Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 5

Kirsten - Ryan - Sandy

-The Storm-

I watch Sandy take his watch off as he prepares to slide into bed. Once settled under the covers, he glances over in my direction. "You coming?"

I turn my head to look outside again. The wind is picking up, causing sporadic sheets of rain to whip heavily against the glass window. I let my eyes settle on the poolhouse; the lights are off and the darkness kindles worry in my heart. At least when the lights are on, I know he's there.

"Sandy?" I ask, not removing my eyes from the unlit scene of our backyard.

"Hmm?" he replies.

"Do you ever think he'll run?"

"Ryan?" he asks, his voice high with surprise.

Nodding, I turn to face him.

"No, I mean…no." He pauses while collecting his thoughts. "Do you?"

"I've wondered about it," I admit while shrugging, hoping that Sandy will somehow convince me that such worrying is senseless and pointless, backing his statements up with cold, hard, undeniably facts.

Instead, he seems to be considering the horrifying idea himself. "You don't think he's happy?"

"Do you?" I immediately throw back at him.

Silence subsists for several seconds, both of us tossing around the sickening idea of losing a member of our family.

"We can't just expect him to embrace us as parents so quickly. He's not a five year old child that we can influence and mold. He is the way he is for reasons that are beyond our comprehension. He just needs more time to sort things out. It's just going to take time, honey."

I look at him warily - not totally convinced.

"He's just had a rough week. He'll come around," he adds while nodding at me reassuringly.

Looking outside one last time, I sigh heavily as my heart aches at the mere thought of Ryan even contemplating leaving us behind. These past couple months have strained our relationship to the point where I'm not sure how to define it any more. He's separated and guarded - even more so than before. I'm terrified of losing him, of pushing him away.

I leave my seat by the window to join my husband in bed and lie back against the overstuffed pillows. I close my eyes and let the sounds of scattered rain drown out my worried thoughts.

---------------------

I wake with a start, the doors of the poolhouse rattling violently in heavy gusts of wind. The dark room is vibrantly lit by a shuddering bolt of lightning which is shortly followed by the deep growl of thunder. I push myself down further under the insulating duvet - my body deeply chilled and my muscles rigid. Rain continues to slap down violently in intermittent patterns that vary in intensity.

The jerky, inconsistent sounds of the falling precipitation make it impossible for me to find my way back into the quietness of sleep, and I sigh while pushing the covers off my body and wandering unsteadily to the bathroom. The brightness of the light proves paralyzing, and I squint against the invasive radiance while reaching blindly for the sink and turning on the faucet - cupping a few handfuls of water into my dry mouth. Immediately afterwards, I turn off the light, relieving the burning sensation behind my eyes.

The water dances angrily in my stomach and I shake my head in defeat. I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.

Another brilliant streak of lightning temporarily illuminates the poolhouse - brighter this time, as the electricity seems to be getting closer with every new strike. The loud crack and rumble of the ensuing thunder causes the glass doors to rattle in its wake. An eerie calm follows the outburst, and my back tightens in anticipation of the next shattering blow from nature.

I reach under the bed, grasping until I come into contact with the familiar, rough fabric. Pulling out the faded bag, I reach into the side pocket, emerging with the 'emergency pack' of cigarettes that I keep handy for situations such as these.

I carefully roll one of the white cylinders from its package, looking it over as I contemplate whether or not the benefits will be worth the consequences. Another sharp crack of thunder vibrates through my skull, and it's no longer a question of whether or not I can go without - I definitely need this small bandage of comfort right now.

I hastily grab my coat, draping it over shoulders. A blue and orange flame ignites on the first flick of the lighter, into which I immerse the end of my cigarette. To avoid setting off the smoke detector, I immediately step outside upon effectively lighting the smoke - the wind and rain shocking me briefly with their unrelenting intensity.

I walk over to the edge of the deck surrounding the pool, overlooking the ferocious ocean - the waves crashing violently amongst each other in congruence with the galling wind. Turning my back to the wind to protect the glowing embers from the rain, I lift the treasured object to my lips, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in my chest until I feel that familiar burn of satisfaction. Slowly, I exhale, my lungs shuddering in relief as I do so. I lean my right shoulder against the wall of the poolhouse and enjoy the warm comfort associated with the nasty habit. My body relaxes into a mildly drug-induced state.

