Slightly disturbing Seth POV. He's sick of being underestimated. How does he deal?
Disclaimers: I do not own Sandy, Kirsten, Ryan, Luke, Summer, Marissa, or Seth. (Though Adam Brody is welcome in my house any night.) The OC belongs to Fox Broadcasting Company, I am just borrowing it for a little while. I am making no money whatsoever off of this story. I am merely writing it because I have no life.
Rating: PG-13 for some not-so-nice words. Set in early early first season
Something More
By: Molly
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know why I did it.
Wait...maybe I do. Maybe I am sick of people thinking of me as some kind of naive simpleton. Ryan is the street wise kid who's been there and done that. Seth? He's the sheltered Newport kid who wouldn't recognize Life if it bit a hunk out of his ass. Mom and Dad have this picture of me as a pretty much oblivious kid wrapped in his own teenage world. I can see it in their little sighs of half-exasperation, half-amusement they give when they condescendingly explain to me things I already know. They think I'm stupid.
Little do they know. I know things about all of the citizens of Newport that they'd rather keep under wraps. People say things around me like I'm not going to hear it, or not really process it in my mind. Maybe they just don't see me when I'm sitting right in front of their face. Either way, I know things.
Luke Ward, Newport's most cherished preppy, pissed his bed every night until he was twelve. Marissa Cooper, the proverbial girl-next-door, used to make herself throw up after every meal so she could be skinny enough to please her Jenny Craig worshipping mother. And Summer Roberts, despite all her talk to the contrary, is still very much a virgin, and is very much romanticizing what her first time will be like.
And then there's me. I am their secret. Sandy and Kirsten Cohen, Newport's golden couple. You couldn't find two more in love people in the state. Me? I am their accident, their real reason for giving up their lives and partaking in marital bliss. And what really burns my trousers is the fact that they still think I have no clue.
It was really only a matter of putting the pieces together. Mom and Dad have this nasty little habit of getting all nostalgic and babbling on and on about the old days. When I was ten I thought all of their stories were terribly fascinating. Mom would sigh wistfully and talk about life in the back of a mail truck. Nobody to answer to, nobody forcing them to marry and settle down, and work the 9-to-5, bowing humbly before the Man himself, my father's arch enemy. They could be free. Innocently, I asked why they gave up that life for a house and a job and a boring life. And I'll never forget the look they shared; nervous, guilty, and a little sad. All hail the wedlock baby!
There were other hints of course. Grandpa had his nasty habit of bitching and moaning about Dad being a dead weight financially, Jewish, and disgustingly idealistic. Mom always argued that she was in love with him, and Grandpa would raise his eyebrows and look at me meaningfully. "Really?" he'd ask, and Mom would look properly chagrined. Because, even now, Grandpa thrives on the idea that Mom married Dad not because she really found some Jewish kid from Brooklyn to be Mr. Right, but because she was doing the Right Thing, letting me, the baby in question, have two parents and a house.
The last piece of the puzzle came when I had that hideously disturbing and embarrassing sex talk with Dad and I realized that people could have babies even if they didn't want to. I figured it out pretty quickly after that. Because, see, I'm not as sheltered and oblivious as people tend to think I am. They think my cynicism is cute and laugh it off. What the hell would I know? How has the world made me a hardened observer? No, I'm just trying to be a deep thinker. How silly!
So that's why I did it, okay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a regular dinner; nothing especially tasty, but it was digestible in it's own little way. I'd had a pretty shitty week though, for no real identifiable reason; just that crazy Kurt Cobain-esque feeling where the world sucks and you, personally, are by far the biggest asshole on the planet.
Mom and Dad started reliving the Glory Days; God only knows why. I'd heard the stories about a million times before, but Ryan was fascinated by their life on the edge. I have to admit that a lot of it sounds appealing; the absence of authority, the freedom to roam, living amongst a large number of envelopes, all have a certain charm. And then Ryan asked the Question.
"What made you settle down?"
