Ok. I've decided, with the help of some of the persuasion powers of some people,that I will make this longer than I had originally intended. I re-wrote my plot plan and everything! Everything's been sorted, and the angst will be given to you by carton fulls. Thank you for the therapy from NaijaChiqa, muchtvs, Joey51, storymom, and all the other kind people who thought nice things about my story and defended me against my first flamer. It really does lower the self esteem, which is why I sort of tried to stay away from writing this for a little while. Well, enough with my whining. Here it is, hope you like it.

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"Jayne? You're-- you're back on drugs?" questioned Ryan, looking over at his troubled friend.

"No! No, I mean, I'm selling, and when you sell you have to take a couple of hits, you know. I mean, Ryan, what am I supposed to do? My mom ditched me, and I had no place to go, so I went back to the old life." Jayne paused and sighed.

"Jayne..." said Ryan, closing his eyes.

"I know, I know, I told you I quit, but you of all people should know how hard it is."

"I never did drugs like you did." Ryan opened his eyes and stared at Jayne. She scoffed at him and gave a half smile.

"Yeah. You keep tellin' yourself that." she said, causing Ryan to look away, his jaw tight.

"I did pot." he murmured, "You did coke and heroin. They're very different."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"So when were you supposed to deliver?" asked Ryan, looking at his shoes. They were already getting torn here in Chino, while in Newport they had seemed shiny and new. Kirsten had gotten them for his birthday, along with hundreds of dollars worth of clothes, a cell phone, and money which he didn't accept. The Cohens had put the money in his "college" account, which they all knew was for aesthetic purposes only, so Ryan could put his well earned money in it and feel that he was earning his keep. He made them swear they wouldn't tell him the password so that he could never take any money out. He somewhat regretted his pride now.

"Two weeks ago." Jayne sighed. "I-- I took a hit, just to remember what being high felt like, and I just-- I couldn't stop taking it. I finally finished it and they found out. They weren't too happy about it." She pointed at herself, smiling despite the pain.

"Jayne..." said Ryan scoldingly, but his friend cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't need another lecture, especially not from you."

"Ok! I'm not sayin' anything. Jesus. I was just trying to ask if you needed anything."

"Of course I need something, Ryan. Why else would I even talk to you?" she sneered sarcastically. "Come on, Ryan, not everyone talks to you because you can be their hero."

It was funny to Ryan, since that was basically the only reason a lot of girls talked to him. Or had sex with him. He sighed.

"So what are you gonna do?" he asked, concern flooding his voice. Her tantrum was immediately forgiven.

"I don't know. I'll find it somewhere. I'll call in some favors." she said, tears starting to stain her cheeks.

"No. No, you know what? I'll see what I can do. We'll fix this. Don't worry Jayne."

Ryan never could stand to see girls cry.

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"Ma! It's me!" yelled Ryan into the old house. The sound of the fuzzy television could be heard from far away, and a bulky looming figure sat in the sagging recliner, beer in hand.

"Marco, turn the damn thing off. My baby's home!"

Footsteps were heard running out of the creaky room echoed through the house, and a few seconds later, a woman appeared, curls fried with products, to hug her son.

"Aw, sweetie, I missed you so much..." Her nails accidentally dug into Ryan's back, and he held back a grimace.

"Who are you?" she asked suddenly, roughly letting go of Ryan.

"Mom, you remember my old friend, Jayne? She-- I was wondering if maybe she could stay here for a day or two."

Dawn glared at the thin girl standing in her hallway. "Ryan, I said you could stay here, not your hoes."

Jayne moved back a step in shock. "Mom, don't talk to her like that." Ryan's eyes gleamed dangerously for a second as he looked down at his mother. She glowered at him.

"I don't want that in my house." she hissed. Jayne bowed her head. Marco didn't move from his spot on the couch.

"Mom, don't--"

"Ryan, it's ok. I have a friend's I can go to. Don't worry about it." Ryan flipped around to look at her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice soft and meek.