My eyes scan the range of my vision. Even in such a dangerously threatening storm, the enchanted beauty and elegance of this secluded universe is captivating. It makes me wonder why I find it so stressful to live here. It's gorgeous and I have everything I never even dared to dream of, but under the surface lies a veiled danger. It would be so easy for someone like myself to get burned. I'm like a virus that the body of Newport is trying to destroy. I'm constantly under the subtle attack of the world that I don't belong in - struggling to survive.

I close my eyes and take another long draw off the smoldering cigarette. My body is trembling against the icy wetness of the rain that's drenched through my jacket and is now consistently dripping from the hair that's clinging to my forehead.

Another large bolt of lightning streaks the sky in the distance, and I brace myself against the wall and wait. Even with such constructed preparation, the thunder still succeeds in making me jump with its deafening explosion. I take another drag, quicker this time, just trying to ease the tension-riddled dread induced by the storm.

As much as I find the unbridled fury of the weather disturbing, I can't bring myself to abandon the cigarette and retreat to safety. It's always the same battle, time after time. Even with all the terrifying fears that accompany this new life of mine, I can't seem leave all the good things behind.

The lighting strikes again - closer. Too close. I'm a target, but I won't seek refuge. The sensible move would be to leave, but I can't run away.

I raise the cigarette one last time, my fingers shaking from the frigid current that's swept through my entire body.

As the sky lights up once more, I savor the final drag.

---------------------

"What are you doing, Sandy?"

I turn to face Kirsten's voice which has pulled me from my thoughts. "Storm woke me up," I reply quietly, turning back to the large, rain-stained window in front of me.

After seconds of contemplative silence, I state, "Yes."

"What?" she asks, clearly confused by the randomness of my comment.

"Yes, I think he thinks about running." I don't move, continuing to stare solemnly out the window. I hear the sheets rustle as she begins to make her way toward me, my words obviously concerning her considerably.

"I asked him not to go gallivanting in the rain," I mumble, my eyes fixed on the scene that's playing out in front of me.

Kirsten turns away from me, following my gaze and letting her eyes fall on the saddening sight.

Ryan stands outside, being pelted by the unforgiving combination of rain and wind. He has his back to us, but I can tell he's smoking by the sporadic clouds that are rising above him only to be quickly swept away in the breeze. It's not right. What could be so bad that a sickly, teenage boy would feel compelled to endure a raging storm in the middle of the night for the small, comforting pleasure of a cigarette? Kirsten saw it; she knew that something was wrong. That's why she sent me out to talk to him. There's more to this than meets the eye, and it terrifies me that I missed it. He was silently screaming for help and I failed him when he obviously needed me most.

Kirsten's warm touch graces my forearm, her hand squeezing with a trace of encouragement. She continues to stare outside, allowing the anomalous intensity of the moment to sink in. "We'll get through to him eventually," she whispers. "We won't let him go."

My heart aches as she lends her emotional support.

"I know," I whisper back, placing my hand on top of hers. "I just hope we haven't already lost him."

I continue to watch as Ryan is drenched by the pouring rain. Puffs of smoke appear and disappear, and finally after several minutes of nothing, he turns to go back into the poolhouse. Kirsten watches him disappear into the warm confines of his room, then kisses me on the forehead before climbing back into bed, all while anxiously shaking her head mumbling something about talking about this in more detail first thing in the morning.

I, however, can't bring myself to pull my eyes away from the dimly lit poolhouse. I know it's ridiculous to think that I can watch him every single second, making sure he doesn't bolt, but tonight, I need that small consolation of knowing. At least I know where he is physically. Mentally, I'm out of my element.

He keeps a light on, as if he has no intention of sleeping again on this blustering night. I watch silently, waiting for what? I have no idea. My emotions range from sorrow, to fear, to being mildly angry. I'm not mad at him directly, I'm mad that he feels he can't talk to me. I'm mad that he feels he has to hide from me. I'm mad that I couldn't see it.

I stare for what must have been at least an hour, but nothing changes. My thoughts are as disorganized and confused as they have ever been. Looking over at the clock, I let out an exaggerated sigh when I realize it's four in the morning. Kirsten's been sleeping restlessly for a while now, the sheets and covers tangled from her vigorous tossing and turning.

The rain has slowed, the storm passing over and leaving behind a spitting epilogue to its vibrant main act.

