Author's note: Warning- Dark chapter. The first two segments in this chapter explain portions of the previous chapter.
XXX
"I hate what this is doing to you."
Silence.
"I hate what you're doing to yourself."
More silence.
"Dammit, Marissa, I'm your best friend. Remember? Hello? Since we wore matching Hello Kitty headbands and Cinderella slippers! Come on, why won't you listen to me? You've got to stop. Stop or else." Summer was yelling adamantly. Though she still cared about who heard, she knew no one would. It was four in the morning; no sane people were awake at this time. Yet, she and Marissa stood in the vast bathroom of their New York suite.
"Or else what?" Marissa laughs. It doesn't sound like the joyful healthy laughter that used to escape her. Now, her laugh has turned into an empty echo. It sounds thin and hollow, just the way she feels. Fuck, maybe I should have locked the door. That was the only coherent thought sliding its way through Marissa's brain. The rest of the matter inside her skull was diluted, delusional and slurred. Her tiny stomach flipped. Silently she listed down what she had consumed today. An apple, two Martinis, peanuts, a Long Island iced tea, four tequila shots and- there was more. She just couldn't remember it. Green fairies hovered above her eyes and all she could think of was the wasted white powder that Summer had just thrown into the toilet.
"You don't want to know." Summer's eyes shrink into tiny slants as she throws a towel at Marissa. Filled with a Hell sent rage, she storms out of the bathroom, out of the suite and out of the hotel into the heat of the New York dawn. She wants to shake this whole night out of her head. Out of her memory permanently. She didn't just walk in on her best friend inhaling cocaine. She didn't just slap Marissa. She didn't. But she did.
XXX
Theresa was awakened by a banging on the front door. Shaking off all remaining memories of her dream, she rolls off the bed and covers herself demurely in a dark green robe. The violent banging on the door never stopped. Vision still covered in slumber, she saw the blurry outline of a man as she peered into the peephole. She didn't notice the rage in his eyes or the strength with which his fist slammed against the hard wood of the door. She didn't know why she answered the door.
Fingers twisting to undo each lock, her arms shook as the pounding of the door vibrated unto her muscles. Opening the door wide, she stood in the presence of a man she didn't recognize. He towered over her, a whole head taller than her. And before she could open her mouth to ask who he was, his Frisbee sized palm attached itself to her neck.
"Where's Eva?! Where??" The gruff tone of the man proved to Theresa that he wasn't acting. Or kidding. He was serious. He was frightening. Looking into his eyes, she noticed that they were not only full of rage, they were full of drugs. His pupils were dilated, proving to her that he wasn't acting out of his will. This didn't provide any solace as she continued to gasp for air.
When he finally released his iron grip on her throat, she hunched over and swallowed the air in huge mouthfuls. Realizing that she still hadn't answered him to where Eva was, the man lifted a Size 22 boot and kicked Theresa in the midsection. Pain. Bright shooting sparks of it emanated from her stomach. The world was tipping over, the ground approached her face, her back kissed the ground. Eyes flickered open and shut in pain. Flashes of an angry face. An angry fist. Her cheek met the ground and his fist met her jaw. Snap. There was surprisingly no pain after that first punch. Her skin had numbed itself, her muscles naturally curled her body into a ball. Trying to protect as much as possible. Finally, the attack stopped. She heard a deep growl resembling the word "Fuck". Then there were footsteps.
"Tell Eva Damon came. And if she doesn't pay soon, she's going to look like you." He whispered the words into her face, hot, alcohol scented breath across her cheek. One final brutal kick to her leg, in the tender hollow behind her knee, before he took off. She listened to the sound of the large man running. It wasn't footsteps or pitter-patter like rain against tin. It was heavy lingering thuds punishing the ground. Punishing the ground over and over again, just as he had punished her body.
Finally, when she was sure that he had gone, she maneuvered herself back to her room. Slowly, inch by inch she covered the ground. There was far too intense a pain in her knee to even attempt to stand. Crawling, relying on her little arm strength, she reached her room and groped at the table for a phone. Nine. One. One. Some asshole just beat me up. Help.
Releasing the strain in her neck, she let her head crash against the ground.
Minutes pass. Tick tick tick. The second hand continues to move on the clock of the wall. She inches her way closer to it, to measure how much longer she will have to wait for the paramedics. Her arm brushes against something other than the floor. Paper. It has Kirsten Cohen's number on it.