"Yeah, Ryan, I'm sure. I'm sorry Mrs. Atwood-- if I caused any problems."

Dawn nodded dismissively. "Bye Ryan. I'll call you tomorrow." she said, kissing him gently on the cheek and smiling. Even in a place like Chino, Ryan still smelled sweet, like innocence. He was far from innocent, and she knew it, but he had that look in his eyes, that small gleam of hope that shone from inside of him that made it seem like everything was going to be ok.

"Bye Jayne." he whispered in her ear.

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"Go to bed, kid." said Marco, kicking the recliner. It spun halfway around and Ryan sat up quickly, not wanting to disobey the boxy man.

"Goodnight." said Ryan, watching as Marco grunted in response and took the remote control.

Ryan closed the door to his new room and swore silently. He had forgotten his clothes at Theresa's. He'd have to go down there tomorrow and get them, and then he'd have to face Theresa, who'd no doubt kick his ass.

Tomorrow was going to be a long ass day.

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"Are you mad at him, son?" asked Sandy, who was on the other small bed beside his son.

"What?" asked Seth groggily, turning to his side to look at his father.

"Are you mad at Ryan?"

"For leaving?"

"Yeah."

Seth sighed wearily, including a yawn into the mix. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Yes, sort of. Of course Seth was mad at him, but how could he find a way to stay mad at him? He wanted to strangle the kid for leaving him. He wanted to tell him that he was a punk, and a traitor at that. He had left his best friend friendless, so to speak, and for that Seth would never really forgive him.

But it was hard to stay mad at Ryan. Ryan was, well, Ryan. He was nice, loyal, and would do anything for Seth. He had befriended him without any protestation about his geekiness, and had accepted his flaws, numerous as they were, with ease.

"No, actually. Not really. It's hard to stay pissed at him. You?"

"Same."

Sandy was somewhat mad at Ryan, but what he felt more than anger was concern. It was like that time Seth convinced Ryan to ride on a chair into the pool. Seth told Sandy everything, although it did take some grilling. Apparently, Seth was very bored that Sunday, and his boredom had ended up giving Ryan a concussion when he hit his head on the wall.

What he had felt was mostly distress at Ryan's pale face and banged up head that day. The faint trace of anger lay hidden beneath his calm and collected exterior. He had been angry that Ryan had agreed to do something so stupid, but his concern had washed over the anger, as it always had and probably always would.

"I think we should give him some space." said Sandy with a sigh. "I mean, he's still mad at me, and I'm the one who was stupid enough to bother him like that."

"Come on dad, that wasn't your fault--" Seth turned around to look at his father, who was staring up at the ceiling.

"Yes. Yes it was. I should've sent you to talk to him. He's always talked more with you." There was a trail of envy in his voice that Seth hadn't heard in ages, and it lingered in the air like an unwanted guest.

"No, dad. He doesn't talk that much to me. At least not anymore." Sandy glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you mean?" The jealousy had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and was replaced by interest.

"I mean that ever since the Oliver fiasco, Ryan doesn't trust me as much." He paused, gesturing with his hands. "It's like Ryan's faith is as thin as ice, and I went and stomped on it." His voice cracked.

"Seth, it's ok, son. We all did that. We failed him when he needed us most. But that's all in the past. Don't worry about it."

"How am I-- how am I supposed to put it in the past?" asked Seth, suddenly at a loss for words. "It always-- it haunts me, dad. Whenever Ryan won't talk to me for whatever reason, I always think it's because I didn't believe in him. When you and mom told me that he was gonna stay with us, I knew that I would always try have his back, because he always had mine. I promised myself, dad. I told myself that no matter what, we'd always be friends."

"Seth, just because you didn't believe him doesn't mean that you weren't a friend."

"I know. I know, but, do you ever think that maybe part of the reason he left was because of us? Do you ever think that maybe, deep down, he really doesn't wanna be with us?"

Sandy took a deep breath and held it.

