Disclaimer: The OC and its characters belong to Schwartz & Co.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three

He's fucking insane and I don't know what he's on. I think it's meth. It's usually cocaine. But tonight he isn't acting like he's on cocaine. He's acting like he did the last time he used meth. But I don't know for sure. It could be anything. He's messed up on something and he won't stop banging on my door. Every few minutes, he's banging on my fucking door.

And I'm on my bed, staring at the door. I just want him to fucking stop and for it to fucking stop and for him to fucking leave me alone, but he just fucking…won't.

"Ryan! C'mon, you little punk. Let's go!"

Where's Mom? Seriously. She was there when this all started. She was the one who started all of this. Or maybe I did. Because of the whole coming to school late thing. And the whole weird conversation with Mr. Ficklin about the coming to school late thing. And the fighting. Because that's what I told him when he asked. When he asked me to explain the ass kicking by AJ. I made up a fight. With Trey. Who was wasted. At least in my version of events. And my recounting was a little sketchy. I was making it up as I went along. But he bought it. Because he knows Trey. And he knows how fucked up Trey is. And because I couldn't tell him about AJ. And because I had to tell him something.

But it's okay. Because it was suddenly all about Trey. And not at all about me. And the questions had nothing to do with me. Until he decided that maybe I was drunk. Even though I wasn't. Or not much.

"Ryan! Open the fucking door!"

OK, so maybe I was. Just a little. But only because the elephant took a sabbatical and Trey and I celebrated a little too enthusiastically. Not that either of us thought it was gone for good. And not that it was. Because it wasn't. It came back pretty fucking quickly. Because the fucking elephant must have really missed us. Even though we didn't miss it.

It scared me that I woke up after 7:30 on Trey's floor. Or the floor of the place where Trey was crashing. And that I don't remember every moment leading up to that time. Because that isn't me. It's Mom. It's Dad. It's Trey. But it isn't me. Or at least it wasn't me. Or isn't me, yet. Or me, ever. So I'm not drinking anymore for a good long time. Or ever. But I will. Just not anytime soon. And not very much then. Just enough to control it. To let it know that it doesn't control me. Like it controls Mom. And Dad. And Trey. But not me.

None of that stopped Mr. Ficklin from calling Mom. Or from telling her that I'd been late. Again. Or that he suspected that I was drunk. Which I wasn't. Or maybe only a little.

"Ryan!"

And now he's throwing himself at the door. And kicking it. And he's fucked up. Seriously fucked up. And I'm getting pretty fucking scared. Even though I'm sure the door will hold. Or I think it will hold. And thank you Trey for putting in the deadbolt. And thank you Mom for going through Trey's stuff. And for stealing Trey's money. And for confronting him with the weed you found in his sock drawer.

Because, the door is strong. And it's got the deadbolt. It isn't the original pressed-wood piece of shit that came with the house. Trey'd busted that down coming after me. When he thought I took his money. And his weed. And we had that little turn lock on the knob that did absolutely no good. And Trey had blood in his eyes and he'd wanted to kill me. He'd chased me through the house and I'd slammed the door to our room and locked it. And Trey'd kicked the door in. And it was only when he was standing in front of me, hands balled up in fists and I'd pleaded with him "Please, Trey, don't do this." That he didn't.

Mom'd gone all ape-shit on his ass when she saw what he did to the door. And I didn't deny it when Trey told her that we were goofing off when it happened. Even though we weren't. But it didn't matter. Because Mom pulled out the pot she'd found in Trey's sock drawer and the two of them started yelling at each other. And Mom was pounding him with the heels of her hands. And Trey was laughing. Because Trey was bigger than she was. Trey was 17. And she couldn't hurt him. Not like that. Not anymore.

So a couple weeks later, Trey'd taken away the old door. And he'd put in a new one. One with a deadbolt. One that wouldn't give easily. Oh, I'm sure it would give. But just not easily. And I thank Trey. Because without the door. Without the deadbolt, AJ would be in here. And I'd be—

I don't know what I'd be. Or if I'm going to find out. Because I might find out. Because I have to leave this room sometime. But I don't have to leave it tonight. Or I'm hoping that I won't have to leave it tonight. Even though I might. And I'm banking on the fact that once he comes down from whatever he's on, he won't continue the course he's on. Because if he does. I may just end up dead. Because I've never seen him so angry. And I've seen him angry. But, who knows with AJ. I just can't figure him out. I've tried. But I can't. I can't figure him out sober. I sure as shit can't figure him out wasted.

"Ryan!"

I hope he's at least bruising his shoulder if he isn't breaking something. Because he's really hurling himself at the door. And I wonder why he doesn't just come through the window. And if he does, I'm seriously fucked. Because I probably won't be able to get the key to turn before he gets to me. But he's so fucked up that I don't think he even remembers that there's a window. And where is Mom? Because she should at least be telling him to calm down. I mean, 'calm the fuck down AJ! That's my kid in there and this has nothing to do with you! And you've got your own fucking kids to worry about! So just leave my fucking kid alone!'