XXX
"Cohen residence. This is Seth, what can I do you for?" Seth answered the phone happily. His mood reflected the irritatingly bright sunshine that came pouring through the pool house doors. Lying on Ryan's bed, he had been reading his favorite copy of The Punisher. Ryan, who was lying fast asleep on the floor, was completely oblivious to the phone ringing, the sunshine or the fact that Seth was on his bed. They had been talking after breakfast, discussing the odd call Kirsten had received, but Ryan after countless yawns, finally fell asleep on the floor. It had Seth confused, but he soon realized that Ryan probably didn't sleep at night.
"Uh, is Ryan, Ryan Atwood, there?" It was a male voice, sounding more sad than dangerous. Seth kicked Ryan gently. The blonde boy stirred and his eyes fluttered but they closed again.
"Sorry, man. He's asleep. Can he call you back?"
"Can you wake him up? It's an emergency." The man's voice became more urgent, pleading even. Seth, confused but knowledgeable about Ryan's previous life without the Cohens, decided that this could be of much importance to Ryan.
"Hold up." Seth said as he rested the phone on the bed. Leaning down, he shook Ryan's shoulder. Urging him into wakefulness, Seth handed Ryan the phone and sat back to listen to at least half the conversation. Unfortunately, Ryan didn't say much. But his eyes said everything. Shock first appeared, followed by disbelief, anger skated through, sat down and never left.
Once done with the conversation, Ryan hurled the phone against the wall. His ears were blocked, oblivious of Seth's outburst. Like a mad dog, he began to walk back and forth through the pool house. Short purposeful strides, stomping the ground with every step, anger dripped from his every movement.
His breath was loud, ragged and shallow. If Seth stared any harder, he would have seen steam flowing from Ryan's nostrils like an enraged dragon. Ryan's arms went rigid, his hands balled themselves into fists, his teeth dug into his lower lip. Seth stayed quiet, watching and waiting for his brother to explode. He knew it would happen.
XXX
"Sandy, I have to go."
"No you don't, Kirsten. She's not your responsibility."
"Just like Ryan wasn't yours?"
"I was his lawyer."
"I was her friend."
"You barely knew the kid."
"I'm going, Sandy. That's final."
Door slam.
XXX
"I hate what this is doing to you."
Silence.
"I hate what you're doing to yourself."
More silence.
"Dammit, Marissa, I'm your best friend. Remember? Hello? Since we wore matching Hello Kitty headbands and Cinderella slippers! Come on, why won't you listen to me? You've got to stop. Stop or else." Summer was yelling adamantly. Though she still cared about who heard, she knew no one would. It was four in the morning; no sane people were awake at this time. Yet, she and Marissa stood in the vast bathroom of their New York suite.
"Or else what?" Marissa laughs. It doesn't sound like the joyful healthy laughter that used to escape her. Now, her laugh has turned into an empty echo. It sounds thin and hollow, just the way she feels. Fuck, maybe I should have locked the door. That was the only coherent thought sliding its way through Marissa's brain. The rest of the matter inside her skull was diluted, delusional and slurred. Her tiny stomach flipped. Silently she listed down what she had consumed today. An apple, two Martinis, peanuts, a Long Island iced tea, four tequila shots and- there was more. She just couldn't remember it. Green fairies hovered above her eyes and all she could think of was the wasted white powder that Summer had just thrown into the toilet.
"You don't want to know." Summer's eyes shrink into tiny slants as she throws a towel at Marissa. Filled with a Hell sent rage, she storms out of the bathroom, out of the suite and out of the hotel into the heat of the New York dawn. She wants to shake this whole night out of her head. Out of her memory permanently. She didn't just walk in on her best friend inhaling cocaine. She didn't just slap Marissa. She didn't. But she did.
XXX
Theresa was awakened by a banging on the front door. Shaking off all remaining memories of her dream, she rolls off the bed and covers herself demurely in a dark green robe. The violent banging on the door never stopped. Vision still covered in slumber, she saw the blurry outline of a man as she peered into the peephole. She didn't notice the rage in his eyes or the strength with which his fist slammed against the hard wood of the door. She didn't know why she answered the door.
Fingers twisting to undo each lock, her arms shook as the pounding of the door vibrated unto her muscles. Opening the door wide, she stood in the presence of a man she didn't recognize. He towered over her, a whole head taller than her. And before she could open her mouth to ask who he was, his Frisbee sized palm attached itself to her neck.