"I can't allow myself to think that."

"Why not?"

"Because that wouldn't be our Ryan. Our Ryan loves us even if he can't say it. Our Ryan is exactly that. He's our Ryan. And if he doesn't want to be our Ryan then I don't know what I'm going to do." There was no anger in his voice, no worry. He was just stating facts.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"As strange as this may sound, that actually made sense to me." said Seth, now staring up at the ceiling with a look of comprehension glued onto his face.

"Well that's a new one." said Sandy with a sigh. "Goodnight, son."

"Goodnight."

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The sun was now shining brightly, but even though it was quite hot out, grey clouds dragged in the sky like teenagers not wanting to go to school. A slight breeze shook Ryan to his very center, and made him feel queasy. He regretted not bringing his sweatshirt, but he sure as hell didn't want to go back in the house and face Marco, who was already in a foul mood because Dawn had eaten his food.

Ryan had told him that he ate it, and he had pointed a stubby finger at him and said that he was going to buy him more bread. Ryan had nodded, annoyed, and walked out the door with the keys to the Oldsmobile.

Five minutes later he was at Theresa's house. Ryan knocked lightly on the door.

"Ryan! Sweetie, how are you?" asked Pilar, beckoning him to follow her into the house.

"I'm fine, thanks... you?"

"I'm fine. Theresa isn't here right now. She went to an interview at that old restaurant we used to go to. Remember?"

Ryan nodded sheepishly and looked at the ground.

"So, did you come to pick up your stuff?"

Ryan nodded again, looking at Pilar's creased face and smiling.

"Well I've got it all here, dear. There you go." He took the duffel bag and the backpack from her and said a quick thank you.

"Could you tell Theresa that I'm sorry I couldn't tell her myself? I-- I waited for her at the grocery store but she never came so I got a ride with a friend." He had already guessed that Pilar had told Theresa herself, and though it had bothered him at first, he had easily forgiven her.

"Yes, Ryan. I'll tell her. I'm sorry I had to tell her myself. She came in when I wasn't expecting her, and I was packing your bags for you, so I had to explain it to her. You forgive me, mi hijito?"

Ryan nodded and accepted the hug she gave him.

"Well, I'll see you later, Pilar." he said, turning to go.

"Bye, dear."

Ryan stepped outside and sat on the curb. He had to call Jayne so she could come over. He had almost forgotten the broken cell phone that lay in pieces on the ground.

Just like his heart.

He had driven his mother's Oldsmobile to Theresa's, and Marco had told him to get gas. Why, exactly, Ryan didn't know. The man didn't leave his couch. But he would never tell him that. He wasn't stupid. Saying that would get him his ass kicked, and he didn't need that right now.

Thank god it was the weekend.

Weekends brought back painful memories. Not the kind of painful because they were bad, but a different kind of painful. They hurt because of how good they were. In some ways, they were worse than the bad memories because he wanted these. He wanted them more than anything in the world, but he needed his independence. He wouldn't depend on the Cohens anymore. They didn't deserve a burden like him.

Ryan rested his head on his knees. He really should be getting back to Dawn's place. Theresa would be home soon, and he didn't want her to find him sitting on her veranda so late at night.

She might think he was a wacko.

Never in his life had Ryan needed a cigarette more.

It was this urge, tugging at him. He craved one so badly that it hurt. He found it funny how the entire time he spent in Newport he had only smoked one cigarette, and that was the night that he got there. He threw the rest of them out around three months later, when he accepted the fact that people actually cared about him. It was as though Newport had cleansed him, made him a better person in a way. But now he was back to his old self.

Now he was impure again.

Arturo kept a stash here. Ryan knew he did. Once, after Arturo had come home from school, he handed Ryan a whole bunch of tools and told they'd made a hiding spot together. Ryan was ten. He hadn't exactly known what it was for, but his brother hadn't made anything like that, or at least he hadn't told Ryan about it, and Arturo was doing just that. He was being a brother for no particular reason.

