forcing the unwanted food into my system, it was more appealing than dealing with the alternative - the Cohens.
The steadily increasing nausea encourages me to get away from 'all things food' and I rush the remaining steps to the poolhouse, unceremoniously tossing the stack of assignments on my still unmade bed. I stand in my place for a moment, pleading with my stomach to calm but after several iffy seconds, I decided to abide on the safe side and journey to the bathroom. Leaning back against the wall directly opposite the toilet, I feel my face flush. Swallowing dryly, I do everything within my remaining internal power to ease the clutching pain.
Suddenly, a blast of cold air propels directly into my face, the coolness welcomed against my flushed skin. I look up to observe that I'm directly under the air conditioning vent, and I actually find myself pondering if engineers strategically planned the duct system so that a vent would be present in such a convenient location. The ridiculousness of my own thoughts leads me to question whether or not this fever is causing me to lose my mind.
I've got to stop this. The Cohens don't need this - they don't need to find me here trying to keep down my dinner. As if my worst fears were being played out simultaneously with my thoughts, I hear a staccato of knocks on the glass panes of the poolhouse doors.
Shit, shit, shit.
I jump up hurriedly, steadying myself on the sink for a brief second, waiting for the dizziness to desist. A soft creak signifies that the door is being opened - the visitor letting him or herself in.
Please be Seth, please be Seth.
I glance in the mirror quickly before making my entrance - my face is noticeably flushed and I make a mental note to avoid settling near a light. Maybe they won't notice.
My stomach growls and I realize that this could get really messy. It's a risk I've got to take. I pull the door open and step out into the larger room, scanning for my visitor, expecting to be greeted by the face of a concerned Cohen. Instead, the sight causes me to stop dead in my tracks.
"Hi…," she smiles apprehensively, cautiously inching closer as she stuffs her hands in her pockets.
I don't respond. Really, dealing with Marissa is not at the top of my to-do list today. There are more significant matters that are occupying my attention.
She looks around the room once she realizes that I have no intention of returning her greeting, "I wanted to talk and you weren't at school, so I thought maybe…"
"This," I start, interrupting her spiel, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck while attempting to swallow the continually building nausea, "This is not a good time, Marissa."
I just can't bring myself to endure having to listen to her sob story right now.
"Yeah well, it's never a good time, is it?" she sounds slightly ashamed and nervously tucks her hair behind her ear before she continues - a little more confident this time, "You can't keep pushing me away forever, Ryan. So do me a favor and please explain what the hell's going on between us. You at least owe me that much."
I open my mouth with every intention of yelling something spiteful and malicious, but stop myself. It feels like everything is coming down at once, and I'm finding it hard to breathe from under the piles of emotions with which I've been buried. Hot tears of frustration start burning at the back of my eyes, the stinging liquid blurring my vision for a brief second - Marissa's form distorted in the haze. It's not her - she's just a small piece of the puzzle, it's just sometimes it feels like everything's crashing - fast. She's just rubbing salt in the gaping wound. But how do I explain that it's not anything, but rather everything. It's not just Marissa's stifling neediness, it's not just what happened this morning, it's the whole picture - my entire life.
I blink several times in rapid succession. I won't cry - not for her, and definitely not in front of her. I won't give her - or anyone else that's hurt me - the satisfaction. I force my face into the steel exterior that's always protected me when things got to be too much. A familiar numbness floods my body.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I was just hoping that we could…," she stumbles through her speech after catching the flash of emotion I've exhibited.
Maybe if I ignore her, she'll go away. An unnerving silence persists.
Marissa moves towards me suddenly, but stops herself. She spins around, as if she's leaving, but then turns back towards me, her face red with a mixture of hurt and frustration. An explosion is immanent
She takes deep breath before furiously voicing her anger with wavering emotion, "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that I betrayed you, and I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you, and I'm sorry that I said those hurtful things to you, but you know what? You're doing the exact same thing to me now."
She absently swipes at her tears, not removing her gaze from me for a second.
"Just leave," my voice is firm but low, emphasizing that I could not be more serious. I just can't deal with this crap tonight.
