Here it is. Chapter 7. Romie, I can't date until I'm 35? Wow, you're worse than my dad. And that's surprising.
Ok, so after reading the Fan-fiction discussion thread on TWoP, I know that some of you might use this fic to point out glaring mistakes, but I feel I must defend myself that I wrote it like this for an actual reason. I'm not just forgetting to put "ands" and things. It's supposed to be abrupt. What's that? No one cares? Oh well, I just felt the need to defend myself. I'll go to my corner now.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
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Seth was led into his cell by a fat guard with short, black hair and brown eyes.
The bars slid closed with a loud pang, and Seth started, jumped forward a step.
After his heart settled down, he took a few slow steps towards the bunk beds, paying careful attention to the soft thudding sound his Safe-T shoes made when he stepped on the ground.
He climbed up the steps, faltered, and fell flat on his back onto the cold floor. A sharp jab of pain came from the battered area.
"Ouch."
He figured his loud declaration went unheard and started up the rickety metal ladder once more.
"Get on the bottom bed, fuckhead."
Seth ignored the fact that the big, muscular man just rhymed as the man, no, boy, thought Seth, looked at him for a few seconds before shoving him hard to the ground.
Seth's breathing started coming in shorter intervals, and he felt his heart beat quickly in his chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oh no. This was not good. He was definitely getting nervous.
When Seth got nervous, he talked. And when he talked, he said silly, stupid things.
As Ryan could, and would testify, after properly identifying Seth's body.
"I just think it would be better for you to sleep on the bottom bunk. Because, you know, there's less chance of the top bunk crashing down. I don't know about you, but I have the biggest fear of confined spaces, and I think that two beds pressed together, and me in the middle, you know? A Seth Cohen sandwich? Wouldn't be that much fun."
An angry glare from the tight-jawed boy as Seth wondered why he was the way he was.
Ryan would have nodded and gone to bed on the damn bottom bunk. Why couldn't his father have forgotten to teach him how to talk? Would that have been so hard?
Thump. Thump thump. Thump.
"Not that I'm suggesting in any way that you're overweight or fat or anything like that. I mean, you're a nice looking-- my name's Seth."
Seth gave a small, nervous wave as the boy glared, completely motionless.
"Wh-- what's your name?"
Silence. Seth nodded a few times and looked up.
"You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything. I'm going to go to sleep. Sleep is very important."
The boy grunted from above, and Seth took it as a sign to get to bed.
But see, he couldn't really sleep, and he thought that maybe deep down, this guy was cool and he'd end up being his friend and he'd protect him from big, hulking bullies like Ryan always did.
"So... how long have you been here?"
Seth was confronted with more silence. He pulled the thin covers over his chin, and they rested lightly on the bridge of his nose.
"What are you --uh-- in for?"
More silence.
Great. A juvenile hall filled with Ryan Atwoods, minus his redeeming qualities.
Seth thought he would attempt conversation one last time.
"So what is your name?"
This time, there was squeaking from the mattress above Seth, before a skewed version of the boy's head appeared over the top bed.
"Listen, fag. I don't talk to shit like you. So this is the last time I answer any of your questions. My name is Philip. Now shut the fuck up before I find you something fun to do."
For a second, Seth thought about telling Philip that it wasn't the last time he answered one of his questions, but the first time, but the thought of what the bulky, angry boy could do shut him up.
Seth opened his eyes wide at the realization.
His first night in juvie and he had already been made someone's bitch. Unofficially, of course.
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Seth looked at the food that was on the plate in front of him.
It didn't look that bad, but it didn't look so great either.
He tasted it.
It definitely wasn't all that terrible. It certainly wasn't mushroom leek crescent, nor crab and brie phyllo, but it wasn't bad.
He guessed what was giving it the bad aftertaste was the thought that he was definitely going to die here.
He thought that at first he might have been acting melodramatic, but now he knew that it was probably true.
See, the thing was, the fact that he couldn't sleep at all on the stupid, hard bed added to the fact that his nightmares kept him up most of the night reminded him of how hungry he was.