"Where's Eva?! Where??" The gruff tone of the man proved to Theresa that he wasn't acting. Or kidding. He was serious. He was frightening. Looking into his eyes, she noticed that they were not only full of rage, they were full of drugs. His pupils were dilated, proving to her that he wasn't acting out of his will. This didn't provide any solace as she continued to gasp for air.
When he finally released his iron grip on her throat, she hunched over and swallowed the air in huge mouthfuls. Realizing that she still hadn't answered him to where Eva was, the man lifted a Size 22 boot and kicked Theresa in the midsection. Pain. Bright shooting sparks of it emanated from her stomach. The world was tipping over, the ground approached her face, her back kissed the ground. Eyes flickered open and shut in pain. Flashes of an angry face. An angry fist. Her cheek met the ground and his fist met her jaw. Snap. There was surprisingly no pain after that first punch. Her skin had numbed itself, her muscles naturally curled her body into a ball. Trying to protect as much as possible. Finally, the attack stopped. She heard a deep growl resembling the word "Fuck". Then there were footsteps.
"Tell Eva Damon came. And if she doesn't pay soon, she's going to look like you." He whispered the words into her face, hot, alcohol scented breath across her cheek. One final brutal kick to her leg, in the tender hollow behind her knee, before he took off. She listened to the sound of the large man running. It wasn't footsteps or pitter-patter like rain against tin. It was heavy lingering thuds punishing the ground. Punishing the ground over and over again, just as he had punished her body.
Finally, when she was sure that he had gone, she maneuvered herself back to her room. Slowly, inch by inch she covered the ground. There was far too intense a pain in her knee to even attempt to stand. Crawling, relying on her little arm strength, she reached her room and groped at the table for a phone. Nine. One. One. Some asshole just beat me up. Help.
Releasing the strain in her neck, she let her head crash against the ground.
Minutes pass. Tick tick tick. The second hand continues to move on the clock of the wall. She inches her way closer to it, to measure how much longer she will have to wait for the paramedics. Her arm brushes against something other than the floor. Paper. It has Kirsten Cohen's number on it.
XXX
"Cohen residence. This is Seth, what can I do you for?" Seth answered the phone happily. His mood reflected the irritatingly bright sunshine that came pouring through the pool house doors. Lying on Ryan's bed, he had been reading his favorite copy of The Punisher. Ryan, who was lying fast asleep on the floor, was completely oblivious to the phone ringing, the sunshine or the fact that Seth was on his bed. They had been talking after breakfast, discussing the odd call Kirsten had received, but Ryan after countless yawns, finally fell asleep on the floor. It had Seth confused, but he soon realized that Ryan probably didn't sleep at night.
"Uh, is Ryan, Ryan Atwood, there?" It was a male voice, sounding more sad than dangerous. Seth kicked Ryan gently. The blonde boy stirred and his eyes fluttered but they closed again.
"Sorry, man. He's asleep. Can he call you back?"
"Can you wake him up? It's an emergency." The man's voice became more urgent, pleading even. Seth, confused but knowledgeable about Ryan's previous life without the Cohens, decided that this could be of much importance to Ryan.
"Hold up." Seth said as he rested the phone on the bed. Leaning down, he shook Ryan's shoulder. Urging him into wakefulness, Seth handed Ryan the phone and sat back to listen to at least half the conversation. Unfortunately, Ryan didn't say much. But his eyes said everything. Shock first appeared, followed by disbelief, anger skated through, sat down and never left.
Once done with the conversation, Ryan hurled the phone against the wall. His ears were blocked, oblivious of Seth's outburst. Like a mad dog, he began to walk back and forth through the pool house. Short purposeful strides, stomping the ground with every step, anger dripped from his every movement.
His breath was loud, ragged and shallow. If Seth stared any harder, he would have seen steam flowing from Ryan's nostrils like an enraged dragon. Ryan's arms went rigid, his hands balled themselves into fists, his teeth dug into his lower lip. Seth stayed quiet, watching and waiting for his brother to explode. He knew it would happen.
XXX
"Sandy, I have to go."
"No you don't, Kirsten. She's not your responsibility."
"Just like Ryan wasn't yours?"
"I was his lawyer."
"I was her friend."
"You barely knew the kid."
"I'm going, Sandy. That's final."
Door slam.