Author's note: Thanks for all of the kind things you guys have had to say about my little stories. This newest chapter is kind of sappy but what can I say, I was missing my daughter, who is away visiting my sister. This chapter started out in an entirely different direction. I am currently in need of a beta, so forgive me if I did not catch all of my mistakes..
It's Not Always Pretty
Ryan Atwood did not feel well at all. All day his body had felt funny, tingly even. Now here he sat at the dinner table stirring his rice and salsa, concentrating on keeping what he had already eaten down. It was a battle he was losing.
Sandy watched as Ryan moved the food around on his plate never taking a bite of anything. He wondered what might be bothering him and hoped that the boy had not gotten in trouble at school again. Ryan didn't usually have much to say at their family meals, letting Seth do most of the talking but tonight the quiet was very loud from his side of the table.
"Hey, I thought you liked this stuff, guacamole, burritos, lots of cheese. Did you have a bad day today?" Sandy asked.
Ryan didn't respond not realizing that Sandy was speaking to him. His mind was focused on his stomach and how the contents were swirling around and around and around. He took a swallow of water hoping that would help. It didn't.
Sandy leaned towards Ryan and said with concern, "Hey, Ryan. What's going on? Everything okay, kid?"
Hearing the concern in Sandy's voice, Kirsten turned to look more closely at Ryan. She thought he looked pale and appeared to be quite nauseous. Her first thought was to put her hand to his forehead but she didn't, unsure of how Ryan would accept her touch. He had only been with them about three months but the few times she had touched him he had tensed up and it was awkward for both of them. She didn't want to cause him any more discomfort so instead she just asked, "Ryan, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."
Ryan slowly looked up at her and said unconvincingly, "I'm fine….Just tired."
Both Sandy and Kirsten knew it wasn't true and they gave each other confirming glances. Kirsten felt sure that Ryan was coming down with something. She again fought the urge to reach out and put her hand on his forehead to check for fever. "Ryan, you look like you may be sick. Do you have a fever?" she asked. She leaned a little closer and tried to look into the boy's eyes when she received no answer.
Everything in the room was beginning to fade from Ryan's awareness because right at that moment he was focused on the somersaults his stomach had begun performing. He had heard Kirsten but the pulse throbbing in his ear was louder. He took in a couple of deep breaths and swallowed hard trying to keep down his dinner.
"Dude, you look like your going to hurl," Seth said.
And Seth was right, Ryan's stomach seized and he jumped up from the table, startling Sandy, Kirsten and Seth. He violently pushed back his chair and ran for the hall bathroom.
"Ryan, man. You have some place you need to be?" Seth said jokingly.
"Seth," Kirsten said sternly as she jumped up to follow Ryan.
Kirsten was close behind Ryan, when he stopped and bent over sharply. Ryan gagged and covered his mouth in an attempt to reduce any damage. But it didn't help. He tried to move towards the bathroom but his stomach seized again and before he had moved a couple of steps his stomach began to empty itself all over the living room rug. And it wasn't pretty.
Kirsten reached him just as he began to lose his dinner. Extending her arm instinctually to comfort him, she hesitated for a moment unsure of whether he would accept this mothering from her. But she knew he needed comfort, so she put her hand on his back and began to slowly began to rub. "Sandy, trashcan, now," she shouted as she continued in her attempt to sooth Ryan. "Ryan. Oh, my gosh. It'll be okay." Sandy ran up to them with the kitchen trashcan. Kristen grabbed it; put it on the floor in front of Ryan's face.
Ryan coughed as his body continued to contract violently determined to get every last drop of whatever was offending it out of its stomach. Ryan thought at any moment he might see his liver pop out of his mouth and each contraction sent a bolt of pain through his head. As the spasms began to subside he became aware of Kirsten rubbing his back and talking to him quietly. He straightened up and moved just slightly out of her reach. He didn't want her to feel obligated to help him.
Kirsten felt the muscles in his back stiffen and just as she was about to remove her hand he shifted out of her reach. "Let's go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up," she said softly as pointed towards the hallway. "You felt warm. When did you start feeling bad?
Sandy had been standing to side and feeling useless as he watched Ryan and Kirsten. He too wanted to do something to aid the boy but he wasn't sure what. So, he continued to stand and watch for any sign that he may be needed.
