A.N. This chapter was completed before I injured my arm so there's been no change on that front. Unless there's another chapter hiding on my harddrive that I've forgotten, I am on hiatus until I can transcribe my stories from longhand to electronic media. This is not the last chapter of A Bad Monday so please have patience with me. As usual I'm responsible for anything you hate about this chapter. My poor, long suffering, Beta tries to steer me in the paths of true-to-series characterizations and canonical story lines but doesn't always prevail.
Disclaimer: Everything pertaining to The OC and its characters belongs to other people.
A Bad Monday
9:15 pm
Ryan jabbed the disconnect button and stared at the handset for several seconds before relaxing his grip and carefully setting it on the countertop. Around him the Cohens' home was dark, empty and silent. That silence was a painful reminder of why the house was empty and he was alone.
I'll call Seth in the morning when Summer's in school.
The wind had come up and, through the open patio door, Ryan heard waves lapping against the sides of the pool. He stood slowly, picked up his bowl and glass and carried them to the sink. Without thinking about it, he rinsed the dishes and placed them in the empty dishwasher. Once he'd closed the door, he reversed the smiley face magnet, displaying the frowning face that indicated dirty dishes were inside.
Ryan heard the phone in the pool house ringing as he approached the patio door. As he turned off the kitchen lights, the phone on the counter began to ring.
Ryan switched the lights on and picked up the handset. "Cohen residence."
"Ryan?"
Just the sound of his name brought a smile to Ryan's face. "Seth! Hey."
"You didn't come to see me today."
Seth's flat, emotionless statement caught Ryan off guard and his smile faded. Indignation, teasing, feigned injury, or petulance: wouldn't have surprised Ryan. The uncharacteristic lack of emotion in Seth's voice, however, caused a knot to form in Ryan's stomach.
"Your mom told me to take a nap and I woke up five hours later . . . too late for visiting hours. Sorry, man. How are you?" Ryan settled himself onto a stool.
Seth ignored Ryan's question and continued without a hint of the humor or sarcasm that always bubbled out during a Seth Cohen-conversation. "You could have called."
Ryan hesitated before replying. "I was going to call. I was on my way back to the pool house when you called."
"You didn't call earlier?" Seth's voice turned sharp.
Fuck, Summer told him I called. I lied and he knows it! What did she tell him? Ryan improvised. "Yeah, I got Summer while you were out for your stroll. Like I said, I was about to try again."
"I thought you said . . . never mind. What did you guys talk about?" Suspicion was clear in Seth's voice.
"Nothing important. You, of course." Ryan chuckled hoping to relieve the tension and divert Seth from the topic of Ryan and Summer's conversation. "What else would we talk about?"
"She was crying when she got off the phone with you. That doesn't sound like nothing to me!" There was anger in Seth's voice now. "What did you talk about, Ryan?"
"You should ask Summer." Ryan hesitated to say anything without knowing what Summer had told him. Volunteering information could only get him in more trouble with Seth. It was better to let Seth do the talking.
"I did. She said you tried to grab her at school today . . . to hit her." Seth's voice was now full of anguish and pain. "You wouldn't do that. Tell me you didn't do that."
"Why did she say I did it?"
"You mean you hit her?" Seth asked in disbelief.
"No, Seth. Did you ask Summer what the argument was about?" Ryan tried to keep his voice calm, to stay cool. Arguing with Seth was pointless. He'd never won an argument with him. If he could calm Seth down, he might get a chance to explain.
"She said you got angry with her when she tried to talk to you about Marissa . . . that you tried to get her to stop. She thinks you tried to grab her because you didn't like hearing the truth about yourself. That's when she slapped you." Seth stopped abruptly. When Ryan didn't answer immediately and the silence grew uncomfortable, Seth blurted out, "Ryan, are you still there?"
Ryan hesitated and hated that Seth could hear the hesitation. He knew Seth wanted to hear him deny it, to deny everything. "I'm here, Seth." Ryan chose his words carefully. "Summer was upset. She wanted me to drop everything and run off to help Marissa. She got pissed when I refused. I never hit --"
Seth interrupted him. "Did you try to grab her? She said you tried to grab her."
"Summer was yelling at me and she wouldn't let me talk. She got angrier . . . more upset . . . meaner. The things she said weren't true. I just wanted her to stop . . . to let me explain. I reached out toward her and she freaked." Ryan ran out of words. As he waited for Seth to say something, he realized he hadn't actually denied Summer's version. He took a breath and, in a voice as flat and empty of emotion as Seth's had been earlier, said, "Seth, I didn't grab Summer or try to hit her. Nothing happened. You can either believe me or not."
