Thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate them. Disclaimers are the same as before, so here we go.
Back to Hell: Ryan contemplates his choice to leave, and faces the consequences of leaving the Cohens.
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Kirsten had finally gotten hold of her emotions, although it had taken a while. Sandy let her arms go gently and stood up. He wiped some tears away from his face, scanning the pool house that held so many memories. The mirror where he first taught Ryan how to tie a tie. The weird architectural slant near the door that Ryan hit his head on that one time. He smiled a sad smile.
Sandy Cohen had made a terrible mistake.
What the hell was he thinking, letting Ryan go? He ran his hands through his hair regretfully, anger welling inside of him. This boy was one of the best things that ever happened to his family, and the extent of his getting him not to go was "If I want to, I can make you stay."? He was a terrible person. He could have made him stay. He should have made him stay.
What the hell was he thinking, sending Ryan back to Chino? God, he was so stupid. He had to call him. Even if it was just to make sure he was ok.
"Sweetie, what are you doing?"
Sandy almost dropped his cell phone. Kirsten hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes. At least she was feeling well enough to speak. If he had been her, he wouldn't have wanted to talk to the man who did nothing to keep their kid from going back to a place he hated.
"I'm callin' Ryan. To see, you know... if he made it to Chino safely."
Kirsten nodded knowingly and got up. "I'm gonna go check on Seth." she said, giving Sandy a small kiss on the lips. Sandy watched her leave.
He believed he remembered Theresa's number well enough, but he thought it better to try Ryan's cell instead.
"Hello?" answered a glum voice on the other end.
"Hey, kid. It's Sandy." There was a pause.
"Hey Mr. Cohen. How's it going?"
Mr. Cohen? Ouch. That hurt.
"Not so great, how about you?"
He heard Ryan sigh before answering. "Not so great. How's Seth?"
Sandy smiled. Only Ryan could make a conversation directed at him about someone else.
"Kirsten's going to check on him. So, uh, did you have a safe trip?"
"Yeah."
Wow, that had to be the quietest response Sandy had ever heard from him, and that kid got pretty quiet sometimes. Sandy thought about staying quiet on the subject of Ryan's departure, but he couldn't stand there and let it go. He couldn't stand to let him go. "Ryan. I made a mistake. I made a horrible mistake and I need to make it up to you. Please come home. Please... We-- we need you here, and I just can't imagine life here without you. You've gotta--"
The line went dead, and Sandy sat on the bed, releasing emotions he couldn't release in front of Kirsten. Or anyone, for that matter.
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What did Sandy expect him to say?
'Sure, I'll come back, and leave Theresa with no one but her mom?' Pilar worked 15 hours a day and barely had time for herself, let alone Theresa and the impending child. But he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back more than anything in the entire world. He wanted the Cohens to take care of him, to tell him that everything was going to be ok. God, what was he, eight? Nothing was going to be ok.
Nothing was ever ok. Except with the Cohens.
Ryan remembered having his birthday dinner with the Cohens. Kirsten must have taken 5 rolls of photographs on present opening alone. He wasn't counting dinner, the "small party" or the after party, at which Seth and Ryan had an ice cream eating competition, to the dismay of the staff. And, well, the dismay of every snob there.
Seth won by an immeasurable amount of ice cream. When told to others, it seemed like Ryan had done pretty well when actually, he hadn't. He had managed two small cups of vanilla and one medium chocolate. Seth had lied to anyone who asked and said that Ryan had eaten eight cups of ice cream.
Ryan could still hear Kirsten and Sandy's screams in his ears. Sandy was rooting for Ryan, and Kirsten was rooting for Seth. Ryan had thrown his spoon in within minutes, while Seth kept on eating.
"Well that was disappointing." Sandy had said while they walked outside, Kirsten holding Seth's arm up while she hummed the Rocky theme song.
He had patted Ryan on the back and put his arm over his shoulder. That night had been perfect.
Then he had to go and ruin it. That's what he was good at. Ruining things.
Ryan sat on Arturo's bed and cried silently. He shouldn't have hung up on Sandy like that. He knew what he did was disrespectful, but he wouldn't have been able to handle any more attempted persuasions to bring him back home. No, because then they wouldn't be attempted persuasions. If he had taken ten more seconds of the Cohens telling him how much they loved him, he would've had to re-pack his bags and leave.
