Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?
This is the last chapter for a month, unless you guys review. Then, maybe I'll be nice and type up Chapter 5 really quickly tonight...
"How're you feeling?" Ryan brushes a lock of Theresa's matted brown hair away from her pasty white face ands sees his watery blue shadow reflected in her dilated pupils.
Theresa manages a wan smile. She shrugs. "Okay…"
Struggling for the right words Ryan kisses her forehead, dried with the sweat of hard labor. He's buying time. For unless he can keep Theresa occupied, he's going to have to ask.
"Ryan?" Theresa nuzzles into Ryan's neck, grimy even after a hundred showers and fierce scrubbings. She withdraws her full lips, slightly faded from exertion but still scarlet, plump. "I—"
"Is the baby dead?" Ryan asks, a listless, vacant look clouding his blue eyes into a dull shade of gray.
Theresa takes a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing. She's close to tears, she can't tell Ryan what he wants to hear. She wishes she could qualm his fears. A tiny tear slips down her face and Ryan mechanically brushes it away, his coarse fingers chafing her cheek.
"The baby's dead, isn't it?" Ryan's voiced is raised and Theresa crumbles beneath it. It's not her fault…she didn't mean for it to end this way. "Damn it, Theresa!" He slaps his forehead in frustration, letting shades of pink tinge with the intent of irritation.
He sees Theresa's eyes welling up with unshed tears for her baby, for him, and he mentally re-slaps himself for allowing a show of emotion. Ryan needs to keep himself together, strong; Theresa needs him for support right now. He's not a rock though, he's not a shield, and although Ryan won't admit it he needs his own support system.
He's just a kid, not a lifesaver but he's not going to surrender until he's crushed on his knees. Because Ryan is strong, or so he tells himself. The outside world might wonder how he does it all but they don't know of the strain on his shoulders with the weight of the world.
They won't know, because Ryan himself won't know, he won't allow it.
"God, Theresa…" Ryan sits on the foot of her bed, careful not to crush her toes beneath the sheets. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to make you cry." Theresa clears the tears and the clouds in her eyes fade away. She nods and sniffles.
"I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispers. In the hospital bed she looks small and vulnerable; exactly what she is, thinks Ryan. He knows she is sorry and he is too.
Ryan must stay strong, must…stay…strong. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, what Ryan really needs right now is a mother's lap to crawl into and cry. He hasn't done that since he was about six, and his mother turned to the bottle, letting nothing—and no one—get in her way.
Theresa's eyelids are closing sleepily, as if pulled down by some unseen magnetic force. She has them open just a crack, and lazily smiles at Ryan. Whatever drugs they gave her post-operation seem to be working.
"You get some sleep, okay?" Theresa nods and presses her lips to Ryan's cheek when he bends over to hug her.
He walks over to the door and Theresa's already snoring softly. "I'm sorry too," he whispers, too late for her to hear.
Ryan walks back into the waiting room and the Cohens are gone. A man who was in there before smiles at Ryan. Ryan feels sick. The Cohens are gone. He wanted them to leave, God knows he wanted to be strong and take care of himself, but he needed them to stay. And they've gone.
This isn't like them and Ryan reminds himself that they aren't his to keep anymore. They don't have to stay for him, especially not when he practically fed them the lie that he didn't want them here. He doesn't have them. Like a dropped oar floating downstream, they are just out of his reach.
"Excuse me, sir, but your parents went down to the cafeteria," the man says helpfully, noticing the bewildered and befuddled expression on Ryan's face.
Ryan can't help it; his entire face lights up and if he weren't a man and weren't intensely into women, he thinks he'd kiss this guy. Of course he won't, it's just a thought that is quickly shoved in the back of his mind, before he embarrasses himself.
Ryan blushes inwardly at this man's wrongful interpretation of the Cohens. They're not his parents, but he wishes they were. It's good to know he can pass for their son, even if he's not their son. Ryan knows people sometimes mistake him for Seth, especially if they've only heard about Kirsten's son, because quite honestly? Ryan looks more like Kirsten's son than Seth, and Seth is actually Kirsten's son.
But he's got to keep himself grounded. He isn't Kirsten's son. He isn't a Cohen. He isn't one of the family. He just isn't.
"Thank you." Ryan's grateful. He's really, really grateful. He might even stop and have a chat with this man, if he didn't remember Kirsten saying she'd been meaning to tell him something. So instead, he offers a rare smile—although the man doesn't know Ryan's smiles are hard to come across—and practically runs out of the waiting room to the elevators.
