Ok. I'm bored. No one is posting on TWOP, and it's annoying me. Oh well. Instead of lounging around without doing anything or watching TV, I'll give you the next chapter of this. Yay!
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A knock at the car window startled Ryan. The cigarette popped out of his mouth and onto his hand, and he grimaced as the red hot venom pierced through his skin, leaving a small, red indent.
Ryan picked up the offending cigarette and put it in the car compartment, trying to look out of the smoky window to see who was there. There was no way in hell he was going to roll it down unless he knew who it was. He knew he was paranoid, and there was a big chance that there wasn't a crazy, coked up homeless person waiting outside to bash his head in with a stolen baseball bat, and that said homeless person probably wouldn't steal his car and throw him in a lake.
It was still better to be safe than sorry.
"Who is it?" he asked hoarsely, his voice a low and menacing growl. The cigarettes were starting to take their toll. He had smoked only a few in a matter of hours, taking the smoke into his lungs slowly and painstakingly, keeping it there for as long as he could.
It was a game he and Trey used to play when he was fifteen and Trey seventeen. Once, their mother told them to stay out of the house for a few days because she had business to attend to. She sent them to a friend's with two packs of cigs and twenty dollars.
Trey and Ryan had been ecstatic.
They spent hours smoking the cigarettes. They tried to make them last, so Trey came up with a game. You had to inhale as much as you could and hold it for as long as you could. When you won you got another cigarette. Ryan remembered the first time he won. The first few seconds, when the smoke had felt good in his lungs.
The next few seconds, when it had started to feel like the toxins were peeling at his insides.
After thirty seconds, he had started to see black spots in front of his eyes. Instead of blowing out the smoke which was leisurely trying to kill him, Ryan made another game of it. He pretended the black spots were pictures, and he tried to guess what they were until they covered more than three quarters of his line of vision.
Ryan vividly remembered Trey shoving him in the stomach. It caused him to cough out the smoke, which floated into the air, looking for its next victim.
Ryan recalled Trey handing him another cigarette, patting his back while he coughed harshly, and telling him he was a good kid.
Ryan didn't think so.
"It's me." said a girl, her voice almost as rough as his.
Jayne.
In a world of hate and drugs and sex, Jayne had been his partner in crime. They acted like Theresa was part of the duo, but they both knew that Theresa was a different kind of girl. Theresa had a nice childhood, with food and health. The only men that she had allowed into her life treated her with the utmost respect and kindness.
That was, of course, besides Eddie.
Eddie was a terrible drunk. Ryan knew it, and he had always known it. He had been victim to his delusional fists more than once at parties or at his house when they hung out, but he never thought that Eddie might hit a girl. He had always thought that it wasn't his style.
Eddie had a loving mother who gave him what he wanted when she could, and he hadn't dealt with much abuse, besides the occasional beating from some punk who thought Eddie was being disrespectful. His father had run out on them when Eddie was five, so he didn't much memory of what was no doubt an unhappy marriage. Perhaps nature had overcome nurture, but Ryan hadn't thought much about it before now.
Later on, Ryan felt bad for Eddie, because his mother became a drunk and his siblings followed her example. He had to support his family all by himself.
No matter what type of childhood Eddie had, that didn't change the fact that he hit Theresa. He laid his hands on a girl.
Jayne was different from Theresa in many ways. She was a hardass, while Theresa was a rebel. There was a big difference.
Theresa didn't like her life because she didn't have much money and was doing bad in school, or because she got in trouble with her parents when they caught her getting felt up by Ricki from their grade seven class.
Jayne hated her life because her mother's boyfriends hit her when her mom was high or harassed her and sexually abused her when her mom was unconscious or working. She hated her life because there were drugs all around the house and the smell made her want to vomit, just to have something else to think about. She hated her life because she had no money, and because she didn't even bother going to school anymore. Instead, she hung out with Ryan all day and smoked pot.
Theresa was a girl. Jayne was a woman.
Ryan rubbed his hand against the smoky window, watching as it tried to claw its way through the glass and find its way to outside air. Even the smoke was trying to escape him.