I rise from my seat by the large bay window in search of my slippers and housecoat. If he's not sleeping, and I'm not sleeping, we might as well be miserable, scared and confused together. He shouldn't have to be alone - I owe him that much.

I make my way down the stairs and through the kitchen, looking up through the glass to determine whether or not I should utilize an umbrella for the short jaunt to the poolhouse. The sky is significantly clearer, and I should be able to dash from one roof to the other without a protective shield.

I jog across the path and fling the door open immediately, shaking my head in an attempt to lose any stray raindrops that have settled on my hair. I scan the room to find Ryan lying on the bed, his upper body propped upright by several pillows. He's watching me through heavy, half-closed eyelids, his hair messily arranged and untamed after being caught in the wind and rain. He doesn't appear surprised by my presence, or at all concerned, he just looks horribly tired and worn.

I shake off my wet slippers, smiling slightly in his direction as I walk slowly toward the bed. He follows me with his eyes but doesn't move an inch as I sit near the edge. From my new position, I can see how deathly pale his skin is - it worries me, but I don't move. I don't want to crowd him…yet.

"So," I start, my voice very low, but easily determined through the silence, "do you want to tell me what's going on?"

He blinks slowly, heavily - exhausted.

"Ryan?" I prompt him.

"Why do you care?" he whispers so quietly, that I have tilt me head to make sure I can hear him, "Why do you care?" he states again, even quieter this time.

"Because like it or not, that's what parents do…." I stop myself, rephrasing and repeating, "That's what parents should do."

Again, he blinks, holding his eyes shut for longer this time while shakily attempting to breathe in deeply. He doesn't respond. I need to be careful. This is delicate - he's delicate.

"Ryan, we're a family," I say soothingly, "and we will do anything within our power to help you, but you've got to let us. We can't do this alone. No one should have to do this alone."

He responds by closing his eyes again, but this time, he doesn't open them. He doesn't move at all and I watch him carefully, waiting for him to respond in some way. Tears escape from under his eyelids, streaking down his face rapidly. He still doesn't move. I can't push him. I will wait for him.

"You're going to get hurt," he whispers, his eyes still shut as another round of tears stream down his pale cheeks.

"Well that's inevitable. Everyone gets hurt. We all hurt, Ryan," I can feel myself slowly losing grip on my own emotions. I need to be strong for him. I will deal with myself later - right now, it's about him.

"You don't need this," his whisper catches in his throat and I forcefully blink back my own tears.

"Need what?" I ask gently.

"The hurt."

I swallow. "That's for us to decide."

His eyes remain closed as round after round of fresh tears are released. He doesn't sob, he doesn't cry, he just sits there in agony, fighting his internal demons.

"I can't do it…."

"We want to help you, Ryan. We want to help this family, and I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but being a family never is. If it means we get hurt, so be it. You have to trust us when we say that you and Seth are the most important things in the world to us. We're not going to let you go without a fight." I pause, regaining my composure. "Look at me, Ryan."

He reluctantly complies, revealing the extraordinary despair in his blood-shot, teary blue eyes.

"We will fight for you, Ryan. We will fight for you just like we'd fight for Seth, that's how much you mean to us."

His chest jolts and he pulls his knees up as he leans forward, the tears flowing freely but he doesn't make a sound.

My eyes sting in an empathetic sentiment as I watch him lose the battle against his emotions. His body shakes slightly as if he's cold or scared. The only sound in the room is Ryan's slight sniffing. I know he didn't want to hear what I told him. He would like me to tell him that I don't care. Instead, I've created an emotional attachment that he tries so incredibly hard to avoid everyday of his life because, as he puts it, it's so easy to get hurt.

I wrap my arm around his back and gently squeeze his right shoulder. If it were up to me, my kids would never cry, they would never be scared or sick, but because I cannot prevent all those inescapable events of life, all I can do is try to ease their pain and help them through the rough times. And though I can't say that I truly understand why he's so upset - why he's been so detached recently - he needs to know that I'm going to be here through the good and the bad, it's a parenting vow that I would never abandon. I would never abandon my child.