My parents froze up. They shot each other a worried glance. They looked at me and I was playing my part; oblivious, staring down at my plate, shoving peas around and humming softly. I could almost see Dad's look of relief. He'd dodged another bullet. I peeked at Ryan, who'd put everything together and looked embarrassed. But there was an agreement within their eyes that made me snap: Seth can never know. Sweet, little, Seth; it'd break his heart.
"Me," I said quietly, my eyes burning a hole through the china plate that lay before me. "I am the reason they settled down."
Dad dropped his fork. I looked up. His eyebrows rose steadily until I could no longer see them, an amazing feat if you've ever seen the man. Mom became fascinated with the fried chicken on her plate. It was quiet.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, wiping my mouth on the cloth napkin and standing up. I'd fucked things up again.
I walked slowly out of the room and into my own bedroom, where I collapsed headfirst into my pillow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now I'm crying. Dashboard Confessional is playing in the background and I'm crying.
It's not something I do often, mostly because I feel like a stupid baby afterwards, but here I am and I'm crying and I can't stop.
Is it just because I was an accident? I don't know. No. Maybe. It feels like something more. It feels like so much more. The way I put up with things, people who make me feel like shit, who go out of their way to make me feel like shit; I say nothing to them. I let them trample all over me. I have no confidence. All I ever wanted was to be understood...liked...appreciated.
Just once I'd like to be the one to take the first swing. Hey fag. Bam. And Luke goes down. Just to take everything out on that asshole would be so perfect. It would make things so much easier on me for one. I'm sick of being laughed at, and thrown around like I'm nothing. I just want to be respected. I don't want to feel like a worthless loser all the time. I want to be alone. Or loved by more than just my parents.
A knock on the door, and I'm screwed. I don't want to talk things out. I ruin everything.
"I'm sorry," I yell into my pillow. And I am. I screwed things up.
I turn my back on the door as soon as I hear it open. I do not want my father to see me crying. As expected, he was the parent who volunteered to try and connect with me on a deeper level.
"Seth." Dad sits down on the edge of my bed and rubs my back softly with his hand. He doesn't see me crying yet. "C'mon, Seth. Talk to me."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shuddering. "I'm such an asshole." I swipe at a stray tear.
"Shh.....don't say that," Dad whispers gently. "It's fine."
"No....it's not." And suddenly it's no longer just about how I acted at dinner, it's about My Life, and my shoulders are trembling and shaking and I can't hide tears any longer.
I am instantly in my father's arms, half-sitting up and half-lying down. He rubs my back in a gentle, circular motion, and whispers nonsense words in my ears as if he were trying to calm a baby.
"I love you," Dad says quietly. Duh, I knew that.
"I love you," I answer, though I almost choke on the words. I am no good with affection.
"It doesn't matter that we hadn't originally planned on having a child. You're our son and we love you more than anything."
"I know."
Dad takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.
"There's something more," he states softly, seeing it in my eyes.
I nod, thinking of Summer and Luke, wild beach parties, and sitting alone in my room, trying to write the Great American Novel and forget that I am worthless to the beautiful people of Newport, California.
"We underestimate you," Dad adds, a frightening degree of sadness in his eyes.
I nod, feeling helpless to do anything else.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He messes up my hair a little bit. Heh. Jew fro. "You wanna talk about stuff?"
Obviously the stuff he's talking about is not the weather, or sports, or even Summer Roberts. The stuff runs deeper; emotions, loneliness, junk that guys aren't supposed to talk about. It's stuff that is too hard to say for fear that nobody will understand. And my father is offering to listen to all the stuff inside my head and inside my heart that I am too scared to say.
"No thanks."
"Okay."
And I don't want to talk about it. Dad's a good guy; he doesn't deserve my hate and pent-up rage burdening him even more than he's already burdened. Neither do Mom and Ryan. All that crap belongs where it is now; inside, where it can hurt no one but me.
"I'm here," he reminds me, because he wants me to confide in him, but he cannot make me.
"I know," I reply, and I give a tiny smile. The tears are starting to calm down.
He gets up and walks out. There is nothing more he can do or say and he knows it. And that hurts him.