He rolled down the window and let the smoke drift out into the open air.
"How did you know I was here?" he asked, his voice still raspy. It scratched his throat like rough sandpaper and he gulped.
"I recognized the license plate." she said, resting her elbows on the frame of the car window.
"You're good." he said, pointing his hateful poison stick at her.
"I thought you quit." she said playfully, taking it from him.
"Funny."
"I know."
Ryan looked at her. She looked at him. Their eyes connected, and they both looked into sad blue seas. Ryan blinked and looked away.
"You, uh, wanna go somewhere?" he asked.
She nodded and went around the car as Ryan started it. Jayne slammed the door just to make Ryan cringe, and he glared at her.
"Yeah, no. I wanna sit here. With you." she said, moving his hair to the side with her long fingers. He looked to the left and then looked at her, giving a sad smile.
"Have you talked to them?" he asked, his voice still a little gruff.
Jayne nodded. "They gave me another month. I just gotta have a few hundred extra for the trouble I put 'em through." she said, looking down in embarrassment.
"Wow. That's pretty... nice of them." he said, suspicious.
"Yeah, well, I sort of had to... do something-- to, you know..."
Ryan frowned for a second, then Jayne saw his face change to comprehension.
"Oh god, Jayne." Ryan lowered his voice to a whisper and closed his eyes. He opened them after a few seconds when he saw the image of Jayne all alone, prostituting herself for an extension on her drug delivery.
He felt her cold and lifeless hand touch his cheek, and it sent a soft shiver down his back. "It's ok, Ryan. It doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that I have a chance to get out of here. I'll pack my stuff and leave."
Ryan's eyes bugged out. "Excuse me?" he said, moving away from her.
"I'm-- I'm moving away, you know, so they won't find me..." she said, shocked at his sudden change in demeanor.
"No. No, Jayne, don't do that. Please don't do that." His desperate eyes met hers for a few seconds as he put his hand on her shoulder.
She shook it away. "Why not?" she asked.
"Because that makes things worse. Believe me, it does. I-- I know it-- just don't." he said, and his mouth stayed open even though he wasn't making any sounds.
"Ryan, come on. They won't kill me or anything." she said jokingly, but her eyes contradicted her words.
"Oh yeah?" he said, anger hanging from his statement. "I bet you they'd send the same guy who did this," he pointed at her face, "and they would kill you." He got closer to her, sharing her nervous breath. "They have special guys, Jayne. The guys who don't care about screams. They have the ones that are immune to the pain. I know. You know I know." His eyes filled with angry tears.
Scars were memories. They were painful memories, but memories nonetheless. Ryan was filled with memories. They poured into him as though he were a cup, and he was filled to the top.
He was swimming in them.
When Ryan was sixteen, A.J. sent him to drop off a delivery of cocaine. Ryan had immediately been suspicious. Although nothing had happened to him, the screams and whines of pain coming from alley that he dropped it off at had been enough to unsettle the veil of tranquillity that Ryan had established from years of learning. He had peeked one of the walls to see a woman getting killed by a man with a buzz cut and an unsympathetic look on his scarred face. It had taken all of Ryan's resolve not to bust into the room and help her. He knew what would happen if he did.
He wouldn't be able to stand Jayne going through something like that. It would be a blunt sword to the heart.
Intolerable pain.
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"Hey dad." said Seth when he heard the jangle of keys. "Thanks." he added as the brown bottle of mousse was deposited in his hands.
He ran to the bathroom, inclined his head into the sink, and soaked his hair with the fresh, cold water. He flipped his head back, and a line of water flew into the air similar to the red droplets of blood that flew from his sword when he played the ninja game.
He shook the bottle and squeezed out a quarter sized dollop of mousse. He spread it on his hair and grabbed a rotten looking comb from one of the cupboards, running it through his curly black mop.
"Seth?" asked his father, and Seth sighed in agitation. Moussing took the utmost in concentration.
"Yes, dad?" he asked, trying-- and failing, to keep the annoyance from his tone.