The wind blew leaves against the windows and caused miniature whitecaps to form in the swimming pool. The smell of rain and an occasional rumble of thunder from the approaching storm came in through the open door. Ryan felt the temperature dropping in the kitchen as the storm neared, but made no effort to close the patio door. He sat on the stool shivering, waiting for Seth to say something.
"Is that it?" Seth's voice registered a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.
"Seth . . .," Ryan started. "Yeah, that's it."
"I need time but it's late. I sent Mom to the cafeteria for ice cream and she'll be back soon. I'm too tired to think about any of this tonight."
The chill that ran through Ryan had nothing to do with the wind tousling his hair. Ryan wondered what there was to think about. Seth, you either believe me or not. He would neither pressure Seth, nor force the issue. Instead he remained silent and waited to see if Seth would leave him with any hope.
"I love her, Ryan. Why would Summer lie to me about you? It doesn't make any sense."
Seth's voice had a plaintive note in it that tore at Ryan and made him wish everything had happened the way Summer said it had. If it had, he could apologize, Seth would forgive him and they could get on with their lives. Seth wouldn't have to decide whose version was true.
"I don't know what to believe. I'll talk to you later." With that, Seth hung up.
Ryan carried the handset across the kitchen and placed it in its base on the wall. He stood with his right hand still on the handset, his head resting on his hand. Lightning suddenly pierced the clouds, filling the house with bright, white light. The Cohen's bar was highlighted for a second in its alcove between the kitchen and the living room and then the rest of the house was plunged back into darkness.
Ryan walked out of the kitchen and to the bar. He located the switch for the bar lights and turned them on. Arranged for maximum effect, the lights produced a dazzling display as the crystal glassware, the chrome and mirrors, and the bottles with their multi-colored contents reflected back the light. He knelt and checked in the cabinet beneath the whiskey section for backups.
Ryan smiled as he selected a bottle of Seagram's Seven from the shelf and then pulled forward another bottle to fill the gap his selection had left. As he stood, he flipped off the bar lights. Carrying the bottle by its neck, he walked back through the kitchen on the way to the pool house. He carefully closed the patio door against the wind and the first large raindrops of the storm that were striking the paving stones of the patio.
The clouds released torrents of rain seconds after he entered the pool house. Ryan stood at the door watching the rain and wind churn the water in the pool into froth. He turned away from the door and climbed the steps to his small kitchen. Setting the bottle on the counter, he selected a glass from the cabinet over head. Ryan eyed it for a minute. Mom would have liked this for her cocktails. Even the stuff in the pool house is better than anything we had at home.
Ryan got the can of 7-Up out of the refrigerator and pulled out the ice tray from the freezer compartment. A quick, practiced twist of the cap and the whiskey bottle was open. He filled his glass with ice and poured several fingers of whiskey in followed by a splash of the soda. He stirred the drink with his index finger and then sucked the liquid off his finger. A smile flickered across Ryan's face that Seth would not have recognized. It was a thin smile, with no humor in it, and one that failed to reach his blue eyes. You wouldn't call me a wimp tonight AJ. I made this drink strong enough for you. He was going to do it Dawn's way. No pills that made him vulnerable and talkative, he'd use alcohol and a little, a very little, mix to deal with the day he'd had. He was going to drink himself to sleep and to hell with what tomorrow brought.
But first, always toast your enemies. That had been Dawn's motto. He remembered the first time he'd heard her say it. He was five and having his cereal with her and Trey at the kitchen table. She had a cigarette and her morning coffee and was explaining the way the world worked to Trey. "Your enemies are the only people you can trust." She had told him. "You can depend on them to never disappoint. You know what to expect from them. Enemies always meet or exceed your expectations." He remembered she'd laughed then and held up her cigarette. "See this? That's what friends are, a quick hot hit like a drag on a new smoke and then there's nothing but smoke and ash left." Five-year-old Ryan thought Mommy looked sad briefly before she laughed again and told Trey to get the hell to school.
Ryan lifted his glass to his enemies and to the rain that was cascading down the windows of the pool house in sheets. He took a healthy slug of his drink and had to fight to keep from choking. AJ would have laughed his ass off if he'd seen that. He could imagine AJ's voice. Newport's made you soft, Atwood - too trusting, too dependent on the opinion of others. He would need to pace himself tonight. There had been too much friendly, social drinking and no blot out the pain drinking since he'd come here. He knew he'd find his rhythm again. An Atwood could be counted on not to forget that.
Ryan sat propped up in bed with his drink watching the rain and the light show being put on by the storm. Between flashes of lightening, the only light in the pool house came from his bedside lamp. He sat in a small pool of light surrounded by darkness. He took another swallow of his drink and smiled as it went down smoothly. He was regaining his form. Ryan Atwood would be where he wanted soon enough.