God, I'm such an asshole.
*finis*
Slightly disturbing Seth POV. He's sick of being underestimated. How does he deal?
Disclaimers: I do not own Sandy, Kirsten, Ryan, Luke, Summer, Marissa, or Seth. (Though Adam Brody is welcome in my house any night.) The OC belongs to Fox Broadcasting Company, I am just borrowing it for a little while. I am making no money whatsoever off of this story. I am merely writing it because I have no life.
Rating: PG-13 for some not-so-nice words.
Something More
By: Molly
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know why I did it.
Wait...maybe I do. Maybe I am sick of people thinking of me as some kind of naive simpleton. Ryan is the street wise kid who's been there and done that. Seth? He's the sheltered Newport kid who wouldn't recognize Life if it bit a hunk out of his ass. Mom and Dad have this picture of me as a pretty much oblivious kid wrapped in his own teenage world. I can see it in their little sighs of half-exasperation, half-amusement they give when they condescendingly explain to me things I already know. They think I'm stupid.
Little do they know. I know things about all of the citizens of Newport that they'd rather keep under wraps. People say things around me like I'm not going to hear it, or not really process it in my mind. Maybe they just don't see me when I'm sitting right in front of their face. Either way, I know things.
Luke Ward, Newport's most cherished preppy, pissed his bed every night until he was twelve. Marissa Cooper, the proverbial girl-next-door, used to make herself throw up after every meal so she could be skinny enough to please her Jenny Craig worshipping mother. And Summer Roberts, despite all her talk to the contrary, is still very much a virgin, and is very much romanticizing what her first time will be like.
And then there's me. I am their secret. Sandy and Kirsten Cohen, Newport's golden couple. You couldn't find two more in love people in the state. Me? I am their accident, their real reason for giving up their lives and partaking in marital bliss. And what really burns my trousers is the fact that they still think I have no clue.
It was really only a matter of putting the pieces together. Mom and Dad have this nasty little habit of getting all nostalgic and babbling on and on about the old days. When I was ten I thought all of their stories were terribly fascinating. Mom would sigh wistfully and talk about life in the back of a mail truck. Nobody to answer to, nobody forcing them to marry and settle down, and work the 9-to-5, bowing humbly before the Man himself, my father's arch enemy. They could be free. Innocently, I asked why they gave up that life for a house and a job and a boring life. And I'll never forget the look they shared; nervous, guilty, and a little sad. All hail the wedlock baby!
There were other hints of course. Grandpa had his nasty habit of bitching and moaning about Dad being a dead weight financially, Jewish, and disgustingly idealistic. Mom always argued that she was in love with him, and Grandpa would raise his eyebrows and look at me meaningfully. "Really?" he'd ask, and Mom would look properly chagrined. Because, even now, Grandpa thrives on the idea that Mom married Dad not because she really found some Jewish kid from Brooklyn to be Mr. Right, but because she was doing the Right Thing, letting me, the baby in question, have two parents and a house.
The last piece of the puzzle came when I had that hideously disturbing and embarrassing sex talk with Dad and I realized that people could have babies even if they didn't want to. I figured it out pretty quickly after that. Because, see, I'm not as sheltered and oblivious as people tend to think I am. They think my cynicism is cute and laugh it off. What the hell would I know? How has the world made me a hardened observer? No, I'm just trying to be a deep thinker. How silly!
So that's why I did it, okay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a regular dinner; nothing especially tasty, but it was digestible in it's own little way. I'd had a pretty shitty week though, for no real identifiable reason; just that crazy Kurt Cobain-esque feeling where the world sucks and you, personally, are by far the biggest asshole on the planet.
Mom and Dad started reliving the Glory Days; God only knows why. I'd heard the stories about a million times before, but Ryan was fascinated by their life on the edge. I have to admit that a lot of it sounds appealing; the absence of authority, the freedom to roam, living amongst a large number of envelopes, all have a certain charm. And then Ryan asked the Question.
"What made you settle down?"