As a mother, all Kirsten wanted to do was scoop the boy up in her arms, rock him and tell him everything would be okay. Of course, she couldn't even do that with Seth anymore but she could do whatever was its equivalent for teenagers but not with Ryan. When it came to Kirsten, Ryan's discomfort with her attention or touch was palpable which made her feel even more inept at helping him. Kirsten had never been an overly demonstrative person but she had never hesitated to offer a gentle touch when it was needed. Something about this boy made Kirsten doubt her ability to nurture or even parent him. Maybe it was his age, maybe a fear of rejection or maybe fear of crossing a boundary that he didn't want crossed or maybe it was all of the above, Kirsten didn't know but she did know that she struggled inwardly each time as to what was the right move.
"I'm sorry. I'll clean it up," Ryan said quietly. Feeling embarrassed and self-conscious about his lack of control, he avoided eye contact with Kirsten and Sandy. As he turned towards the kitchen Ryan whispered another, "I'm sorry."
Sandy grabbed hold of his elbow and pulled him back, "Oh, no you don't kiddo! There's nothing to be sorry for. You're sick. We need to get you…" Ryan pulled out of Sandy's grip, walked to the kitchen and managed to grab the roll of paper towels before he was once again stopped by Kirsten and Sandy. Sandy gently put his hand on Ryan's shoulder and squeezed. "Hey, did you hear me? You're sick. Go clean up, take some medicine and lie down," he said firmly.
"But I need to clean this up," Ryan said desperately. He held tight to the paper towels when Sandy tried to pull them from his hands. Letting them clean it up was more humiliation than he could take. Thinking about it just made his head throb worse. Both he and Sandy stood with hands gripping the paper towels, locked in a battle of wills. Defiantly Ryan looked down at his hands not daring to look Sandy in the eyes but not releasing the towels. Sandy was just as determined to make the boy accept this help.
Seth, who had stayed at the dinner table because, well, vomit patrol was the parents' job, had come into the kitchen at the beginning of the towel standoff. Sensing the tension in the room Seth said brightly to Ryan, "Hey, buddy what you doing? These guys live for this stuff. Come on, man don't take away the one opportunity still left to us to have the parental units cater to your every need. Think of the possibilities. Lying in bed, ringing a bell and one of them comes running to…."
Seth's levity broke Sandy's concentration but not Ryan's who took the opportunity gain control of the towels and ignoring his foster brother, he walked back into the living room. Just as he began to unroll the paper towels they were snatched from his hands. He looked up and saw Sandy's stern face and saw him point towards the hall bathroom.
"I've got it. Go," he said in a voice that brokered no argument. Sandy could not believe he actually had to switch into disciplinary mode over cleaning up vomit. What in this boy's life made it so difficult for him to just be a kid and let himself be taken care of?
"You heard him," Kirsten said firmly as she put her hand on his back and led him to the bathroom. Then she added, "Bathroom. You. Now."
Ryan's stomach was beginning to feel sick again and he could see that he had lost this fight. Fine if they wanted him to clean himself up first he would do that then he would take care of this mess. They would see that he could take care of himself and not be a problem to them.
As they entered the bathroom, Kirsten grabbed a folded washcloth from the linen closet. She ran cold water over it and then wrung out the excess water. Ryan felt waves of nausea coming over him again. It couldn't be possible that there was anything left in his stomach to get rid of but apparently his body thought otherwise. His stomach seized again but this time he made it to the toilet. Once again Kirsten hesitated before rubbing his back and speaking to him in a soothing tone. Later, he would not be able to recall what she had said but only that it had been comforting. In between each heave of his stomach, Kirsten would wipe his face with the cool cloth. Ryan coughed and cried out in frustration when it seemed the spasms would never end. He didn't know if he could take this much longer. And then as quickly as it had begun his spasms were over. Ryan put his hand on the counter to steady himself and attempt to calm his breathing.
Kirsten stood him up straight and said softly, "You'll be okay. I think you've got yourself a stomach virus. Is this the first time you have thrown-up today?" Closing the lid on the toilet she pushed him to sit down. He nodded weakly and then reached for the cloth in Kirsten's hand. He didn't want her to feel like she had to stay, he had everything under control now.
Kirsten let Ryan take the cloth from her, and said, "Okay, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-Myself." Kirsten chuckled to her self as she remembered; "You know that's what I used to call Seth when he was three because that was something he was always saying. Well, that and NO. Boy, could he shout, no." Watching Ryan clean his face and hands, she wondered what Ryan had been like at three. Does his mother hold sweet memories of her baby Ryan? There had to be sweet memories didn't there; it couldn't have all been bleak. She hoped someone was the keeper of Ryan's special moments. Maybe she would ask Sandy to contact Dawn about that, find some baby pictures, maybe even some videos. Kirsten shook her head. What a silly thing to be thinking about right now? How could she even think that was possible?