I feel him shivering beneath my touch and I remove my hand from his shoulder, slowly reaching around and placing it on his buried forehead. His skin is burning and the heat immediately radiates through my fingers

"It would appear as though all that playing in the rain has done nothing for your fever," I say quietly, removing my hand from his hot forehead and placing it back on his shoulder, pulling him closer to me and squeezing encouragingly. "Lie down and I'll go get you some Tylenol."

He gradually leans back against his pillowed prop, his eyes closed again as he shudders deeply as an aftereffect of his emotionally draining experience.

I stand, sliding my feet back into my slippers and reaching for the door handle. Before leaving, I turn back toward him, his face a mixture of pain and relief.

"You better believe it, kid," I mumble under my breath, "we're not letting you go without a fight."

Immediately upon stepping back into the shadowy kitchen, a moving figure catches my attention. I watch as Seth sleepily stumbles in while rubbing his eyes lethargically.

"Dad," he half groans, half whispers, "what's going on?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I start, but Seth squints and shakes his head.

"No, you didn't, the storm did, but I heard you get up." Seth's voice is more clear as he seems to be digesting the situation more accurately now. "What were you doing outside?" he asks, peering around me as he tries to piece the fragments together in his hazy mind.

"I just --"

"Is Ryan up?" he asks, interrupting before I can finish, seemingly more confused than before as he notices the lights in the poolhouse.

I open my mouth to respond, but stop abruptly when Kirsten wanders into the kitchen. Her face transforms from sleepy to extremely concerned in a matter of seconds when she sees Seth and I conversing at such an early hour.

"Is everything all right? What's going on?" Her eyes dart between Seth and myself, and then out to the poolhouse, only to settle on me again.

"Yes, it's fine." I correct myself, "Everything's fine."

"Is Ryan up?" Seth repeats, making his way toward the door from which I had just entered before this whole confusing mess distracted me from my initial goal.

"Yes, but Seth," I start when my son reaches for the door handle upon my confirmation, "I don't think Ryan's up for company right now."

He stops, glancing at me, confused. Kirsten's eyes flutter with panic as she tries to silently search for answers.

"Is he all right?" Seth asks, more worry occupying his features as he glares at me questioningly.

Kirsten's hand brushes my arm and I shift to meet her similar gaze.

"Yeah. Yeah," I shrug casually. "He'll be fine. He's just not feeling well, that's all."

I move to retain the Tylenol from the cupboard but my audience is eerily still. When I finally have acquired the desired tablets, I am met by the same, concerned expressions.

"Guys, it's all right. Really."

They both seem to relax slightly at my insistence and I take the opportunity to quickly grab a bottle of water from the fridge and maneuver toward the door. Two sets of eyes watch me diligently, and once my back is completely turned, a smile breaks out on my face.

Just by observing Seth's facial expression when he thought that something might really be wrong with Ryan, showed me just how much he cares about him. It showed that in his own way, Seth had adopted Ryan as his brother. Kirsten's sudden flash of panic and protectiveness could only be expressed in a mother's concern for her child - or someone she considers her child - and it's clear that that's how she feels about Ryan.

In the past six months, Kirsten and I have gained another son, Seth's gained a brother, and Ryan has gained a family that cares about him like a family should. He's just going to have to learn how to accept that.

I quietly step back into the poolhouse. Ryan's exhausted form is exactly how I left him - his arms wrapped tightly around his chest but his eyes relaxed and closed. The track marks from the unwanted tears have been erased since I last saw him, but the slight, shuddering rise and fall of his chest would signify that he's still battling for control.

I lower myself onto the bed beside the distraught teenager, his body moves slightly from the shifting mattress but is otherwise completely still.

"There are a couple people in the kitchen who are concerned about you," I begin, internally knowing that Ryan needs to know about how much this family cares for him - even if right now, it bothers him deeply.

He cracks his eyes open slightly, unshed tears still glistening across the surface of his pain-filled eyes. "They're up too?" he whispers unsteadily.

I nod, and take the opportunity to hand him the pills and water. His hands shake slightly as he accepts them and weakly deposits the white tablets into his mouth - chasing them with the water.

"They care about you, Ryan," I finish my thought from earlier. "We all care about you very much."

He just closes his eyes and attempts to draw in a deep breath against the will of his taut, tense body. He's too tired, sick and completely drained to respond, so he resorts to that familiar, effortless quiet. We both sit in complete, comforting silence for a significant amount of time and let the enormity of it all wash over us.

We're a family.

- The End -