"Ryan? Are you alright in there, mi hijito?" asked Pilar. Ryan had taken Spanish in highschool just for Theresa. He knew that mi hijito meant my son. He also knew that Pilar didn't mean it in that way. She was just that kind to everyone.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine Mrs. Nunez." He wiped the tears away and blinked a few times. Pilar would want to come check on him for sure. The door opened and she stepped in tentatively.
"I know you miss them sweetheart, and I'm sorry about that. Just know that we'll try to make you feel as welcome as possible, alright?"
Ryan nodded. "Thanks."
"Now, I'm going to go to the doctor's with Theresa. Do you want to wait here?"
Ryan nodded again.
She patted his knee as she got up and left. He sat there for the next few minutes, contemplating what to do now. If he remembered correctly, Arturo kept quite the stash in his room. Hopefully he could find some cigarettes in there, since he had no intentions of getting stoned.
The damn phone rang again. "Hello?" he asked, much more bothered this time.
"Ryan, don't you ever hang up on me again, you hear me?"
Ryan cringed. He had never heard Sandy speak to him like that.
"Now you're gonna hear me out, or I'm gonna have to come down there and pick you up myself, understood?" The anger was evident in his voice.
"Yeah. I'm listening." said Ryan, trying to be polite.
"You are a seventeen year old kid, you hear me? You told me yourself that this baby probably wasn't yours, and now you're over there taking care of a girl that could be taken care of perfectly well over here. For the life of me, I don't understand why you can't just come back here. Lord knows that we need one of you here..."
For the first time during Sandy's almost incoherent rant, Ryan realized how frazzled his adoptive father really was.
"Seth is gone, isn't he."
Sandy found it funny how Ryan's voice was completely monotone, as though telling him that he had emptied the garbage can instead of letting Rosa do it. Kirsten was flipping out, yelling at the police and at Sandy about locking the doors and firing the guard at the gates.
"Did you know?" asked Sandy.
"Of course not. You know I would have told you." said Ryan, the hurt only slightly evident in his voice.
"You know what, Ryan? That's it. That's just-- I'm coming to get you. You tell Theresa that if she wants to, she can come live with us. Hell, you tell her mom that she can come live with us. But I am coming to get you, and you better have your bags packed. Understood?"
Ryan suddenly understood where Seth learned to babble.
"Understood?"
He couldn't possibly answer what he wanted to. He wanted to tell Sandy to pick him up as soon as he possibly could, but he mentally chastised himself for even thinking about abandoning Theresa. No. He had to end his ties with the Cohens. If this was how it was always going to be, then he had to cut the connection. They would always be reminding him of what he was missing. Of what he wanted so badly.
He gripped the phone as tightly as he could. It was his connection to his paradise. His lifeline. His little fish bowl. Newport was his fish bowl. He had to get rid of the fish bowl and swim into the ocean. He hurled the cell phone at the wall and fell to his knees.
There. The hard part was over. Now if they tried to drive to Chino, they'd have to find him. Not even Sandy knew where Theresa's new house was. Not even Marissa knew, which was a good thing, because she had a tendency to run to poor Theresa. And if she came here, he might not be able to stay. She had that power over him, and he hated it.
Ryan banged his head against the wall for being weak. He had come there for a reason. He had come to take care of Theresa, and that was what he was going to do.
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The crash sounded in Sandy's ears. Either something had happened to Ryan, or he had destroyed the phone. His money was on the latter. Right now, he felt like throwing the phone on the floor and stomping on it. But he was not a little kid, and he wouldn't deal with his problems like that.
"They won't try to find Seth until 48 hours have passed. What kind of fucking place is this, that they let my son lie about on a friggin raft for 48 hours before they can find him? I'm going to kill that police officer. Who the hell does he think he is telling me I need to calm down? Do I look like I need to fucking calm down?"
Sandy didn't answer that. Instead he pulled her into a hug. "Shh... Seth will be fine, sweetie. Don't worry."
Kirsten sobbed into his shoulder, her warm tears soaking through his shirt. "Are we that horrible? Are we so horrible that our kids want to run away from us?"
