Notes:

Iceworm- Be patient. lol You're always keeping me on my toes. ;-) I can't give you every little detail up front, little things will start to unravel and hopefully begin to make sense. The thing about Seth is that he had a tendency to think he knows everything, even if he doesn't. It just so happens Seth was right in this instance. So, he's really not trying to be condescending, he's just trying to find some common ground...trying to get Ryan to open up to feed into this idea of who he thinks Ryan is. For now, Ryan's kind of like this idolized person for Seth. The things that are highly valuable, like intelligence, are automatically attributed to Ryan in Seth's mind. And, I think that you can tell a lot about a person even if you don't really know them, at least that has been my experience. I think if Ryan was dumb that would be easy to figure out right off the bat. Anyway, I hope that all made sense and cleared things up.

Chany- That piece of dialogue was taken from The Pilot. As I mentioned in my disclaimer, there will be a few bits of dialogue right from the show...I'll be playing with it a bit as you'll see in later chapters. Good that you caught that though. ;)

Thank you everyone for the reviews. Glad to see new readers popping up as well. :)

This is rated R.

The night air was steadily cooling, but Ryan's anger and embarrassment was still hot and fresh in his mind. The sky, starless and gray, held thick clouds on its endless surface, making the moon a dull, lifeless mass barely distinguishable. The path back to the dinky apartment he shared with Theresa was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He'd walked these streets countless times not considering, not thinking, about what was beyond the borders of the broken down storefronts and potholed streets and now that's all he could think about. It was a luxury he'd never afforded himself. There was an entire world out there that he was never going to get to see. How dare Seth tempt him with friendship. How dare that little pissant mess with his head. If not for the money Seth was supplying, Ryan would have reached across the table and decked him. But, as it was, hitting a client wasn't going to get him any further in the game.

Ryan had seen a movie once, The Prince of Tides, where the guy-he couldn't remember his name-had been raped by a man after he'd just been released from prison. He distinctively remembered the pivotal scene where the guy broke down and told his secret to Barbra Streisand playing the shrink as she listened on with big doe eyes full of concern. He'd said something to the effect of: 'I didn't know it could happen to a boy,' in reference to the rape. By the time Ryan was the same age as the character in the film when the rape had occurred he'd known several times over that it could happen to a boy. That a man could rape a boy, body, mind and soul.

Ryan was the son of a cheap drunk and a roving petty thief. A kid born on the floor of the kitchen in darkness because the electricity had been cut off and the car sat on cinder blocks on the front lawn and there was no money for a hospital stay. His first real look at the world was in the dark, no different from the rotten womb from which he came. It was funny in a non-comical kind of way. That's how he'd come into the world and he'd go out just the same, darkness surrounding him, wailing with the moon.

The first vague memory he had was of Trey pushing him out of his bed and wailing on him with a plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure. The plastic had been sharp as it dug into his back, but even back then he refused to cry. He wouldn't give Trey the satisfaction.

The first real memory he had was of glass breaking and screaming; screaming that never seemed to end. Sometimes he had nightmares where he could hear that bloodcurdling scream and on those nights he'd wake up covered in sweat, grasping for hope that he could never reach.

His first good memory, one not tainted or faded by time, was of a queen size bed. It was his first good night of uninterrupted sleep. No one poked at him. There was no brother or other child that took all the blankets and left his toes feeling like ice to share space with. It hadn't even mattered that he'd been placed in a foster home after the downstairs neighbour had called the cops on his mom for leaving the boys alone. He didn't mind being separated from Trey, didn't mind that he couldn't see his mother, because, for once, he felt safe. No one came to his bed that night.

His Dad had never been around much, nor was he the bastard his Mother always claimed him to be in her drunken rages. Ryan knew his whole family was flawed, but his father had always made him feel special. There wasn't a specific memory that stuck out, but just a general feeling of peace that flooded him when he dredged up his memory. And, like everything good in his life, he was fated to leave Ryan time and time again as he floated in and out of jail for petty crimes, finally leaving for good for a prison Upstate when Ryan was ten. His parting words had been this: 'Son, sometimes we have to do things we don't always wanna just to survive... I've made a lot of mistakes, but you're not one of 'em.' It wasn't 'I love you,' but it meant the same.

Ryan was eleven when they got the phone call. His father had been stabbed in the throat and died almost instantly on the dirty floor of the prison cafeteria -not that Ryan knew that it was dirty, he just pictured it that way, dredging up images of the worse kind. When the prison sent back his things, his mother hocked his Father's wedding ring immediately. Ryan had managed to steal the chain and cross that his Father never took off out of the crumpled bag before anyone had a chance to miss it. He wore it now and, though, he never gave it much thought, Theresa told him it was what always kept him safe and alive; that his Father's spirit was encased in the cheap trinket. He wasn't sure about all that, but it was comforting to think in those terms.