My parents froze up. They shot each other a worried glance. They looked at me and I was playing my part; oblivious, staring down at my plate, shoving peas around and humming softly. I could almost see Dad's look of relief. He'd dodged another bullet. I peeked at Ryan, who'd put everything together and looked embarrassed. But there was an agreement within their eyes that made me snap: Seth can never know. Sweet, little, Seth; it'd break his heart.
"Me," I said quietly, my eyes burning a hole through the china plate that lay before me. "I am the reason they settled down."
Dad dropped his fork. I looked up. His eyebrows rose steadily until I could no longer see them, an amazing feat if you've ever seen the man. Mom became fascinated with the fried chicken on her plate. It was quiet.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, wiping my mouth on the cloth napkin and standing up. I'd fucked things up again.
I walked slowly out of the room and into my own bedroom, where I collapsed headfirst into my pillow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now I'm crying. Dashboard Confessional is playing in the background and I'm crying.
It's not something I do often, mostly because I feel like a stupid baby afterwards, but here I am and I'm crying and I can't stop.
Is it just because I was an accident? I don't know. No. Maybe. It feels like something more. It feels like so much more. The way I put up with things, people who make me feel like shit, who go out of their way to make me feel like shit; I say nothing to them. I let them trample all over me. I have no confidence. All I ever wanted was to be understood...liked...appreciated.
Just once I'd like to be the one to take the first swing. Hey fag. Bam. And Luke goes down. Just to take everything out on that asshole would be so perfect. It would make things so much easier on me for one. I'm sick of being laughed at, and thrown around like I'm nothing. I just want to be respected. I don't want to feel like a worthless loser all the time. I want to be alone. Or loved by more than just my parents.
A knock on the door, and I'm screwed. I don't want to talk things out. I ruin everything.
"I'm sorry," I yell into my pillow. And I am. I screwed things up.
I turn my back on the door as soon as I hear it open. I do not want my father to see me crying. As expected, he was the parent who volunteered to try and connect with me on a deeper level.
"Seth." Dad sits down on the edge of my bed and rubs my back softly with his hand. He doesn't see me crying yet. "C'mon, Seth. Talk to me."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shuddering. "I'm such an asshole." I swipe at a stray tear.
"Shh.....don't say that," Dad whispers gently. "It's fine."
"No....it's not." And suddenly it's no longer just about how I acted at dinner, it's about My Life, and my shoulders are trembling and shaking and I can't hide tears any longer.
I am instantly in my father's arms, half-sitting up and half-lying down. He rubs my back in a gentle, circular motion, and whispers nonsense words in my ears as if he were trying to calm a baby.
"I love you," Dad says quietly. Duh, I knew that.
"I love you," I answer, though I almost choke on the words. I am no good with affection.
"It doesn't matter that we hadn't originally planned on having a child. You're our son and we love you more than anything."
"I know."
Dad takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.
"There's something more," he states softly, seeing it in my eyes.
I nod, thinking of Summer and Luke, wild beach parties, and sitting alone in my room, trying to write the Great American Novel and forget that I am worthless to the beautiful people of Newport, California.
"We underestimate you," Dad adds, a frightening degree of sadness in his eyes.
I nod, feeling helpless to do anything else.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He messes up my hair a little bit. Heh. Jew fro. "You wanna talk about stuff?"
Obviously the stuff he's talking about is not the weather, or sports, or even Summer Roberts. The stuff runs deeper; emotions, loneliness, junk that guys aren't supposed to talk about. It's stuff that is too hard to say for fear that nobody will understand. And my father is offering to listen to all the stuff inside my head and inside my heart that I am too scared to say.
"No thanks."
"Okay."
And I don't want to talk about it. Dad's a good guy; he doesn't deserve my hate and pent-up rage burdening him even more than he's already burdened. Neither do Mom and Ryan. All that crap belongs where it is now; inside, where it can hurt no one but me.
"I'm here," he reminds me, because he wants me to confide in him, but he cannot make me.
"I know," I reply, and I give a tiny smile. The tears are starting to calm down.
He gets up and walks out. There is nothing more he can do or say and he knows it. And that hurts him.