"What?" she looks surprised, like she's played her last card and can't believe that I'm not playing right into her self-constructed pity party, "Why are you doing this to me?"
I lift my eyes from the floor to meet her's, my jaw clenched in fury as anger pulses through my veins. I don't yell, but find that the slow, firm delivery of my words is more effective in this particular circumstance, "It's not always about you, Marissa."
I must have struck a chord because immediately following my bitter, verbal assault, a sob pierces the still air. Her face deepens in its shade of red and she spins, this time continuing in her exit, slamming the glass door behind her.
I stare vacantly at the drapes that are swaying dramatically from the force of the slam. Guilt swamps my senses, and even though I meant exactly what I said, I know that she's not built for this - she's too weak and sheltered to be an outlet for my personal issues. She's been protected.
I sigh once more, mentally adding another notch to my belt of people I've managed to hurt today.
I turn back to the direction from which I had come, this time sure that the nausea cannot be effectively suppressed. Immediately upon reaching my destination, my stomach revolts and I rest my arm across the top of the seat so that I have a place to rest my forehead during the brutal expulsion.
I don't move right away when the heaving stops, but instead, savor the soothing coldness of the forced air that's pouring down onto the hot skin on the back of my neck. It's just been one of those days.
Finally, when my stomach settles back into its normal position, I push away from the cool porcelain - leaning back against the wall. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and allow the rush of air to pass over my dampened face. I don't think I have ever been so grateful for air conditioning. This is one luxury that I don't think I could ever live without again. I don't need the fancy clothes or the Egyptian-born linens or the cutting edge technology, but I will definitely be requiring air conditioning.
Marissa's hurt expression flashes through my head, and I groan while thinking about the countless hours of therapy that she will need to undergo to fix what I've done. I suppose she can't help it - she said it herself, she's used to getting what she wants. Unfortunately, she wants something that I can't be - but how do I tell her that? She wants a boyfriend - a steady, long-term boyfriend. But I can't stop thinking about running. If I run, and she expects me to be here for her, she'll be devastated. If I slowly wean her off me now, it won't effect her as much if - or when - I do decide to break and leave this life behind. Even if I stay here, I'm only going to end up hurting her because that's how it works with people like myself. All around, she's better off keeping her distance.
I can't say that this is what I want. I don't want to be alone - to be the one to throw away a potentially engaging relationship with a gorgeous girl that I've had my eyes on since the day we met. I push her away because she's too close. She too close to tying me down.
However, I can't deny that I'm drawn to her. She's far from perfect, but is sort of like a retrospective association to my old life. She drinks, steals and doesn't trust me at all, and though these aren't good qualities by any means, they are familiar. Rightly or wrongly, I find myself drawn to the things that I am most familiar with, yet want nothing to do with. It makes no sense. My life makes no sense. Sometimes I don't know why I bother.
I internally curse when the air conditioning switches off - the thermostat having obviously reached its desired temperature. I know I should get up, but I'm so incredibly tired and the walk to my bed would seem too far to attempt. I mentally curse again when I remember that there are still no sheets on the mattress. The walk to the bed may seem strenuous, but the walk to the laundry room in the house would appear impossible.
Maybe I'll just sit here and wait for the room to warm up enough to trigger the a/c again.
***********
"Ryan, are you in there?"
The noise causes me to jump, and I blink into focus to realize that I'm still sitting on the bathroom floor. I rub my hands over my arms - they're freezing cold, most likely from the cold air that's been forcing down on me for God knows how long.
"Uh, yeah, coming," my voice cracks halfway through my reply. I have no idea how I'm going to talk my way through this one.
I use the toilet as a crutch while rising to my feet; my stomach is more placid after its tirade, but still significantly uneasy. I take a deep breath before walking out of the bathroom.
Sandy's sitting in one of the scattered chairs adjacent to my bed - the bed which, I also note, has been made-up. I wince at the idea that someone's been in here long enough to make the bed while I was dozing under a vent in the bathroom. I wish he hadn't done that - assuming it was him. I hate it when they do those sort of things for me. I think it's clear they've done more than enough.
"Everything okay?" Sandy asks while leaning forward towards me in his seat.