The whole night, he must have gotten about 30 minutes of sleep.
He'd fall asleep for two minutes, have one of his godforsaken dreams, wake up gasping and clutching his blanket, and be told to shut up by his new friend.
Seth thought that Philip didn't sleep, that maybe he kept one eye open the whole night.
But that didn't matter right now.
The sudden memory of what had happened only moments before struck Seth like a quick punch to the stomach.
Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
Yeah, he was definitely going to die here.
His name was Marcus Finley.
Seventeen and in juvie for killing his father and an old friend of the family. His dad and the old friend had been drunk and his dad started beating on Marcus's mom while the friend laughed.
Two bullets, an ambulance, and a police car later, Marcus was here.
He would be there for about a year longer before being sent to a real jail. He was built like a boxer, had lived a hard life, didn't like 'disrespectful' people.
Of course, Seth hadn't known any of that information when he budged in front of the boy, no, man, in the lineup for food.
"What the fuck?"
That was when Seth made the big mistake of opening his big, fat mouth.
"Sorry dude, but I haven't eaten in like, a day and a half and I'm starving."
He vaguely remembered rubbing his hand over his belly to illustrate his point.
Didn't really notice the way Marcus's jaw tightened and his hands turned to fists.
Well, he sort of noticed, but he was too busy getting food on his plate to care. It was only when he heard the whispers going around that he was a dead man a few minutes later that he actually realized what he had done.
Which brought him back to the situation at hand.
He was sitting, eating the food with the bad aftertaste, listening to people say he was going to die, going to get his ass kicked.
Now he was more than a little scared.
But Marcus wasn't in Seth's cell, so it didn't matter, anyway.
Seth could be so naive sometimes.
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"We have to run?"
This was not what he expected.
He thought juvie was all brooding and silence in your cell. He didn't know it involved running, although he guessed that was why everyone was so bulky compared to his lean, bony frame.
Everyone else looked like animals. Like they were just waiting for the opportunity for fresh air, for physical activity they longed for.
They were running on the spot as it was.
"Shut up."
And then they ran around in circles.
Seth felt like a dog. He hated this place and everything about it, and he couldn't help but wonder how Ryan had ever been able to deal with it.
By the time it was over, he felt like he was going to pass out.
He was tired. He was hungry. He was hurt.
His neck was a pain in the, well, neck. His face ached where Eddie had punched him.
He was scared to look around in case he spotted Marcus, who wanted his head on a platter, apparently.
As they came in to go back to their cells, Seth spotted Philip, almost waved, decided against it.
No, something told him that Philip wouldn't like Seth associated with him.
Seth couldn't hear what was being said, but he could have sworn he heard his name. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe they'd accept him into their group and he'd be protected, because they looked pretty muscular.
Philip glared at Seth and nodded to one of the people he was talking to.
Or maybe not.
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Seth couldn't sleep that night either.
At all.
Someone in the cell next to him whispered that it was ten already.
Philip was tossing and turning on the bed above Seth, but that wasn't what was keeping him awake.
It was the thought that maybe he wouldn't be able to see Ryan ever again.
Maybe there had been some complication, maybe he was dead, maybe Seth would have to stay in juvie forever.
He tried to calm himself down.
Seth watched Philip slowly climb down the ladder and reached for something under the mattress, put it in his jumpsuit.
"What's up?"
Seth whispered, looking up at the boy.
Philip stood next to the bed where Seth lay.
"Philip, buddy, can I help you?"
Seth was becoming very aware of the looming figure hovering around him.
Philip gripped Seth's wrists together and pulled him off the bed.
"Hey!"
The next second passed by surprisingly slowly. Philip pushed Seth against the wall, held his wrists tightly with one hand, covered his mouth with the other.
"You know a Marcus Finley?"
Seth gasped as Philip pressed himself against him. The weight against his chest and stomach was without question the most uncomfortable thing he had ever felt.
Seth shook his head.