God, I'm such an asshole.
*finis*
Disclaimers: I do not own Sandy, Kirsten, Ryan, Luke, Summer, Marissa, or Seth. (Though Adam Brody is welcome in my house any night.) The OC belongs to Fox Broadcasting Company, I am just borrowing it for a little while. I am making no money whatsoever off of this story. I am merely writing it because I have no life.
Rating: PG-13 for some not-so-nice words. Set in early early first season
Something More
By: Molly
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know why I did it.
Wait...maybe I do. Maybe I am sick of people thinking of me as some kind of naive simpleton. Ryan is the street wise kid who's been there and done that. Seth? He's the sheltered Newport kid who wouldn't recognize Life if it bit a hunk out of his ass. Mom and Dad have this picture of me as a pretty much oblivious kid wrapped in his own teenage world. I can see it in their little sighs of half-exasperation, half-amusement they give when they condescendingly explain to me things I already know. They think I'm stupid.
Little do they know. I know things about all of the citizens of Newport that they'd rather keep under wraps. People say things around me like I'm not going to hear it, or not really process it in my mind. Maybe they just don't see me when I'm sitting right in front of their face. Either way, I know things.
Luke Ward, Newport's most cherished preppy, pissed his bed every night until he was twelve. Marissa Cooper, the proverbial girl-next-door, used to make herself throw up after every meal so she could be skinny enough to please her Jenny Craig worshipping mother. And Summer Roberts, despite all her talk to the contrary, is still very much a virgin, and is very much romanticizing what her first time will be like.
And then there's me. I am their secret. Sandy and Kirsten Cohen, Newport's golden couple. You couldn't find two more in love people in the state. Me? I am their accident, their real reason for giving up their lives and partaking in marital bliss. And what really burns my trousers is the fact that they still think I have no clue.
It was really only a matter of putting the pieces together. Mom and Dad have this nasty little habit of getting all nostalgic and babbling on and on about the old days. When I was ten I thought all of their stories were terribly fascinating. Mom would sigh wistfully and talk about life in the back of a mail truck. Nobody to answer to, nobody forcing them to marry and settle down, and work the 9-to-5, bowing humbly before the Man himself, my father's arch enemy. They could be free. Innocently, I asked why they gave up that life for a house and a job and a boring life. And I'll never forget the look they shared; nervous, guilty, and a little sad. All hail the wedlock baby!
There were other hints of course. Grandpa had his nasty habit of bitching and moaning about Dad being a dead weight financially, Jewish, and disgustingly idealistic. Mom always argued that she was in love with him, and Grandpa would raise his eyebrows and look at me meaningfully. "Really?" he'd ask, and Mom would look properly chagrined. Because, even now, Grandpa thrives on the idea that Mom married Dad not because she really found some Jewish kid from Brooklyn to be Mr. Right, but because she was doing the Right Thing, letting me, the baby in question, have two parents and a house.
The last piece of the puzzle came when I had that hideously disturbing and embarrassing sex talk with Dad and I realized that people could have babies even if they didn't want to. I figured it out pretty quickly after that. Because, see, I'm not as sheltered and oblivious as people tend to think I am. They think my cynicism is cute and laugh it off. What the hell would I know? How has the world made me a hardened observer? No, I'm just trying to be a deep thinker. How silly!
So that's why I did it, okay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a regular dinner; nothing especially tasty, but it was digestible in it's own little way. I'd had a pretty shitty week though, for no real identifiable reason; just that crazy Kurt Cobain-esque feeling where the world sucks and you, personally, are by far the biggest asshole on the planet.
Mom and Dad started reliving the Glory Days; God only knows why. I'd heard the stories about a million times before, but Ryan was fascinated by their life on the edge. I have to admit that a lot of it sounds appealing; the absence of authority, the freedom to roam, living amongst a large number of envelopes, all have a certain charm. And then Ryan asked the Question.
"What made you settle down?"