Ryan remembered handing him the saw as he looked around anxiously to see if anyone was watching. Later on during the night, Arturo had told Ryan what the compartment held.

Pot. Cigarettes. Booze. The occasional condom, just in case.

Ryan glanced around to see if anyone was looking and knocked on the wood near the steps. He heard something hollow and looked up again. The coast was clear, so he slid the piece of wood that he remembered so well to the right and reached inside, keeping a wary eye out for passers by.

There was still a pack of cigarettes inside, covered in dust and leaning against the side of the dirt wall, unused. Unwanted. Ryan chuckled to himself as he saw the half empty bag of marijuana. There was no time for the cigs, not when you had pot to keep you busy. They were disregarded and neglected.

Ryan picked the pack up, handling it like some precious object, and slid the trap door closed. He got up, looked from left to right, got the keys out of his pocket and walked over to the car silently. The car whined and protested when Ryan started it, and he flinched in subtle anger. He checked his wallet to see if he had anything in it, happily surprised when he found three twenties.

He slipped a cigarette into his mouth. Simple pleasure. Ryan let one hand wander into his pocket to find his lighter, while he carefully maneuvered through the non-existent traffic.

The tip flared and instantly turned orange. Ryan took a puff of its merciful poison, momentarily forgetting about his mother, Marco, Theresa, and the Cohens. For those few seconds before he blew out the smoke, he was toxic, and it didn't matter.

Suddenly, Ryan coughed out the poison.

His precious poison.

Ryan put the cigarette out on his jeans, not caring if it left a mark. He cursed himself for being a pussy. Newport hadn't made him pure, it had made him weak.

Weak was something he couldn't be anymore.

Parking the car on an abandoned street, Ryan lit up his cigarette again. He'd get used to this poison violating his soul.

Just like he'd get used to smoking again.

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Seth yawned and got up, noticing that his hair was covering his face.

A few days without mousse and his hair had turned into a mop. And not even a nice mop at that. It was a big, curly, black mop that covered his eyes and half of his nose.

"Dad! Could you go down to some store and buy me some product? My hair is frizzing out in these cold and humid conditions. It's no good. Dad? Dad! Earth to dad... your son is having an emergency here."

Sandy Cohen was busy staring intently out the window, as though expecting Ryan to walk past.

"DAD!" yelled Seth, tilting his head back so that he could see his father.

"Yeah?" said Sandy, finally snapping out of the trance that had held him like a siren's song.

"I need product. For my mop. Can you go get some at the corner store for me? I don't wanna be seen in public with this."

"I wonder how you would have handled your mop alone on a raft."

"I would have grown a full grown 'fro. That's what I would have done. Jeez. It's the logicallistic thing to do." He wrapped curls tightly around his finger and struck a pose, causing his father to laugh a sincere laugh for the first time in a week.

"Ok, Seth. I'll go get you some mousse and you stay here and call your mother. She'll want to know that we're not in Cambodia or something."

Seth looked at his father incredulously. "Dad, Cambodia? What are you, eighty?"

Sandy just looked at him, more confused than he had ever been, and closed the door.

Seth picked up the phone, dialing his mother's number.

"Hey, mommy dearest!"

"Seth, being overtly nice to me won't change the fact that when you get back you're going to be grounded forever." replied Kirsten cynically.

"Really? Well that's too bad. Dad wanted me to call to check in. So, I'm checking in. Aren't I just the sweetest little--"

"Seth. Shut up."

"Ok."

There was a short pause while Kirsten sighed. "Have you gotten a chance to talk to Ryan?"

Another pause. "No. Not yet. We're trying to give him time. That's what dad says he needs."

Kirsten stifled a sob but not the small whimper that escaped her glossed lips.

"Oh. Well. You guys stay as long as you need to. I mean, I want you to come back soon, but not without Ryan. Be careful."

"Ok mom. Don't worry, we'll be home soon. With Ryan. I promise you."