Feeling uneasy with Kirsten watching him, he focused on making sure his hands were very clean. He wasn't three but he could do it himself; they had done more than enough for him. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. Sure, before the drinking and string of boyfriends, there had been a few kisses on his boo-boos when he was little but what little bit of nurturing he had received all but ended when they had moved away from Fresno and his grandmother. Sometimes, before they had moved his Mom would wipe away his tears if he had been hurt and his Grammy had always taken the time to offer a hug and a kiss or a rock in her lap. But at home with his dad he was expected to "suck-it-up", "shake it off" and "not be a sissy." Trey would have called him a wuss for losing it like he had. And because he could not control himself he had ruined Kirsten's rug, wasn't that a nice thank you to the Cohens.
As he was finishing with his face and hands, Kirsten said tenderly, "We need to get you out of those shirts. They got a little messy too. I'm going to send Seth out to the poolhouse to get you some clean ones." She put the washcloth in the sink and headed out the door. And just before she exited she instructed, "You stay right there. I'm going to fix the sofa up for you. Be right back."
A few minutes after Kirsten left, Ryan stood up and the room felt like it was spinning. It took a few moments of standing and holding onto the counter for it to pass. Determined set things right and show the Cohens that he would not be an extra burden to them, he left the bathroom. Leaning heavily on the counter and then the wall he made his way into the living room. Sandy was on his knees scrubbing the rug with a towel and a bucket of cleaning solution. Ryan pushed himself off of the wall and walked slowly towards Sandy with his hand holding his stomach.
"Sandy, I'll.. get…it," he said haltingly as he lowered himself to his knees.
"Ryan, no!" Sandy was surprised to see Ryan there. Sandy thought he had already won this battle. The boy was sick and he needed to be in bed. "I don't need your help. Where's Kirsten?" Sandy asked in frustration. He thought she was taking care of him. Why did she let him out here to do this?
Ryan shrugged his shoulders as he reached into the bucket and pulled out one of the towels soaking in the water. He began to wring it out but the smell of the cleaning solution caused his stomach to once again protest.
Sandy saw Ryan lean against the back of the sofa and begin to look as though he was going to get sick again. "Damn it, Ryan," Sandy shouted as he snatched the towel from the boy's hand. He stood up and reached to pull Ryan up but Ryan seeing the quick movement fell into the back of the sofa and put his hands and arms up in front of his face as if protecting himself from being hit.
"I'm sorry," Ryan cried out as he moved to curl himself into a protective ball. Ryan realized his mistake at the same moment he made it. This man wasn't going to hit him. Wouldn't Trey or his Dad be proud of him, curling up like a baby just because Sandy yelled? And they would be right, he was a wuss. He remained curled up, embarrassed by his overreaction to Sandy's anger.
Stunned at Ryan's reaction, Sandy stood motionless for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed. What kind of hell had this boy lived through that would make him go into protection mode at raised voice and some movement? While Sandy was aware that Ryan had grown up in an abusive household this painted a picture for him of what the boy must have endured and his heart ached. It had been easy to push it to the back of his mind and tell himself that their family and support would somehow heal Ryan but he now knew it was really all an illusion. And what he saw cowering before him was a broken boy.
This time Sandy moved slowly and put his hand gently on Ryan's shoulder blade. "Hey" He shook Ryan's shoulder lightly when he didn't respond. Then continued, "Hey..kiddo, I would never hit you. You know that right."
Ryan moved his arm and looked up at Sandy. "Yeah..Right….I know that," he said as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "I don't know why…," he began but his voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands in shame.
"It's okay, kid. Come on," Sandy said softly as he gently lifted the boy by his underarms. "You're sick and you don't need to clean this up. I've got it. I'm sorry I yelled." Sandy led him to the sofa in the den where Seth was busy with his playstation unaware of what had taken place. Sandy eased Ryan onto the sofa and patted his arm. Trying to find something to say to ease the boy's guilt over the rug, Sandy leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "Don't tell Kirsten but I never liked the rug anyway. Now maybe we can get a new one. So thank you. Maybe I can get Seth to do the same thing on that flowery comforter in our room cause it's driving me nuts." He tussled Ryan's hair and added softly, " "Sit right there and don't move, I'll get Kirsten.." He then left the room to find his wife.
Ryan nodded and then moved his body until his head was lying on the arm of the sofa leaving his feet planted on the floor. His shoes would mess up the sofa and he was too weak to remove them, his body and mind having used its last bit of energy to protect itself. Could this day get any worse, first he had ruined the Cohen's rug and then he had made Sandy feel bad. He knew with almost complete certainty Sandy would never hit him but sometimes old lessons are hard to unlearn. In the Atwood house, when someone yelled him and then moved quickly it usually meant he was about to be hurt and more often than not, badly.