My parents froze up. They shot each other a worried glance. They looked at me and I was playing my part; oblivious, staring down at my plate, shoving peas around and humming softly. I could almost see Dad's look of relief. He'd dodged another bullet. I peeked at Ryan, who'd put everything together and looked embarrassed. But there was an agreement within their eyes that made me snap: Seth can never know. Sweet, little, Seth; it'd break his heart.
"Me," I said quietly, my eyes burning a hole through the china plate that lay before me. "I am the reason they settled down."
Dad dropped his fork. I looked up. His eyebrows rose steadily until I could no longer see them, an amazing feat if you've ever seen the man. Mom became fascinated with the fried chicken on her plate. It was quiet.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, wiping my mouth on the cloth napkin and standing up. I'd fucked things up again.
I walked slowly out of the room and into my own bedroom, where I collapsed headfirst into my pillow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now I'm crying. Dashboard Confessional is playing in the background and I'm crying.
It's not something I do often, mostly because I feel like a stupid baby afterwards, but here I am and I'm crying and I can't stop.
Is it just because I was an accident? I don't know. No. Maybe. It feels like something more. It feels like so much more. The way I put up with things, people who make me feel like shit, who go out of their way to make me feel like shit; I say nothing to them. I let them trample all over me. I have no confidence. All I ever wanted was to be understood...liked...appreciated.
Just once I'd like to be the one to take the first swing. Hey fag. Bam. And Luke goes down. Just to take everything out on that asshole would be so perfect. It would make things so much easier on me for one. I'm sick of being laughed at, and thrown around like I'm nothing. I just want to be respected. I don't want to feel like a worthless loser all the time. I want to be alone. Or loved by more than just my parents.
A knock on the door, and I'm screwed. I don't want to talk things out. I ruin everything.
"I'm sorry," I yell into my pillow. And I am. I screwed things up.
I turn my back on the door as soon as I hear it open. I do not want my father to see me crying. As expected, he was the parent who volunteered to try and connect with me on a deeper level.
"Seth." Dad sits down on the edge of my bed and rubs my back softly with his hand. He doesn't see me crying yet. "C'mon, Seth. Talk to me."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shuddering. "I'm such an asshole." I swipe at a stray tear.
"Shh.....don't say that," Dad whispers gently. "It's fine."
"No....it's not." And suddenly it's no longer just about how I acted at dinner, it's about My Life, and my shoulders are trembling and shaking and I can't hide tears any longer.
I am instantly in my father's arms, half-sitting up and half-lying down. He rubs my back in a gentle, circular motion, and whispers nonsense words in my ears as if he were trying to calm a baby.
"I love you," Dad says quietly. Duh, I knew that.
"I love you," I answer, though I almost choke on the words. I am no good with affection.
"It doesn't matter that we hadn't originally planned on having a child. You're our son and we love you more than anything."
"I know."
Dad takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.
"There's something more," he states softly, seeing it in my eyes.
I nod, thinking of Summer and Luke, wild beach parties, and sitting alone in my room, trying to write the Great American Novel and forget that I am worthless to the beautiful people of Newport, California.
"We underestimate you," Dad adds, a frightening degree of sadness in his eyes.
I nod, feeling helpless to do anything else.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He messes up my hair a little bit. Heh. Jew fro. "You wanna talk about stuff?"
Obviously the stuff he's talking about is not the weather, or sports, or even Summer Roberts. The stuff runs deeper; emotions, loneliness, junk that guys aren't supposed to talk about. It's stuff that is too hard to say for fear that nobody will understand. And my father is offering to listen to all the stuff inside my head and inside my heart that I am too scared to say.
"No thanks."
"Okay."
And I don't want to talk about it. Dad's a good guy; he doesn't deserve my hate and pent-up rage burdening him even more than he's already burdened. Neither do Mom and Ryan. All that crap belongs where it is now; inside, where it can hurt no one but me.
"I'm here," he reminds me, because he wants me to confide in him, but he cannot make me.
"I know," I reply, and I give a tiny smile. The tears are starting to calm down.
He gets up and walks out. There is nothing more he can do or say and he knows it. And that hurts him.
God, I'm such an asshole.