"Nothing... Just wanted to make sure you were still in there..." replied his father. God, he sounded pathetic. Seth looked over to his right and noticed a large window in the corner of the room.
Easy to crawl out of.
He rolled his eyes sadly. His father's trust wasn't like Ryan's. It wasn't thin like ice on a not so cold morning. It was plywood, glued together by memories and happiness. Sure, some of those pieces of plywood had mysteriously disintegrated after Tijuana. They had been rebuilt just as strongly afterwards, when they found out Ryan was right about Oliver.
Then Ryan left. The plywood was split in half, and it splintered at the corners like Sandy's broken heart. And here was the kicker.
Seth left as well. He stole that well earned, splintered piece of plywood and he yanked it from his father's tear stained hands.
And now Sandy thought that Seth hated him so much that he'd crawl out of a rusting, gnarly looking window just to get away from him. Disgusting, incestuous relationship talk and joking put aside, the two Cohens weren't that well off. Deep down, Sandy was angry at Seth, and now they both knew it.
That was why Sandy was being so stupid around Ryan. He didn't know whether to be angry or guilty, and it was clouding his judgement.
He was lost on a raft in the middle of the ocean.
But Seth would fix that. He was Seth Cohen. He had successfully made himself 100% more popular in one year. He could do anything.
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"Where the fuck have you been?"
Not exactly the greatest welcome compared to the ones he got in Newport.
"Oh, sweetie, where were you? We were starting to get worried..."
Ryan dismissed the distracting thoughts from his mind and closed the door gently.
"I refilled the tank and bought you your damn bread, so what do you care?" he spat, tossing the bag of bread in Marco's lap and turning around to storm into his room. Marco got up and squeezed Ryan's arm in one swift motion, letting the bread fall to the ground. Ryan glanced at it before looking up at Marco.
"You respect your elders, you got that, pretty boy?" hissed Marco, squeezing Ryan's arm tighter.
"Let me go." snarled Ryan, looking directly into Marco's eyes. He saw straight through the tainted green and into his head. He was in a pissy mood, and he really shouldn't have messed with him. All he was doing was getting himself into more trouble. Hell, Ryan was in a pissy mood too, and nobody here was questioning him about how he felt, so why should he care about what Marco felt was respectful?
Ryan shook himself free of Marco's loosening grip and decided against rubbing his sore arm.
"Your ma's mad at you. She says you ran off and abandoned her," Ryan laughed at that. "And she says that she was scared you'd run off again."
Ryan snorted scornfully. "You're a disrespectful little smartass, you know that?" said Marco, his eyes flashing angrily.
"And you're a no good shit who sits in his fucking chair all day doing nothing."
Oops.
Ryan blinked, expecting the worse.
Marco pointed his finger at him, angry and threatening. He grabbed his hair, but Ryan didn't flinch. He was in a very vulnerable position, but he tried to look unaffected. The fact that Marco had him by the hair was making him nervous, and he looked from side to side quickly to see if there were any near walls that his head could be smashed into. Luckily, they were in the middle of the room. Ryan's heart was beating fast, like that time when he was six and he jumped from his friend's trampoline into a tree.
He was afraid that his fear might show in his eyes, but he took a risk and retained eye contact.
The finger-- surprisingly-- did not turn into a fist. It kept on shaking in Ryan's direction. "You gotta learn how to treat your betters, kid." spat Marco, pulling Ryan's hair back but letting go after a few seconds. Ryan's breathing steadied following several shaky breaths. Marco turned around, his head shaking from side to side as he whispered something to himself.
"Pussy..." mumbled Ryan under his breath, wondering why they didn't list stupidity on the side label of cigarettes. Marco swung around, nostrils flaring, and shoved Ryan to the floor.
Ryan braced himself before hitting the ground and landed on his butt, and he turned to the side, trying to curl into a ball. The least damage was done that way. He clamped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees, closing his eyes. He definitely did not want to see the big, black boots coming at him.