"Yeah, it's fine. I'm fine." I don't even believe myself, and that's not usually a good sign. To my relief and shock, Sandy doesn't push me too much. I know that he knows I'm far from fine, and maybe just between the two of us, that's enough. He doesn't always press me to verbally verify the things he already knows.
"Alright, that's fine," he waves his hands in defeat, "But can you at least tell me where you were today?"
I'm confused. He must already know this. The new line of questioning throws me and I'm suddenly extremely uncomfortable.
"I was here, at the beach, then back here," I feel like I'm giving my testimony.
He nods, "In the rain."
I can't really tell whether or not that was a statement or a question. I nervously swallow, "It wasn't raining when I left."
He nods once more, then leans even further forward in his chair as if to make a point with his next statement, "Did we do something to upset you, Ryan?"
I meet his gaze, fear sweeping through my chest.
"What? No," I shake my head a few times, blinking rapidly as I try to comprehend where he's going with this.
"Because you know that you could always tell us if we did."
I nod, not quite sure why I'm nodding, but he said I should know this so I'm just going to go along with it.
"Did Seth do something?"
"No," I burst out, a little louder this time, "No, Sandy… No…" My head continues to shake long after I finish talking, as if to emphasize just how wrong he was. Seth hasn't done anything. Where is this coming from?
"Is it the whole Marissa thing? I know you two have been having some problems lately…"
"Marissa? What? Is 'what' the whole Marissa thing?"
He must sense how very confused I am because he holds his hands up in defense.
What if Kirsten's told him about what happened this morning and now he's trying to 'fix' me? It's not 'fixable'. I can't change who I am. No matter how hard I try sometimes, I just can't change who I am.
"So there's nothing you want to tell me?"
Again, the fear of being discovered builds inside my chest. I hate it when they get this close.
I just shake my head again, hoping that he'll accept that as an answer.
"Well, I'm afraid that's just not good enough. Give me something to bring back to the wife," he laughs lightly at the end to show that he was joking, but I just don't see the humor in his statement. Kirsten sent him out here. She sent him out to find out what's wrong with me. I can't tell them what I don't know. If I knew, would I be like I am?
"Look, I'm not mad at anyone, and I'm really sorry if I gave you guys that impression…," I swallow again, my voice wavering with nervousness as my heart pounds furiously in my chest. Sandy doesn't give me the chance to apologize any further.
"You just haven't said a thing to… anyone, really, in the past few days, and I understand if you're not feeling well, but that's all you have to say. I promise that I won't let Kirsten overpower you with her often misguided, motherly fussing."
The last sentence hits a little too close to home, and my heart catches in my throat. Would he have made that joke if he knew what had happened between us this morning? Would he really have been that bold, and… insensitive? It just doesn't seem like Sandy. I don't think she's told him.
He wants answers that I can't provide him with. How do I tell him it's nothing - that everything's fine - when it's absolutely everything that's wrong? It's everything I've done since I came here, and it's everything I'm going to continue to do…
"Ryan, are you okay?"
I turn back to meet him, skeptically looking him over for any hint of answers to the questions I would never think of asking.
"Sorry, I just…"
He stands up, patting my leg, "It's okay. Get some rest and try to sleep it off. It's probably just a persistent bug."
He walks to the door, turning back to face me before he leaves, "And Ryan," I meet his eyes hesitantly. "No gallivanting in the rain."
He gently shuts the door behind him.
I lie back on the bed and stare hard at the ceiling - my chest and stomach aching from the tension, but taking a back seat to the thoughts that are racing through my tired mind. When did this all get so complicated? Despite everything that was so wrong with my life, things were definitely simpler in Chino. It's just too easy to set these people off. If Sandy was that concerned about a 'bug', what's he going to do if he finds something so much bigger - so much scarier? They already know too much. They're going to panic, it's inevitable.
Despite the fury of activity in my head, my eyelids grow heavy and I find myself fighting to remain conscious. I try desperately to surmount my own exhaustion - I don't want to be unaware right now. I want to be ready… just incase.
This has gotten way out of hand. I'm out of control, and that scares me out of my mind.
TBC.