Seth doubted his promise as much as Kirsten did, but none of them would ever say so. They preferred to live in their own little fantasy land, where everything was ok all the time. Seth was so used to living there that it came as second nature to him.

-------------------------Flashback------------------------

Ryan was bored. Not just bored, but ridiculously bored. Sundays were the worst. It was summer, so he had no homework to do, and no one to hang out with. Not even his ladies.

Theresa was at church, Jayne was busy helping her mom clean houses, and Trey... well, Trey was busy.

Ryan looked up to see his brother squishing caterpillars he had stuffed in a jar. Trey looked at Ryan and scowled. The small boy twitched his nose in disgust and looked at the hot, dry cement in front of him.

It seemed to move and shine in the intense summer heat. Ryan stared at it, watching shapes seep through and disappear within a few seconds. The shapes got darker, and Ryan looked up to see his big brother standing above him, that same scowl on his face.

"What'ya doing, little bro?" he asked innocently, the scowl almost completely vanishing within a matter of seconds.

"Nothin'." replied Ryan, naturally suspicious of his brothers' interest in his life.

"Oh. Ok. Well, do you mind if I sit down?" Ryan hated it how his brother made his last two words into one. He patted the cement and kept his head down.

"Cool." said Trey, sitting down. He was wearing big, heavy jeans with a chain attached to them, and a bulky black muscle-tee that was much too big for him. His reddish-brown hair shimmered in the sunlight, and he squinted, as though looking for vermin to kill.

"So... is that one new?" asked Trey, grabbing Ryan's wrist and looking at the ugly purple mark on it.

Ryan pulled his wrist away and cradled it with his other hand. He looked at his brother and narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Yeah. So?"

Trey leaned back and made a face. He raised his hands up and whistled scoffingly.

"What? I was just wondering, is all."

Ryan continued to stare at him, eyeing him from greasy head to dirty, bug covered shoes.

Trey started fiddling with his leather wrist cuff, trying to take it off.

"Piece of shit..." he whispered, and Ryan winced subconsciously.

You worthless piece of shit. You're nothing to me...

"Bro'? Little brother? Ryan!" said Trey, smacking his brother lightly on the head.

"What?" asked Ryan, indignant.

"Here." Trey handed Ryan the brand new wrist-cuff he had gotten for his 15th birthday.

Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but was left at a loss for words all of a sudden. "What are you doing?" he asked, not taking the shiny leather band from his brothers' grubby hands.

"What the hell d'ya think I'm doing, dumbass? Take it." he said, roughly grabbing Ryan's hand and prying it open, despite Ryan's silent protest.

"It'll cover that up perfectly. And no one will have to know he hurt you. 'Cause kid, no one needs to know." He ended his sentence with a knowing wink and click of his tongue.

Ryan grinned at him and let him put it on his wrist. He slapped Ryan playfully across the face with his own, now leather wrist-cuffed hand, and delighted in his yelps of laughter that hadn't been heard in much too long when he gave him a nudgie. They started play-fighting, and Trey won, as he always had.

They sat under the big, rotting tree afterwards, out of breath and happy.

"Hey kid?" Trey asked gruffly, slapping shoulders with the smaller boy.

"Yeah?" said Ryan, staring admiringly at his new wrist-cuff.

"How 'bout you and me, we go out," said Trey, smirking schemingly, "hook up with some... friends of mine?"

Ryan nodded bashfully, standing up and dusting off his pants. His white tank top had gotten a little stained with dirt from play-fighting with his brother, and he picked at it to get it clean. All his work was in vain, since dirt was always his second least favorite stain to remove because of its persistence to stay stuck to his clothes.

Blood was his least favorite.

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"Ryan! Come here, buddy." said Trey with only the slightest of slurs, holding a can of beer up and beckoning his brother with one shaky hand.

Ryan obeyed, steering clear of the drunk girls who sneered at him.