The funny thing was, they never did. For what seemed like an eternity, Ryan lay on the ground in fetal position, eyes shut tight. Finally, he opened one eye and saw Marco hovering over his face, pity and anger etched in his features.
He gently shook his booted foot at Ryan, who cringed nonetheless.
"Get up." said Marco, his voice deceivingly soft.
Ryan uncurled himself carefully and held himself up on his elbows. He wrapped his hands around his knees and looked up at Marco. The man held his hand out to the shivering boy.
If anyone had asked Ryan if he was shaking from fear or because of the unnaturally cold house, he wouldn't have responded.
Ryan's hand was clammy as it slid into Marco's. It took the man no effort whatsoever to lift Ryan to his feet and let go of his hand. Ryan took a step back and looked at Marco, unsure.
It seemed that he wasn't going to hurt him, but he had been tricked before.
"Hey. I ain't gonna hit you unless I have to." said Marco, dusting his pants off and turning around to sit back down on his couch. Ryan turned around as well, trying to get into his room as quickly as possible, so that Marco wouldn't change his mind. He closed the door delicately, leaning his head against the cool, swirly wood.
He jumped onto the bed and stretched out.
The hard mattress dug into his back. So Marco was one of the good ones. The ones that felt bad after they hurt him. Maybe he'd buy him an ice cream later, like Bret did after he threw Ryan into the wall and knocked him unconscious.
Hey. I ain't gonna hit you unless I have to.
What was that supposed to mean? What reason could Marco possibly have that forced him to hurt Ryan?
Whatever it was, Ryan hoped he wouldn't have to find out.
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Sandy picked up his cell phone for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. He dialed Theresa's number, which he now knew by heart, and hesitated.
It was too soon. It was much too soon.
The only sound he was listening to was the running water in the bathroom. Seth had decided against putting a whole bunch of mousse on his dirty hair, and had instead taken a shower, wasting about ten cents worth of mousse which would be washed off in water.
The water stopped.
About a minute passed before Sandy started to worry. A small pit was forming in his stomach, and he could have sworn he heard a window open.
"Seth?" he called out weakly. His voice was crackly, and it pissed him off.
There was a long pause, and Sandy got up, his heart beating quickly inside his chest.
"Yeah?" yelled Seth, the annoyance that Sandy had heard before slightly diminished.
Sandy sighed in relief, deciding against sitting back down.
Seth emerged from the bathroom moments later, dressed in the clothes he had worn the day before. His hair was dripping with water, and he stood at the door for a moment before shaking his head like a dog.
Water hit Sandy in the face, and he didn't care. He closed his eyes and wiped at his now wet forehead. When he opened his eyes again, Seth was ambling towards him, arms out.
Sandy stared at him, confused. Seth's damp arms wrapped themselves around him.
"I'm so sorry, dad." Seth whispered, and suddenly, he was a sad, little boy again, his face drawn with tears because nobody wanted to be his friend.
Sandy patted his son's back, trying to free his arms so that he could return the hug.
"It's ok, Seth."
Seth shook his head slowly from side to side on his father's shoulder.
"I didn't realize how much I'd hurt you..." he said, his voice so quiet that if his face hadn't been so near Sandy's ear, he wouldn't have heard it.
"I know, son. I know." he said, sounding stronger than he felt.
"I'll never do it again." Seth took a flimsy breath. "I promise you, dad. I promise you."
Sandy didn't care to tell him he was repeating himself.
Seth cried quietly for a few minutes before releasing his father from the tight grip he had him in. He seemed to have been in a trance when he had decided to hug his sad looking father. It was supposed to be a pity hug. Something that would make Sandy feel better, not himself. And now he had to go and make it all about himself.
He didn't realize exactly how much his simple act of affection had helped his dad.
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Kirsten sat on the sofa. She was really starting to go crazy now. She had actually called her father over to keep her company.
Caleb, who had just married Julie Cooper. Caleb, who still didn't know that Ryan was gone.
The knock at the door signified his arrival.
She grabbed the blanket that she had wrapped around her shoulders and shuffled to the door. They had let Rosa off for the week, and she had happily accepted their paid vacation. She hadn't had one in years.