*finis*
Slightly disturbing Seth POV. He's sick of being underestimated. How does he deal?
Disclaimers: I do not own Sandy, Kirsten, Ryan, Luke, Summer, Marissa, or Seth. (Though Adam Brody is welcome in my house any night.) The OC belongs to Fox Broadcasting Company, I am just borrowing it for a little while. I am making no money whatsoever off of this story. I am merely writing it because I have no life.
Rating: PG-13 for some not-so-nice words.
Something More
By: Molly
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know why I did it.
Wait...maybe I do. Maybe I am sick of people thinking of me as some kind of naive simpleton. Ryan is the street wise kid who's been there and done that. Seth? He's the sheltered Newport kid who wouldn't recognize Life if it bit a hunk out of his ass. Mom and Dad have this picture of me as a pretty much oblivious kid wrapped in his own teenage world. I can see it in their little sighs of half-exasperation, half-amusement they give when they condescendingly explain to me things I already know. They think I'm stupid.
Little do they know. I know things about all of the citizens of Newport that they'd rather keep under wraps. People say things around me like I'm not going to hear it, or not really process it in my mind. Maybe they just don't see me when I'm sitting right in front of their face. Either way, I know things.
Luke Ward, Newport's most cherished preppy, pissed his bed every night until he was twelve. Marissa Cooper, the proverbial girl-next-door, used to make herself throw up after every meal so she could be skinny enough to please her Jenny Craig worshipping mother. And Summer Roberts, despite all her talk to the contrary, is still very much a virgin, and is very much romanticizing what her first time will be like.
And then there's me. I am their secret. Sandy and Kirsten Cohen, Newport's golden couple. You couldn't find two more in love people in the state. Me? I am their accident, their real reason for giving up their lives and partaking in marital bliss. And what really burns my trousers is the fact that they still think I have no clue.
It was really only a matter of putting the pieces together. Mom and Dad have this nasty little habit of getting all nostalgic and babbling on and on about the old days. When I was ten I thought all of their stories were terribly fascinating. Mom would sigh wistfully and talk about life in the back of a mail truck. Nobody to answer to, nobody forcing them to marry and settle down, and work the 9-to-5, bowing humbly before the Man himself, my father's arch enemy. They could be free. Innocently, I asked why they gave up that life for a house and a job and a boring life. And I'll never forget the look they shared; nervous, guilty, and a little sad. All hail the wedlock baby!
There were other hints of course. Grandpa had his nasty habit of bitching and moaning about Dad being a dead weight financially, Jewish, and disgustingly idealistic. Mom always argued that she was in love with him, and Grandpa would raise his eyebrows and look at me meaningfully. "Really?" he'd ask, and Mom would look properly chagrined. Because, even now, Grandpa thrives on the idea that Mom married Dad not because she really found some Jewish kid from Brooklyn to be Mr. Right, but because she was doing the Right Thing, letting me, the baby in question, have two parents and a house.
The last piece of the puzzle came when I had that hideously disturbing and embarrassing sex talk with Dad and I realized that people could have babies even if they didn't want to. I figured it out pretty quickly after that. Because, see, I'm not as sheltered and oblivious as people tend to think I am. They think my cynicism is cute and laugh it off. What the hell would I know? How has the world made me a hardened observer? No, I'm just trying to be a deep thinker. How silly!
So that's why I did it, okay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a regular dinner; nothing especially tasty, but it was digestible in it's own little way. I'd had a pretty shitty week though, for no real identifiable reason; just that crazy Kurt Cobain-esque feeling where the world sucks and you, personally, are by far the biggest asshole on the planet.
Mom and Dad started reliving the Glory Days; God only knows why. I'd heard the stories about a million times before, but Ryan was fascinated by their life on the edge. I have to admit that a lot of it sounds appealing; the absence of authority, the freedom to roam, living amongst a large number of envelopes, all have a certain charm. And then Ryan asked the Question.
"What made you settle down?"