"Marcus Finley. You budged in front of him today. You disrespected him..."
At the word 'disrespected', Philip put even more pressure on Seth's chest, and Seth was glad that Philip was covering his mouth or he would have heard him whimper.
Seth heard footsteps. Philip ignored them.
"You're supposed to pay a price for that, Seth."
His name, said with hatred and contempt that Seth didn't know could exist in a boy that was no doubt his age.
Seth closed his eyes and tried hard to shrink into the wall.
Philip took his hand off of Seth's mouth.
"Don't try and scream for help. It'll only make it worse."
Seth gulped. He hated that word. 'Gulped'. It sounded like something Bugs Bunny would do if he got caught by the hunter.
Seth shuddered.
He looked at his wrists, sore and clasped together by Philip's beefy hand.
"Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
Without warning, Philip backhanded Seth across the face.
Seth had no idea how Philip did that so quietly, but it shut him up quickly enough.
Philip held Seth's neck against the wall. Seth tried to dislodge the lump in his throat so he could say something.
"I don't want to do this. I hate doing this. But I have to."
Seth thought he felt like crying. Aside from yesterday when he saw Ryan get his ass kicked and stabbed a man in god knows where, this might just be the worst moment of his life.
He was shaking uncontrollably by the time Philip looked around and pulled the plastic knife out of his jumpsuit.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
This was "I-just-called-Magneto-a-dick" bad. No, this was worse.
He could run from Magneto. Sort of. He couldn't run when he was pinned to the corner of a ten by ten cell.
Philip's tight grip on his neck was beginning to make him feel dizzy, and the throb that came from the wound there reminded him of his heart beat.
No, his heart was beating much faster than that.
Philip unbuttoned some of Seth's jumpsuit. He pulled the white shirt down a little.
Seth let out a choked sob.
For some reason, Philip's hold loosened.
"Please. Please don't. Please."
Seth hated that he was begging. He hated that there was another knife in the first place.
Knives weren't really his forte.
Anyways, nothing that started with a knife ended well. Ever. In his experience, anyways.
"I have a boat I can give you. I have, I have money. Please..."
Philip didn't seem to care about boats and money. Seth wondered why.
"No thanks."
He muttered the words quietly, glancing around outside the cell to check that they weren't being watched.
"Why not?"
Seth's voice had gone up a level in pitch. He was starting to sound like Marissa.
For some reason, that didn't matter to him right now.
"I owe someone a favor, and in here, favors are worth more than money."
Seth was cold.
He didn't know why, but he was cold.
He'd never wanted his mother more. When-- if he got home, he would hug her for so long that she'd wonder who he was.
"Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me."
Seth was repeating the words with his eyes closed so tight that he was seeing thin white lines, praying to every single god he had ever heard of to take mercy on him.
He was going to get stabbed. He knew it.
He deserved it too.
Karma was a real bitch.
"I'm not gonna kill you, I'm just gonna cut you."
Seth groaned. That was so much better.
Philip's hand moved from Seth's neck to his shirt again, and he fumbled with the knife in one hand and switched it to the other.
Seth didn't see the knife as it swiped his skin and ripped it back.
His eyes were closed too tightly for him to see anything.
A hand was over his mouth the next second to cover up his muffled scream.
Philip abruptly moved back. Seth dropped to his knees and put his hand on his chest.
When he looked at it, he saw blood creeping through the cracks between his fingers.
"I let you off easy."
Seth glanced up to see Philip looking around, getting a napkin from his jumpsuit, handing it to Seth.
Seth's attention was immediately drawn to his hand, shock twisting in his stomach at the blood.
"Oh god."
Now he felt like throwing up. The napkin soaked up some of the blood, but it was soon damp with the oozing liquid.
He blinked twice, trying unsuccessfully to clear his vision.
It didn't hurt that much, but it still hurt. He needed to lie down. He needed to close his eyes.
So that was exactly what he did.
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Sorry about the wait. The next chapter will definitely be up sooner than this one.