Ryan's mother, Dawn, was the most unstable woman he knew. She worked, off and on, sometimes as a waitress, sometimes as a cashier, sometimes as a whore. Not a real whore, not like what he did. She'd just find these guys, these real slime-balls, and let them buy her things and if she'd been a little brighter or cared a little more, she might have known that she wasn't the only one they were fucking. Ryan didn't like to think about that. He didn't like to think about his mother, period. Getting pregnant with Trey and marrying so young had started her on a downward spiral of a life lived in haste. Everything she did was scarcely planned out. She liked to live for the moment, forgetting sometimes she had children to take care of and a home to run. In her mind, Ryan imagined, she was still a carefree seventeen-year-old before life's burdens made her an ugly shell of her former self.

The drink was her problem; she lived for it now. In her attempt to regain her youth, she'd picked up a college kid's thirst for alcohol and reckless abandon. There had been days when she had disappeared leaving Ryan and Trey to fend for themselves and then there were other times where she became involved with their lives, started to regain the colour to her face and the beautiful woman she once was could be seen in the corner of her eye, just lurking beyond the shadows waiting to emerge fully, but the responsibilities would always, inevitably, prove too much. One day of forgotten chores would lead to many days, the food in the cupboards would slowly diminish and so would their Mother's desire to care. Dawn gave them hope and then cruelly took it back only to pick up the bottle again and dwindle away into the tyrant she became under the 90% proof spell of Vodka.

Ryan spent a lot of time at an after school program when his mother worked late and one of her nasty boyfriends moved in with them. There was a woman there, Miss Pritcher, who had always been nice to him. In the beginning, he'd even dreamt at night that somehow he'd been switched at birth and Miss Pritcher was his real mother --even though she was a single woman and had no children of her own. They were the dreams of a boy looking for love; anyone that looked close enough could see how hungry he was for any kind of affection. She cared about what was going on in his life...asked him questions...made sure he had enough to eat. She was his friend.

Ryan stopped to tie his shoe in the faltering light. The lace snapped in his shaking hands. He threw it to the ground and stood. From his pocket he extracted a cigarette and lit it. The warm smoke filled his lungs and relaxed his tense body. He started to walk again.

Ryan had wanted to laugh the first time Seth had gotten the nerve up to finally stop the car and look at him but bit his tongue instead. He'd seen his type before. The rich, awkward ones that didn't know what they were and desperate to find out if what they feared the most was true. He'd seen how Seth had looked at him, how much he'd wanted him. He offered him Gwen when he'd seen the uncertainty in his eyes. Over the years, he'd learned it was best not to push,. People claimed their real agenda eventually.

Ryan had been with a lot of different people in his short lifetime. Men that took away his innocence. Men that only wanted to hurt him. Men that just needed an orifice to claim for a night. But he hadn't been with many men like Seth. And that was unfair, because Seth wasn't really a man. He was a boy, if anything. A boy who still believed in the concept of love and redemption.

Ryan would guess that he'd never kissed anyone in his life, let alone gotten head in the front seat of Mommy and Daddy's car and he'd certainly never fucked anyone. Ryan saw in his eyes that, though he offered friendship, he wanted more. Everyone always wanted more. Still, he was one of the nicer ones. Ryan could usually spot a liar a mile away and there had been no telltale signs -no eyebrow twitches, no nostril flaring, no nervous smile-when Seth had asked him so innocently to be his friend.

Ryan looked down each side of the street as he crossed the road. He kicked at a broken beer bottle and sent it sailing into a brick wall, smashing it into a thousand brown shards. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he kept his head low. There was no need to draw attention to himself. The anger still hadn't left him and he knew by now that it had little to do with Seth.

She had been his friend. He remembered little things about her even after all these years. If Ryan closed his eyes, he could picture everything she kept on her desk. The emery board she was always filing her long pink nails with, the orange she always seemed to have -he could even remember the smell as she peeled it and offered him a piece. The taste of it as he sucked on the little beads and they popped in his mouth spraying the roof with sugary juice. And he could remember her. Miss Pritcher had long blonde hair, graying around her forehead in dry wisps, that she kept wrapped tight in a bun most times and cheery-red lips. Pale, gaunt cheeks and high forehead. Legs encased in sheer hosiery and her shadowy, varicose veins standing out starkly on her milk-white flesh. Her long, rawboned hands. The smell of her mint breath as she kissed his neck. Her sickeningly soft skin. That kind of thing never really leaves a person.

Ryan liked to view the people that had been his predators as monsters; monsters that shape-shifted to suit their needs. In their human form these people could be passed on the street without recognition, when they turned into the monster...it was impossible to escape.