"Kiki!" said Caleb enthusiastically. He let himself into the house.
Kirsten sighed. "Hi, dad."
Caleb turned around to face her. He pointed at her. "What's wrong with you? You got the flu or something?"
Kirsten tried not to roll her eyes. "It's Ryan." she said, forgetting that she had to choose her words carefully around her father when talking about the boy she loved so much.
"What did the damn boy do now?" he asked, irritation filling his voice.
God, he was so different from Sandy. She could imagine his reaction to her words now.
"Oh god, is he alright? Is he sick? Is it contagious? Is that why you're wearing a blanket around you?"
"Nothing, dad. He's--" She paused. "He's in Chino."
"Chino?" said his father, as though saying it would make him a lesser person.
"Yes. Chino."
"Why would he go back there?" He sounded a little more interested than before.
"Because--" Why couldn't she say it? Why couldn't she say it was because he thought he knocked up a girl and he thought he was doing the right thing?
Luckily, her father understood.
"It's alright, Kiki." He rested his hand on her knee. "I mean, I suppose it's better that he's not in your lives anymore. That boy was a bad influence."
Or maybe not.
Kirsten stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, come on." Kirsten beckoned him to continue without uttering a word. Caleb sighed. "The boy, Ryan, he comes here, and the very same night, my Seth gets into a fight?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "And then, the model home, and-- oh!" Kirsten moved back a step. He was actually trying to make her see that it was good that Ryan was gone. "Oliver." finished Caleb, looking more than a bit smug.
"That was not his fault." said Kirsten defensively, her patience wearing.
"That juvenile delinquent has no control over his fists." said Caleb, enunciating each word carefully. It was as though he had prepared a speech for this very occasion.
Kirsten wouldn't put it past him.
"Ryan is not a juvenile delinquent!" yelled Kirsten, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
"Well don't go into hysterics, Kiki. I'm just stating facts." he said, matching her glare.
"Get out." said Kirsten, sooner than she thought she would have been able to.
Caleb didn't look shocked. "Well, alright, Kiki. If that's what you want." He grabbed his coat from her.
"I was trying to tell you that I was considering handing over the company to you, but if you feel the need to go hysterical on me when I'm just telling the truth, then I can't imagine how you'd deal with the same pressing schedule that I have." He stepped towards the door, leaving an open mouthed Kirsten behind him.
The door closed, and even the sound of his expensive car starting up annoyed her. She suddenly felt like owning an ugly, old car, just to piss her dad off.
Maybe she could find herself another Pinto, like the one Sandy had in college.
------------------------Flashback--------------------
Ryan sat in his room, staring at the ceiling. The summer heat had made his clothes stick to the bed, so he was relaxing, his shirt on the floor beside him. He decided to make good use of the time to start working out.
Although he didn't want to admit it, the comments those girls had made about him had made him self conscious.
He had worn huge T-shirts to school for the next few weeks, trying to make himself look bigger, but it had only served to make him look like a little boy in mens' clothing.
He lay sprawled on the warm carpet, getting his feet under him to start doing push-ups.
1, 2, 3,...
Trey was yelling at his mother. Ryan couldn't hear them. He didn't want to hear them, not when he had muscles to build.
4, 5, 6...
The neighbors were throwing things. That was a regular occurrence. It didn't matter to Ryan. As long as he had something to concentrate on, he was fine.
7, 8, 9...
"Hey, man of steel." said a voice. Ryan fell, shocked by the sudden disturbance.
Theresa was leaning on the windowsill, looking at him.
Warmth rose to Ryan's cheeks. She must have thought he looked like a scrawny five year old.
"You wanna go to the beach?" asked Theresa. She was still looking at him, and it made him uncomfortable.
"Uh, no. I'm grounded." Theresa opened her eyes wide. That was a new one.
"What?"
"I'm grounded. Joseph said a stole some cigarettes. So, I'm grounded." He shrugged.
"You've never been grounded before..." she said, suspicious.
