Disclaimer: The O.C. belongs to Fox, I'm just using the characters for my amusement.

Author's Note: I realize I suck majorly for leaving you all hanging, especially after I got so many awesome reviews out of the last episode. Thank you so much for that, I had no idea anyone was even waiting for a new chapter. Real life has been great so angst is a little harder to come by these days, and well we all know how great the show has been to all us S/S fans. Although I did loved every moment of the cute S/S stuff, the thing that stick with me is the little peek we got into Summer's psyche when she whispered, "I just don't know why he likes me." More angst for Rachel, cause I'm sure she'd do a breathtaking job. Anyway, read on, I will try and get Ch 10 to you asap if the real world doesn't take me hostage. Oh and if this sucks, I'm honestly clueless about it since I can't function without a beta, and mine is trapped under a pile of schoolbooks somewhere. ^-^

Lost In Babylon

Ch 9

 And I'm feelin' the same way all over again
Feelin' the same way all over again
Singin' the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend

So many times I wondered where I've gone
And how I found my way back in
I look around a while for something lost
Maybe I'll find it in the end…

Feelin' the same way – Norah Jones

The minutes moved away from me like they were made out of lightning, and I hadn't found a chance to ask them anything as they huddled together and discussed some sort of game plan. I'm unnerved by what's just played out in front of me and can't seem to steady myself. My breathing sounds unnatural, too loud, too unsatisfying in my gasping. I feel like crying, yet simply continue sliding back and forth on my rickety chair while Dr. Van Dale expects me to divulge some hidden depth of my unavailing mind.

Uselessness creeps over my skin and settles deep inside of me, until I also feel that same blind rage towards myself. For not fighting against the confusion they were weaving around me, I wish I wouldn't let moments pass me by so easily. Like I wasn't even there…like I didn't take up any space in that room along with them…

I watch Van Dale look at me with so much worry in his eyes, yet I can't muster up any sympathy for him. I glance at my hands… but then again, a stubborn thought strikes me… Didn't I turn myself invisible for a reason? Didn't I want to hide in the first place? 

The old man mutters something inaudible to himself, and some part of me starts to doubt my presence there as well. I want to growl at him, or cry, or at least cause someone to bleed or something. Make my existence known, mark this place with something completely mine. Act like some insane person, since that's all I am anyway. Either way I feel like utter crap. For the first time since I can remember Seth disappointed me. Barely looking at me as he rushed off in a flurry, my stomach turns at the image I manage to resurrect.

He brushed me off on the old man, treating me like all the other invisible loonies in this place. Something you pretend you don't see, in hopes it will get the picture and leave anyway. My heart shakes with anger and I can't think of a way to push this away from me. It's clinging to my skin, and I remember that his eyes looked hollow this time, flickers of guilt dancing around his face as he tried to avoid my eyes. The heat I feel seems to be searing its way through my veins and I wish I could return to the joyful feelings I got from him. Screw him, the voices howl at me, and I nod my head vigorously while returning to my soothing stare-down with the Doc.

I can still feel the hum of my meds but I refuse to submit to it. Rebellion takes a hold of me, and I glare at the old man and his odd frizzy eyebrows. A flicker of recognition races through me but I don't have time to remember right now, I'm too pissed off. Dr. Van Dale isn't too bothered by my revolution, and continues to peer at his notes. He clears his throat suddenly, and his dusty blues zero in on me like heat-seeking missiles. It's unnerving, yet nothing seems to frighten me at the same time, it merely throws me off balance.

My inexplicable confidence returns though, making I feel more secure somehow, like anger is the only thing I can control… and it feels damn good. It's so rare, I'll take anything, for whatever reason. I feel like lashing out, no thought of solitary holes, no respect for the white-coats this time. They ruined my curly boy, they made him believe their lies. And it hurts to think that my reasons for smiling seem to dissolve so swiftly without him on my side.

"I'd like to continue with the subject we left off at last time." I smirk grimly, daring him to ask anything else. Especially now that I've just caught him poisoning Seth against me, and I feel ill at how easily deceived I was by his kindly Santa looks. I shrug at him, playing the village idiot as usual, and the thought stings me more than I had expected. Van Dale doesn't seem to care though, and merely continues his prodding.

"About your father..." He offers me in a slow kind tone, and doesn't seem to care if I'd rather politely decline to play along. This is our game, back and forth like this. He pokes me with a needle, and then it's my turn to bleed. Show him what I'm made of. It's painless for him so we repeat it so often that sometimes I ache inside my head. His bushy eyebrows wiggle, pushing me off the cliff he's put me on and I really loath the old man for it. I'm no longer docile, while rabid daring thoughts press demandingly against my lips to escape from me.

"What did you say to him?" I demand in utter fervour.

The old man looks at me like I've just said something horribly obscene, and I almost gasp because of the look on his face. How dare I mingle in the affairs of the sane, his eyes seem to scream at me, and I'm taken aback as well. I'm not one to cause trouble, at least not normally. I'm the one that stays around the edges, looking for a way out, something they might've all overlooked…a crack in the wall. And for the first time since being here, I think I might've just picked up a sledgehammer.