Kirsten met Sandy as he entered the living room, her arms full of bedding. "Where's Ryan? I told him to stay…"
Sandy put up his hand and said, "He's in the den lying on the sofa. I took him in there." Taking the bedding from Kirsten and laying it on the back of the sofa. He said, "Let's sit down for a minute."
"Sandy, what are you doing? I need to take care of Ryan." But looking into her husband's eyes and reading the body language she knew so well she moved to sit down. And when Sandy stood before her and ran his hand through his hair she asked with concern, "What is it? What's wrong?"
"He thought I was going to hit him," Sandy said as tears glistening in his eyes.
"Sandy, what do you mean? Who, Ryan? Why would he ever think that?
"He came in here to clean this up, again." He gestured towards the stained rug. "And I told him no, but he did it anyway and he began to get sick again. I got angry and grabbed the towel away from him. Then…Then.." Sandy had to stop a moment to compose himself. He took in a deep breath and then continued, "I yelled at him and grabbed the towel. The look on his face." Sandy put his hand over his heart. "Kirsten, he curled into a ball on the floor to protect himself."
Kirsten put her hand to her mouth in shock. "Dear, God!" Then her shock turned to anger,
"Why did you yell at him? He's sick."
Sandy nodded, "I know. I was just aggravated because he came in there trying to clean the rug again."
"He must know we wouldn't hit him. How could he not know that? And we don't care about that stupid rug, it's just a rug."
"Honey, I think we have been lying to ourselves. We think that our guidance and support will help him and it will but it may not be enough. I think we have been in denial."
"Denial, denial about what?"
"About what kind of routine abuse Ryan may have been subjected to. His reactions tonight speak to what he may have suffered and the damage it may have done."
"But he's sick and not thinking clearly."
Sandy sat down on the sofa beside her and took her hand. "Yeah, see that's my point. He was sick enough to drop his tough guy act and what I saw was a sacred little boy."
"That's just so heartbreaking. He's really such a sweet, kid." Kirsten's tried to understand what Sandy was telling her. "How could his mother not protect him; or do you think she also hurt him?" she asked already knowing the answer.
"Well, we already know that she's hurt him. She's abandoned him twice that we know of. I think we might want to consider counseling, someone who specializes in abused children."
Kirsten could only nod as she stood to hug her husband. They both now understood that the commitment they had made to be guardians of this boy meant much more than they had considered at the time and that they were indeed "in way over their heads." But it was still a commitment they were willing to keep. They had given him school, clothes, food, and rules but they now had to guardians of his spirit as well. A spirit that it appears may be broken but hopefully not beyond repair.
Kirsten left Sandy sitting in the living room and headed towards the den. There she found Ryan asleep on the sofa with his feet on the floor. Before she would not have noticed the oddness of his position but now it made her question what he felt his place was in her family. Was he afraid of what would happen if he got the sofa dirty or was he just being overly polite? Either choice made her uncomfortable because the boy should not be afraid and he should not feel like a guest. She wanted him to get the sofa dirty, to say he was sorry but not really mean it because it was just a stupid sofa and he had more important things to do like, playstation. As she looked at Ryan lying in that uncomfortable position, she became determined to let the boy know that he had a safe, secure home and people that cared about him. And while she would never be his mother, she could love him as much as he would let her. And without any hesitation or doubt, she moved forward, lifted his feet one at a time, pulled off each of his shoes and then lifted his them to the sofa. Gently lifting his head she placed a pillow beneath it and placed a blanket over him. She would wake him in a little bit to take some medicine. Sitting down on the coffee table she pushed his bangs off of his forehead. Then she stoked his flushed cheek, leaned it to kiss it and now she knew that he did indeed have a fever.
Ryan shifted and his eyes fluttered. "I'm sorry," he said weakly.
A lump formed in Kirsten's throat as she struggled to say, "Its okay, sweetie." She stood adjusted the blanket and once again kissed his cheek. From this moment on there would be no more hesitation in her touch, she would make him understand he had nothing to be sorry for, if anything she was sorry for doubting herself and not opening her heart sooner. If he stiffened at her touch, she would take it slowly but she would it freely and without hesitation.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Author's note: Speaking as an adoptive mother, I wish everyday I could take away some of the pain caused by my oldest daughter's biological parents and I long to have her special baby memories in my head and not in theirs. She was 4 when we got her and her baby sister was 9 months.