"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything." muttered Ryan, shrugging again. He saw Theresa throw her jean clad leg over the windowsill, and he got up off the floor.
"Wh-- what are you doing?"
"I'm climbing into your room, dumbass. What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Get the fuck, out, Trey! Don't come back!"
Ryan turned towards the sound of a slamming door.
"What the hell was that? You don't kick your fucking kid outta your house!" Ryan heard Joseph say. Ryan quietly stepped to his door and opened it a notch.
Joseph was stomping out of the house, calling for Trey to come back. Ryan blinked. He heard a slight shake from the ground and spun around. Theresa was already inside his room, running around to the other side of his bed to get his shirt and handing it to him.
"Thanks..." whispered Ryan, still clinging to the door.
His small portal to familiarity.
Ryan let go, reaching for the tank top. Theresa held on to the bottom, noticing a small, black stain on it. She averted her eyes, and Ryan mentally thanked her.
"Let's go somewhere." he said.
"Alright."
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There was a cool breeze that floated towards the two teens as they walked along the beach. The sun was hidden underneath a veil of clouds, and birds fluttered aimlessly in the air, looking at nothing in particular.
Ryan wore his dirty old sneakers.
Theresa was barefoot.
"Ryan?" she asked, interrupting his train of thought. Not surprisingly, the thoughts were of Trey, Joseph, and his mother.
"Yeah?"
"Do you love your mom?"
Ryan slowed his steps, increasingly interested in Theresa's bare feet and his sneaker clad ones.
They moved in unison.
"'Course I do." Theresa nodded and looked down.
"Why would you ask me that?"
She paused, contemplating her answer. "I-- I was just wondering."
"Ok." Ryan took a deep breath and moved in front of Theresa. "Why would you be wondering?"
"Ryan..."
"Tell me."
Theresa looked into the sea. Waves raced each other to the sand. Little boys kicked water into the air with their parents hovering nearby.
"You have blood on your shirt."
Ryan stiffened in front of her. "What are you talking about?" His voice was monotone, like that of a robot.
Theresa hated it when his voice was like that. He was different when he talked like that. He was and adult, but unlike the adults that surrounded him, the voice sounded responsible, but impure at the same time. Theresa found it hard to explain.
"Blood. There's blood. Right... here--" She grabbed the bottom of his shirt carefully, and her arm pressed against his soft flesh. His heart beat quickened, and he stared at her, his mouth open just a little bit, and his eyes slightly narrowed.
"That's not blood." He almost believed himself.
"Joseph doesn't hit you," said Theresa, moving closer to his face. She was inches away now. Ryan glared at her. "... so who else could it be, Ryan? Trey?" Ryan maintained the fierce connection he had managed to get with her brown eyes.
"Dawn?"
His resolve weakened considerably, leaving him teary eyed and shaky.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice desperate, like a little boy who wanted a toy truck more than anything in the world.
"Nothing. I want you to say absolutely nothing." Her whisper traveled to his ear, tickling it.
They stood in front of each other in silence for a few minutes, and Theresa smiled. "I want a piggy back ride..." she said, her eyes meeting his.
He laughed. "What?"
"Give me a piggy back ride!" she said, jumping on his back. He tried to shimmy her off, but she was persistent.
"Fine!" he said, letting her grab hold of his neck. Her laughter echoed into the sea and came back to them.
Ryan tripped and fell, and Theresa fell next to him. They laughed happily and turned to face each other.
There were a few grains of sand in Theresa's hair, and Ryan reached forward to pick them out. Their lips were close, and Ryan wondered if Theresa would be different than the girl he had sex with at the party.
Not that he intended to have sex with Theresa, but he just wanted to see if she tasted different.
As their lips met, he noticed that she did taste different. She tasted like cinnamon and sugar, and innocence. She was innocent.
Too bad he wasn't.
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Sorry about the delay (to anyone who cares), I had a bad case of writer's block, so here it is. Hopefully, the next chapter will show up soon. Don't forget to bring a towel! I mean, don't forget to review. And bring a towel.