Dr. Van Dale shakes his head with ardour, "That doesn't concern you, darlin'."

I can almost feel the steam escaping from my ears when I hear him use that hollow term of endearment. I know what it holds inside of itself, in between the sweet meaning of the word lurk condescending demons that push you further and further away from the real issues. Further away from that sledgehammer when I've only just gotten my fingers curled around the handle. My head feels clearer with the rush of blood to my cheeks.

"It does concern me," I say a little too loudly, trying in vain to convince him I am certain of something for once. He doesn't seem to care much, since he starts scribbling away. Something tells me he's prescribing me more pills, more junk to fill up my head, when I'm already out of room. Can't they ever tell what's right in front of their faces, and they're supposed to be the sane ones. I scoff softly and cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Well my father doesn't concern you either." It doesn't come out as strong as I would've hoped but I know that after this there will come a time when I'll blossom into something this place can't handle. And I'll run away from it all. Somehow, the picture I found last time comes to mind, sea and sand and Seth… and it feels like salvation.

"When is the last time you saw your father Summer?" Maybe it's the way he says my name, inflection and all, but it makes the question sound sharper… colder within its myriad of nuances. "It's hard." I whisper, but the old man doesn't seem to hear me. Damn him, and his piercing eyes. I can't shake this cold feeling he has given me and it makes me shudder a little. "I love him but it's complicated, he…" I concede that much, wanting him to surrender before I give in to my nausea. But Dr. Van Dale continues his tempting silently, remaining persistent in his cruelty, zealous in his quest. "I did everything he said, but it wasn't enough." I shrug, and it's still not enough. "Seth didn't know what to do. I kept my secret, even from him. Even from Cohen…" I feel my eyes well up, my cryptic meanings escape even me, but I blink back the weakness in them. Cause I'm better than that, I know that much.

The air crackles with the birth of more questions, but I need to stop before I lose myself to the spinning in my head. My eyes go back to my hands, maybe hoping to find something up my sleeves as a last resort… Always my last resort, I think bitterly. And I pull up my sleeves, watch the skin sizzle a little at my glare. How peculiar, whenever I see the hurtful pink I feel just a little saner than before. Yet it aches to look at them. "This should've been fucking enough." I hiss at the old man, and thrust my wrists out to show him what I did out of loyalty. Out of despair.

Van Dale doesn't look at me though, not even a glance over his glasses. He simply presses the nuisance button on his intercom and I'm taken away again. Too brazen for his tastes, I think silently when I'm led back to the common room. Too truthful, too rude…I can't pinpoint myself all of a sudden. And my pinkish sanity is vanishing again. No one wants to see the rebel in me, I mutter under my breath when we veer off from the ugly noises filling the general area. My heart thumps its way up to my throat, and I can almost smell the rancour of the solitary hole. I can't imagine Van Dale would ever do this to me, he's above corporeal punishment, right? Right?!

"Please, get your hands off of her!" I look up, relieved to have the harsh grip on my arm immediately released. I self consciously roll my sleeves back down, no need for sanity right now… I've got Cohen for that now. And I smile for my curly boy. He seems so uneasy though, and doesn't give me his beaming lopsided grin. He waits until the whitecoat goon has left us, and guides me to a table. No one else seems to be there, and I'm fearful cause change hasn't ever done me any favors. I see tiny beads of sweat glistening at his brow, all of a sudden I'm hot too and anxious for the show.

He reached out one hand to take mine, and kisses it gently, while his other hand starts digging around the collar of his shirt. I must've looked puzzled, cause Seth finally smiles for me.

"Do you recognize this?" My gaze lands on a long silver chain that he's wearing around his neck.

I shrug, "Did I give it to you?" I'm rewarded with his famous half smile, and instantly feel so much softer inside. "No, Summer." And he guides my hand with his, and my fingers curl around a gorgeous golden band that's dangling from the chain. My throat constricts at the sight of it. I don't want to know, the people in my head seem to silently shriek along with me. Quickly, like I've been burnt, I close my eyes and drop the hand he's holding.

"You have a wife?" Someone asks using my voice, and I wish they wouldn't, not daring to open my eyes to see his expression. He takes my hand and kisses it again, humming my name in that way that only he can. "Yes." Suddenly I remember how I felt in the Doc's room, how hurt I was. I understand the guilt he had in his eyes, the turmoil. He knew he'd crush me like this. I want to call out for Fat Bertha, desperately needing some static in my brain just this once.

"Summer," I face him, tears ready to trickle down and drown me like familiar nightmares. "You're my wife." I don't respond, I don't do anything so he shows me his hand. I see an identical ring gleaming back at me, and I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.

Seth pulls the chain off, and hesitantly places the ring in the palm of my hand. It burns almost as much as my scars, yet I can't drop it. The queen of contradictions, the voices whisper sadly. I feel like I've done that before, let things shatter for myself. "I want to take you home Summer. I want to go back to us."

I don't believe I've ever felt this sane, and for a split second I want to check to see what color coat I'm wearing. Maybe I switched sides, swapped luck. Or maybe it's just Seth. I nod at him, loving how his dimple winks at me for good measure.

"You have to show me where to go. Okay?"