"Go to hell, shorty!" said the blonde one, and Ryan ignored her. He had seen her when he first walked in. She had bleached blonde hair, and her dark roots were showing. She had given up on covering the bags under her eyes with make-up. Her denim skirt was low and short, and her stomach was showing below her tube top.

"Why don't you go build a house with a midget!" screamed the blonde one's friend. Ryan looked at her curiously out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were bloodshot and dilated. She had obviously mixed up her drugs. Ryan shrugged their comments off and went over to his brother.

One of his arms was over a girl chewing gum, and the other was over one with fish net stockings and a short skirt.

"Little bro', these are some friends of friends. Tanita, Shaylene, Melissa, Cassie, and Megan." Cassie and Megan were latched onto his arms, and had no intention of letting him go.

"How old are you, kid?" asked Tanita. Ryan waited before answering her. She looked about 14, with long, wavy hair. She was wearing jeans and a simple blouse.

"Thirteen." said Ryan. He was only a bit shorter than her, since she was wearing flats. The other girls were giants with their four inch heels.

Trey smiled at the exchange between the two and dropped his arms from the two girls. He pulled Ryan, who was blushing furiously, out of the room and opened his wallet.

"Here, kid. Take these."

Trey handed him a packet of condoms and winked. "Tanita likes you, so go for it." he said.

Ryan frowned. "I'm thirteen." he said skeptically.

Trey shrugged. "So what. I was twelve. Go." He pushed him out of the room with the condoms, and Ryan shoved them in his pocket quickly. He walked over to Tanita and smiled, suddenly glad for the wisdom of his big brother.

"There's another room behind the bathroom. Here, I found the key." whispered Trey, tapping Ryan on the shoulder and handing him the tarnished key.

Yes, Ryan loved his brother.

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Ryan woke up the next morning with a barely there hangover and lipstick marks all over his face. He still didn't quite understand why a girl like Tanita would like him. She was beautiful, sweet, and from what he could tell, smart.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Quickly, he got dressed, realizing that he was definitely not in his own bed. Tanita was gone, but she had written her phone number and a scribbled note on his arm.

Ryan snuck out the back door before any of the home owners could notice he was there.

He could tell by the scattered sleeping bodies that no one would notice anyways. It was strangely comforting to think that they might.

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"Hey kid!" yelled Trey when he heard the door open, "Or should I say little man?"

Ryan appeared in the living room and grinned. "Take a wild guess." he said.

His brother lifted a hand to high five him. "Good for you, man. You'll get better at it, just do it again. That's how I learned." He winked.

"Oh. And some chick stopped by to give you this." he added, handing Ryan an empty sketchbook. Ryan smiled, and suddenly felt his heart seize within him, filled with emotions he couldn't handle.

"Ok. Thanks." He sat on his bed and kicked the door shut. Gently, he tore the plastic of his new sketchbook. He tenderly opened it, flipping through the hundreds of blank pages. The fresh air that rose up to his nose smelled like new paper and love. He grabbed the pencils he had under his bed, made sure the door was locked, and sat on his belly on the rough carpet.

It scratched his stomach, and he didn't care. These had been one of the best few days of his life, and a scrape on his stomach wasn't going to change that. He moved his new sketchbook to the left, and saw a dark small stain on the grey carpet.

Blood.

He almost stood up to clean it, make it disappear, but decided against it. Instead, he moved the sketchbook back to where it was and covered the blood stain. That stain was in his past, and this sketchbook, this was his future.

-------------------------Flashback------------------------

Sorry if ten grams of coke doesn't seem like too much, because I just watched Pulp Fiction, and Vincent said something about three grams just as a tester, but it was heroin. I don't know a lot about drugs (thankfully), but if anyone thinks it's not a lot and doesn't fit in with how much trouble Jayne's in, just tell me and I'll change it. So there are a few small details about Ryan and Trey that contrast, I wanna see if anyone finds them all. Sorry about any spelling errors, except, of course, "logicallistic", which is my own little word that I used randomly.