(Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all. So don't sue me. Please.)

A Note from the Author: Heh, Varthan, your comment was right on the money. The last chapter was totally planned to lead in to Summer's POV about her relationships and life experiences. Any characterization I make of her past, however, pales in comparison to emrie's "Chambers of the Sea". It's a really beautiful story, and a must-read for anyone who is a fan of Summer. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter; plus, I don't think I'll be writing entire ones from Seth or Marissa's POV afterwards. Onwards!

Chapter Thirty-Three

Summer awoke to the shifting of bedcovers and one annoying ray of sunlight directly in her eyes. Instinctively, she curled up into a ball, not wanting to be a disturber nor a disturbee. She noticed Ryan shivering slightly next to her, but couldn't bring herself to unravel the blankets encircling her. Then he would've realized that she was up. Then they would've had to talk about what had really happened between them.

Now, speech wasn't a difficult function for her. She used it all the time. And when she got frustrated with it, a simple threat laced with unrepressed anger would shut her companion right up. However, speech concerning personal feelings and issues about intimacy, that was a different matter. That was the one of the few subjects that she practically knew nothing about, and hence, that made her feel insecure and unsure about herself. To the outside world, this was unthinkable.

She had learned how important it was to preserve this façade at an early age. And she had learned it the hard way.

Summer Roberts was born at a fancy Newport hospital with a silver spoon in her mouth. This silver spoon relied upon an empire and a life-long practice of her father's that dealt with unwanted cellulite and the means to suck it out of hapless rich women. Nonetheless, it was clear, from the moment that she opened her wide espresso-coloured eyes, that she wouldn't ever need plastic surgery. She was perfect.

Everyone liked to exclaim how beautiful, how darling she looked in her little onesies with the princess-style ruffles and the pretty bowties in her hear. Her mother drank in the praise, basked it in like she would a leisure suntanning. And that was why she named her little baby 'Summer' (it was a good thing she was born in the summertime). But when the guests left, when it was just mother and daughter, plus occasional father, things were understatedly different. Summer, like all babies, cried, especially at night. Like normal infants, she would sometimes spit up on her pretty little onesies. Like most newborns, there would be times when nothing could appease her. This was the norm.

Yet to her mother, however, this was unacceptable behaviour.

The woman grew used to handing her baby off to the nearest servant whenever Summer was too loud, too dirty, too wet, too warm, and soon it was unclear whether she knew who her own parents were. Already comfortable with leaving her daughter behind with strangers, Summer's mother resumed the steady schedule of travel that she had adopted during her honeymoon. The sole gestures of acknowledgement she allowed her only child were the sporadic packages mailed to the house from exotic places all over the world, wherever she happened to be. And she always sent snow globes, most likely passing thoughts of hers as she languished in the airport, waiting for her next flight.

Summer had never seen snow before.

Each time she received a globe, she would dutifully place it on her dresser, lining them up in neat rows. She would move all her favourite ones to the front, then sit and admire them for hours on end. The worlds depicted in miniature fascinated her, especially the random flurries of fake snow she could cause with just one shake. They were so picturesque, she had decided. If only Newport were a snow globe.

When her mother inevitably tired of being tied down with a husband and child, she left her family indefinitely. Given no explanation, Summer's infantile mind could only comprehend her own failures and shortcomings. Holing herself up in her room, she dug her favourite snow globe out of its recent home, the trash can, and scrutinized it as she had years ago. There must have been something her mother had tried to tell her, she had decided. There must be some secret encoded in these glass enclosures, and she was the only one who could figure it out.

Eventually she became frustrated with her lack of success. All she could see were the little people and buildings in their tiny world where nothing moved, except for the occasional snowstorm. These people were probably happy. Their mothers would never leave them, and their fathers would never become overly interested in the hired help. If her life were like this, so enclosed, so isolated, so flawless… she would have no reason to feel this heart wrenching sadness.

Then everything clicked into place.

Glass walls were easy to erect. Smokescreens were simple to conjure. Catchphrases and disguises were effortless to invent. Summer tried to be the most convincing actress in the world, keeping up appearances so that she looked unapproachable, yet desirable. Boys had been easy to manipulate, especially after her body developed into all the right curves. She gave the drooling Neanderthals the impression that they were getting somewhere with her, then took it away.

Two steps forward, three steps back.

This sense of power that she wielded was a far cry from her earlier days of helplessness. And as the years passed, when everyone got so damn educated and paid attention in sex ed. class, it grew increasingly harder for her to maintain this act without looking like a prude. Boys became more demanding and exclusive, and Summer found herself having to relinquish more and more of her body in order to stay in the game. It had been easy to breeze past first, second, then third base, but she never allowed anyone to go all the way with her. After sex, things really would get complicated, and personal. Then she wouldn't be able to trust herself and her emotions when it came time to let go.

And that's how Summer remained a virgin until she was 16.

After Holly. After Marissa. After Alexis, Tara, Leah… she had lost track, really. It had been no mean feat to do so. Lord knows many boys had tried, and some even became frighteningly violent (although a swift kick to a certain sensitive area did the trick for that). But Seth Cohen had been different. He memorized her poems from childhood. He could still remember the days when she still had a heart. And he even named his boat after her – a fact relayed by Ryan during the summer, when they were still trying to just make conversation. If she hadn't found this endearing, she would have considered Seth downright creepy. A regular Oliver. I mean, even she couldn't remember which dress she wore on the first day of kindergarten.

But Seth knew.

Seth seemed to know everything about her, in fact, and it both scared and exhilarated her. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else anymore, because Seth could call her bluff. She didn't mind losing control over herself through her jealousy of Anna, and she was pretty certain that she would never regret letting Seth be her first. He made it clear for her that she really did deserve someone great, someone caring and sensitive to her needs, someone she could love. She understood this now. And it was through this reasoning that she also understood that she could never love Seth, not in that way, and that their relationship could never really pass the confines of only a deep friendship.

By being such an amazing boyfriend, he made her realize that she didn't need him, specifically. She needed someone like Ryan.

Summer was well aware that she was lucky to have him. He was almost perfect inside (as well as out!), despite Marissa's haphazard efforts to change him. Marissa hadn't realized that all of his faults and emotional problems were what made him Ryan Atwood, not some plastic Ken doll whose underwear was melded to his body. Even Barbie hadn't wanted that. And Summer wanted to reward him for just being him and as honest as he could be in a place like Newport. She wanted to show him that she placed her complete and utter trust in him, and that her affections weren't pretence. She could accept the flaws in the both of them.

For some reason, there was only thing she could give him that even remotely conveyed these feelings in her: she could finally sleep with him.

She was sure he would understand sooner or later, and it actually wouldn't matter if he did or not. The point was, she could appreciate the act and what it meant for her, and that would be enough.

First, he needed to brush his teeth and get rid of that seriously bad morning breath he was sporting.

That was okay, though.

She probably had bed head.