In the elevator, Ryan is squeezed into the left corner. A short woman in a mink stole is painfully pressing up against Ryan's chest, and the heels of her shoes—a heightening effort—are cutting off the circulation in Ryan's feet. He doesn't say a word; it's so stifling that Ryan needs to use the precious air for breathing.
Finally they stop at the floor before the basement, and two-thirds of the people step off the elevator. The woman with the mink steps forward, and Ryan can't help but breathe a loud, relieving sigh. She turns to glare pointedly at him, and Ryan just averts his eyes to the ceiling.
Ryan walks into the cafeteria, eyes scanning the room for the Cohens. They're not his parents; they merely gave him a place to stay and a feeling of home for a few months. He wishes they were his parents. Seth is lucky to have such great people as his parents, Ryan thinks.
The Cohens may not be his parents, but Kirsten is his mother, although at this point Ryan doesn't know anything about this.
He spots Sandy and Kirsten and begins to make his way through the cafeteria, which is surprisingly crowded given the quality of the food and the time of day.
Kirsten freezes up when she sees Ryan walking towards her and Sandy. She can't tell him right now, she can't talk to him right now. What she really needs is…a cigarette.
She hasn't smoked in years. Starting was just another way to rebel against her father. Quitting was the easiest thing she ever did. But right now she needs a cigarette badly, very badly. That, and going outside will help her avoid Ryan.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Kirsten announces, and hurriedly walks out of the cafeteria. She finds her way to the lobby and walks out the door. Not to her surprise, there are a few others outside, smoking.
All that bullshit about how smoking is bad for you? Kirsten's not buying it, because no matter what anyone says, it's a hell of a stress-reducer.
She goes up to a friendly looking overweight woman in jeans and a loud pink sweater and asks if she can have a cigarette. The woman smiles and hands Kirsten a Newport—and Kirsten laughs. The woman flicks open her lighter and soon Kirsten is smoking that cigarette like her life depends on it.
"You look like you needed that," the woman laughs, and for a while they make small talk. When the cigarette has been smoked thoroughly, Kirsten asks for another. The woman is more than happy to oblige, more than happy to have someone to talk to while she waits.
"My kid's in there. Knee surgery," the woman explains. "I'm Marge, by the way."
"Kirsten."
"So, who're you here for?"
"My son, too," Kirsten says, and then realizes what she just said. And then she realizes that it's okay, because Ryan is her son. Her son. "Well, actually, his ex-girlfriend is pregnant and is having complications." She checks her watch. "I should probably go check on her soon. She got out of surgery a little while ago but only wanted to see my son."
Marge nods sympathetically. "How old is he?" she asks.
"Seventeen."
"Mine too. Star football player, dontcha know. Not anymore, though…unless the operation is successful and even then it'll take at least six months of physical therapy…"
Kirsten is engrossed in conversation and does not see Ryan hovering behind her. He saw her leave the cafeteria and decided, against his better judgment, to follow her. Now he knows that she's a smoker…although he seriously doubts she's lit up in years.
Once she's finished the second cigarette, Kirsten is feeling much calmer and excuses herself from Marge's company. She walks a few feet and flips open her cell phone.
She calls Seth and leaves another message. "Baby, I've got some exciting news." Ryan wonders what the exciting news is. He wonders if Kirsten will tell him too, or if he is no longer included in the family's business, now that he isn't living there anymore. Furthermore, he wonders if he was ever included in their personal matters. He thinks he was, would like to believe he was. Ryan wonders if this supposed exciting news is what Kirsten wanted to tell him earlier.
He doesn't betray his presence just yet. Information is a powerful tool. And there's something about Kirsten's voice that reminds him of…home. Of course, Ryan realizes that his home was a broken one. Always had been and always would be, had the Cohens not taken him in.
Ryan can't pinpoint it exactly, but there's something about Kirsten he misses, even though she's about four feet away from him. He's felt like this for a long time, even when they were talking or hugging, he felt like she wasn't there, like she was gone.
Maybe he'll approach her later…as Ryan turns around to leave, he hears Kirsten talking again. She must have called someone else to tell them the news.
"Jimmy? I've got something to tell you. Please don't get mad. Before you got Julie pregnant, I was pregnant. And I put the baby up for adoption. No questions right now, Jimmy, just let me finish, okay? And now, I've just met him again."
Ryan's eyes are wide open. Does Sandy know about this? Does Seth? Have they kept the fact that Kirsten has a second, or rather, firstborn son, have they kept it a secret?
"Jimmy…Ryan is our son! No…Jimmy, he doesn't know. I haven't told him yet. No, don't! Look, we'll talk later…I've got to go." Slightly flustered and surprised at her sudden burst of confidence, Kirsten turns around at the sound of a gasp.
She sees Ryan with a pained look in those brilliant eyes.