Ryan threw his cigarette to the ground after one last unmerciful drag. His fingers skirted the chain-link fence as he rounded the corner.

It hadn't always been like this. He'd had a home once -though it was so long ago and the memories were so faded he barely remembered what it was really like and what he'd just made up to comfort himself because home had never been a place where he felt safe. After his Mom left and weeks went by without her return, Ryan knew he was truly alone in the world. For a while he lived with Theresa and her family, until her mother remarried and Theresa's step-father starting coming to her room at night. Her mother prayed, but refused to get a divorce and one night, as Ryan made his way back from the bathroom, he caught the bastard in the act. They left together the next day and hadn't been back...couldn't go back, no matter how bad things had gotten.

Theresa had always been in love with him. He knew it, but couldn't do anything about it. He didn't feel that way about her and when her affections weren't returned she got involved with men she was too good for, men that only wanted one thing. When they ran out of money and couches to crash on, the next step was drastic but there was no other way. They rented a small room and got by, but they had bigger plans for the future. As soon as they had saved enough they were going to go to Atlanta where Theresa's cousin lived and try to start over. They wanted to leave everything behind and just forget.

Besides Theresa, no one had wanted to be his friend, not for a long time. And Ryan had had enough experience with 'friends' to know no good ever came out of it.

What Ryan didn't know until he was twelve was that it wasn't just men that raped. The day it happened he felt just as dumb and awestruck as Tom -Tom, that was his name in the film-because it could happen to a boy and women could do it, too...

Ryan was particularly afraid to go home that day. The day before he'd been beaten so bad he thought for sure he was just going to die, but he hadn't. He'd survived. He always survived...

She kissed his neck and giggled like a school girl, even though her school days had been many years ago. The glint in her eyes was a little bit wild. Her voice was raspy and her lips trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt and kissed at his bruised chest. Her fingers were cool, clammy, against the buckle of his belt. Ryan closed his eyes and faded away to that very dark place in the back of his mind...

He stormed through the apartment door and slammed it shut making everything not bolted down shake.

"Here," he said, thrusting the money Seth had just given him at Theresa.

Theresa eyed the bills in her hand suspiciously. "Where'd you get all this?"

"Where do you think? I earned it." It wasn't a lie, he did earn it. Talking to that kid wasn't easy, he wasn't his social worker.

"O-kay, you're in a good mood." Theresa rearranged herself on the couch so she could look at Ryan who was busy pacing the length of the small apartment.

Ryan looked at her and stopped. His face softened. "Sorry," he apologized, taking the seat beside her and stretching out his legs.

They were both silent for a long time. Ryan searched his pocket for a cigarette, caught Theresa looking at him and thought better of it. Lifting the floorboard, he pulled out a glass jar stuffed with money and accepted the bills back from Theresa, stuffing them in with the rest. He screwed on the top and replaced the jar and placed the floorboard back in its proper position, securing it with a slam of his foot.

"What's going on with you and that kid?" Theresa asked, concerned.

Ryan rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms, avoiding Theresa's gaze. "Which one?"

"'Which one?'" she mocked. "The one that drives up in those expensive cars."

Ryan shrugged, the last thing he wanted was a lecture. "Nothing, he's just another John."

Theresa narrowed her eyes. "Nuh-uh, there's something going on. Is he the one that gave you all that money?"

Ryan nodded.

"You like him, don't you?"

Ryan felt his cheeks heating. "Don't be stupid."

"No, no, I think you do." She continued, poking him in the side. "Oh my God, are you blushing?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, focussed on the rip in his jeans at his thigh. "Shut up."

Theresa was grinning broadly, it wasn't often she got to tease him. It was annoying. "You better be careful, Ry, you just might start falling for him."

"I'm not you!" he fired back, instantly regretting in when Theresa's face fell, her eyes getting misty. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't meant that. It was a shitty thing to say." Placing his arm tentatively across her shoulders, he waited for her to accept the gesture before he pulled her completely against his chest.

"No, you're right. I was stupid," she admitted quietly against his shoulder, rubbing her stomach.

He stroked her arm. "Theresa."

She was sniffling now and he wished he could take away all the pain; take away every wrong that had ever been done to her, but he couldn't. That just wasn't possible. So he held her and listened instead. "He told me he loved me and I believed him, how stupid does that make me?"

Kissing the top of her head, he pulled her even closer, held her tight. "You're not stupid, Theresa, you just believe the best about people. That's not a bad thing."

She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her brown eyes were so big and sorrowful it broke his heart. There was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. Nothing. "I wish I was more like you; I wish I could just close myself off."

Ryan didn't respond, instead he rested his cheek against her head and listened as her breathing slowed and evened out. Unable to sleep himself, he thought about what Theresa had said late into the night.