My parents froze up. They shot each other a worried glance. They looked at me and I was playing my part; oblivious, staring down at my plate, shoving peas around and humming softly. I could almost see Dad's look of relief. He'd dodged another bullet. I peeked at Ryan, who'd put everything together and looked embarrassed. But there was an agreement within their eyes that made me snap: Seth can never know. Sweet, little, Seth; it'd break his heart.
"Me," I said quietly, my eyes burning a hole through the china plate that lay before me. "I am the reason they settled down."
Dad dropped his fork. I looked up. His eyebrows rose steadily until I could no longer see them, an amazing feat if you've ever seen the man. Mom became fascinated with the fried chicken on her plate. It was quiet.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, wiping my mouth on the cloth napkin and standing up. I'd fucked things up again.
I walked slowly out of the room and into my own bedroom, where I collapsed headfirst into my pillow.
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And now I'm crying. Dashboard Confessional is playing in the background and I'm crying.
It's not something I do often, mostly because I feel like a stupid baby afterwards, but here I am and I'm crying and I can't stop.
Is it just because I was an accident? I don't know. No. Maybe. It feels like something more. It feels like so much more. The way I put up with things, people who make me feel like shit, who go out of their way to make me feel like shit; I say nothing to them. I let them trample all over me. I have no confidence. All I ever wanted was to be understood...liked...appreciated.
Just once I'd like to be the one to take the first swing. Hey fag. Bam. And Luke goes down. Just to take everything out on that asshole would be so perfect. It would make things so much easier on me for one. I'm sick of being laughed at, and thrown around like I'm nothing. I just want to be respected. I don't want to feel like a worthless loser all the time. I want to be alone. Or loved by more than just my parents.
A knock on the door, and I'm screwed. I don't want to talk things out. I ruin everything.
"I'm sorry," I yell into my pillow. And I am. I screwed things up.
I turn my back on the door as soon as I hear it open. I do not want my father to see me crying. As expected, he was the parent who volunteered to try and connect with me on a deeper level.
"Seth." Dad sits down on the edge of my bed and rubs my back softly with his hand. He doesn't see me crying yet. "C'mon, Seth. Talk to me."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shuddering. "I'm such an asshole." I swipe at a stray tear.
"Shh.....don't say that," Dad whispers gently. "It's fine."
"No....it's not." And suddenly it's no longer just about how I acted at dinner, it's about My Life, and my shoulders are trembling and shaking and I can't hide tears any longer.
I am instantly in my father's arms, half-sitting up and half-lying down. He rubs my back in a gentle, circular motion, and whispers nonsense words in my ears as if he were trying to calm a baby.
"I love you," Dad says quietly. Duh, I knew that.
"I love you," I answer, though I almost choke on the words. I am no good with affection.
"It doesn't matter that we hadn't originally planned on having a child. You're our son and we love you more than anything."
"I know."
Dad takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.
"There's something more," he states softly, seeing it in my eyes.
I nod, thinking of Summer and Luke, wild beach parties, and sitting alone in my room, trying to write the Great American Novel and forget that I am worthless to the beautiful people of Newport, California.
"We underestimate you," Dad adds, a frightening degree of sadness in his eyes.
I nod, feeling helpless to do anything else.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He messes up my hair a little bit. Heh. Jew fro. "You wanna talk about stuff?"
Obviously the stuff he's talking about is not the weather, or sports, or even Summer Roberts. The stuff runs deeper; emotions, loneliness, junk that guys aren't supposed to talk about. It's stuff that is too hard to say for fear that nobody will understand. And my father is offering to listen to all the stuff inside my head and inside my heart that I am too scared to say.
"No thanks."
"Okay."
And I don't want to talk about it. Dad's a good guy; he doesn't deserve my hate and pent-up rage burdening him even more than he's already burdened. Neither do Mom and Ryan. All that crap belongs where it is now; inside, where it can hurt no one but me.
"I'm here," he reminds me, because he wants me to confide in him, but he cannot make me.
"I know," I reply, and I give a tiny smile. The tears are starting to calm down.
He gets up and walks out. There is nothing more he can do or say and he knows it. And that hurts him.
God, I'm such an asshole.
*finis*