But she won't. Because she doesn't. Because she's never. Not for me. Or for Trey. Or for herself. And that fucking blows. Because she's my mom. And she deserves better. Or maybe she doesn't. I don't know. She's my mom, so of course she deserves better. But, really, just because she's my mom. And not because she deserves it.

"I am going to fuck you up!"

Maybe it's better that she isn't saying anything. Because if she says something. If she gets him pissed off in her direction. Well, then I'm going to have to go out there. I can't have him beating on her. I can't. Even though I can't stop it, I can't not try to stop it. I don't think he's done anything to her. Not yet. Because he's been pretty fucking focused on me. But if I don't hear something from her, I'm going to have to go out there anyway. Just to be sure. And I really don't want to. But, I'll have to.

"Ryan!"

And stop it already. Fucking stop it! Somebody make it fucking stop. Because I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be back to the wall at the end of my fucking bed scared out of my fucking mind. Scared out my fucking mind that some lunatic gone ape-shit is going to kill me. Some lunatic gone ape-shit that isn't even family. Some lunatic gone ape-shit who shouldn't even be in our lives. But is in our lives. Because he's shacked up with my mom. And now he's always around. Always. Like the fucking armchair on the front porch that's been there for a year, even though Mom says she's going to get rid of it just about every time she sees it.

And fuck you, Dad. Because AJ wouldn't be here if you hadn't robbed the fucking Circle-K—and if Mom hadn't lost it back in Fresno—and if Trey and I hadn't been taken away—

But, maybe AJ would be here. And maybe I'd be here. Or still in Fresno. And maybe it'd be you on the other side of the door. Maybe it'd be you wanting to kick my ass and to fucking kill me because I'd been late to school and just a little bit drunk.

I shoulda cut school today. After I woke up late. But I couldn't skip. Not really. Because they were already talking about suspending me again. I've missed too many days and I've gotten into too many fights. And it really wasn't that big of a fucking deal. I missed homeroom. Who gives a fuck that I missed the announcement about the theme to the winter dance or what play the fucking drama club was going to put on in the spring? I was there by the time first period started. I was there before Mr. Ramsey even.

And if Mr. Ficklin wasn't going to suspend me—or expel me—or even give me detention, then why the fuck did he call Mom? I mean, seriously. Why bring her into it? Especially since he knows her. From Trey. What exactly did he think she'd do? Besides get really pissed off.

Because she did. She got really pissed off. And fucking drunk. And I didn't come right home from school like I was going to. Like I should have. But it was only because I saw AJ's pickup in the yard. Because it's always in the yard. His big white fucking Ford pickup that's become a part of the landscape. Like the armchair on the front porch. Like the tire by the fence. Like AJ. Because he's always here. Always. And I just want him to fucking leave. But he won't.

"Dawn, I'm gonna kill this fucking kid. How do you not have a key to this fucking room?"

And so the asshole just answered the question for me. So I don't have to go out there. At least not yet. Hopefully not ever. Or at least not tonight.

If I'd known how fucked up he was, I'd have avoided this. Or tried to avoid this. But I didn't. Because I didn't. I'd been just standing there, waiting for Mom to end her tirade. Just standing there in the middle of the room. And Mom was waving her drink at me. Shouting about how I was going to make her lose her job. Like I'd asked Mr. Ficklin to fucking call her at work. Like I'd known Mr. Ficklin was going to call her at all. And she's yelling at me for being drunk at school. And I'm yelling back that I wasn't. And that I only smelled like beer since I'd spent the night on Trey's floor.

And I can see it. I can see it in her eyes. The second I say that I crashed at Trey's. She had no fucking clue that I didn't come home last night. And I call her on it. And she denies it. So I tell her that she's a bad liar. And AJ decides that's the perfect time to come out of her room. And he's loaded. But I don't know that. So when he asks me to apologize, I tell him to fuck off. He doesn't react immediately. So, I start to pass him to go to my room. And I'm so fucking pissed off that I let my shoulder slam into him on my way. And he suddenly snaps. He goes fucking ape-shit all over my ass. He grabs me and slams me into the ground. He's got his hand on the back of my head and he's pressing my face into the floor. I'm yelling for him to get the fuck off of me. Because I can't breathe. He's got his knee in my back and I can't fucking breathe.

And Mom says something. Which distracts him. Just a bit. Just enough. So I launch myself upwards and break his grip and sprint into the bedroom. Only because he's between the front door and me. Otherwise I'd have sprinted outside.

And now I'm stuck here. And he's still pounding on the fucking door. He's still shouting my name. And I just want him to stop. I just want him to go the fuck away. But he won't. Because she won't make him. And I can't make him. And this is my life. Another Thursday night. And it's so totally fucked up.