Sandy didn't answer that either. He hated to think so, but maybe it was true. After all, hadn't Ryan hung up on him twice? Ryan couldn't stand him for more than two minutes before throwing his phone away? God, he hoped not.
---------------------------Flashback--------------------------------------------
"Why, hello there, young man. How may I help you?" Mrs. Murray hadn't seen anyone this boy's age in her library for ages.
"I'm looking for a cook book." said the boy quietly. His blonde hair covered the top half of his eyes, and his face had a rather large bruise on it. She eyed it suspiciously before nodding and stepping out from behind the counter.
"What kind of cook book would you like?" she asked kindly, deciding that this boy needed all the kindness he could get.
"One that teaches you how to make crème brûlée." he said.
Mrs. Murray raised her eyebrows. Crème Brûlée? There was definitely something special about this one. She pulled a book out of the shelf and handed it to him. He shook his messy hair out of the way and gently took it from her hands. "That one has two types of crème brûlée." said the librarian, smiling.
The boy didn't smile back, instead looking at his feet and saying a small "Thank you."
She patted his head and regretted it when he recoiled, his chest moving up and down quickly. She frowned and stepped back behind her desk.
"Uh, do you have a library card?"
The boy shook his head.
"Ok, well let's make you one, then." She smiled again.
"Ok, why don't you tell me your name and your age?"
"My name is Ryan Atwood and I'm eight years old."
Eight? She thought he looked more like five, but then again, that could be because of his scrawny form and short stature.
"Ok. Now I'm going to need your mother or father to sign this."
He looked down once again and cleared his throat.
"My-- my mom is at home. And, uh, my dad... my dad is--" He couldn't finish.
Mrs. Murray cocked her head in pity and handed him the card. "When you have the chance, just get your mom to sign it." She winked and handed him the book. Her smile widened when he gave her a small half smile. "Thank you." he said, turning around and walking out.
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"Ok, so you put the sugar on top and then you burn it?" asked Theresa, her two pig tails dangerously close to the lighter Ryan was holding.
"Theresa, get out of the way, you might hurt yourself." he said, holding her back.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. I'll go get the sugar."
She came back a few minutes later with a handful of sugar. She sprinkled it surprisingly well over the dish, and clapped her hands together afterwards, sending the excess sugar into Ryan's hair. He glared at her, but couldn't resist a small smile.
Ryan moved the lighter towards the plate and grinned when the smell of burnt sugar rose towards them. Theresa sniffed the air with her eyes closed.
"Yummy. Smells good."
Ryan nodded. Ever since his teacher had given him a tiny bite of crème brûlée, he couldn't get the taste off of his tongue. It was stuck there, begging him to have more. He had stolen the lighter from his mom, not caring about the consequences, as long as he got some crème brûlée. He handed Theresa the bent spoon, beckoning her to break the now hard crust.
She suppressed a smile, never in her life having had so much fun as she had with Ryan.
The greatest pleasure came from the sound of the top layer breaking. They shared spoonfuls, indulging in the incredible taste of the dessert. He closed his eyes.
In a way, the crème brûlée was what Ryan Atwood thought of his life. When you looked at him from far away, he seemed happy enough. He had a home, a family, and friends. But when you cracked the top of it, and you looked inside, it was a whole different story. No one knew about the huge bruise on his arm from when his mother grabbed hold of him and dug her nails into him. Long sleeves covered that. No one knew about his slight limp. He hid that well enough himself. And no one knew that often thought about running away at the young age of eight. He had packed his small bag more than once, but reconsidered once he saw his mother passed out on the couch. He would cover her with a blanket and go back to bed.
He couldn't leave her, and he knew exactly why. Because she would never leave him. And that was a fact that he wouldn't cover up with long shirts and blankets. Because that was a fact that he was proud of. His mother loved him, and he didn't care what repercussions came along with that love. Whether it be a bruised arm, or a cut on the cheek, it was better than having no one to love you.
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To Be Continued
Once again, thank you for the reviews. To margiepoo, if by the ending, you mean the little flashback to Ryan playing with Theresa, I'm sorry. For this one, I labeled it Flashback.