AN: For joey, who wanted Scruffy!Ryan in a motel. (God, don't we all want that?) One shot.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything OC related.
He digs his bruised hand into his pocket and finally pulls out a key amongst the sparse cash he's stuffed in his jeans.
He jams it in the lock but the shoddy motel door opens before he even turns it.
"Fucking ghetto," He mumbles. His voice is hoarse but he hasn't needed to use it in a while.
He's been drifting for weeks. Since the baby died.
It's your fault! I didn't want any of this, it's your fault!
He drops the key and the cash on the lopsided nightstand beside the bed. The covers are rumpled from the lady he'd woken up with but he hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.
Since the baby died.
He shakes off his thoughts and goes into the bathroom.
His hair is shaggy and hangs in his face. He doesn't recognize his eyes through the bangs and the unshaven beard.
Sometimes he wonders if Seth would even recognize him.
He can't think about Seth. He won't. He's alone, now. He's where he belongs. Alone.
He runs a hand through his hair and brushes it out of his face before splashing it with water.
Even the water smells cheap. It doesn't wash off the bruise from the fight last night.
He never was a calm drinker, he always seemed to lose his temper. Last night was no exception.
All he has to show for it is the bruise on his face and the pain in his chest.
He's not running from who he is anymore.
You did this! You ruin everything you touch!
Teresa's words are haunting him. He hears her everywhere. He sees her accusations in everyone he sees.
The baby died. He'd tried to catch her when she'd tripped, but he couldn't. he didn't.
Now he's alone. Where he belongs.
The woman from last night left her barrette and he drops it in the trash as he walks out of the bathroom. It's not like he'll be seeing her again.
He's been in this motel for three days. One of the longest pauses so far.
The beach is only a ten minute walk away, though. He's been finding himself there frequently.
Something about the waves crashing onto the sand reminds him of how his life has crashed to a halt but still keeps on going.
The ocean washes away a little bit of sand with each wave. Kind of like the way he loses a little more of himself every day.
Seth would say he's gone dark.
But Seth's not here. There is no Seth.
There's only Ryan and he doesn't think about things like that.
He thinks about how he's going to get enough money for the next motel. He thinks about how he needs to eat today because the alcohol needs something to soak into. He thinks about how he needs to buy a new pair of sneakers because he got blood on the ones he's been wearing. He thinks about how he needs to buy some more liquor so he can try and take a nap without the dreams.
I can't believe I asked you here! All you do is make things worse!
He picks up the key and the cash and reaches into his other pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. He lights one, ignoring the wheeze in his lungs from his chain-smoking habit, and walks outside.
He doesn't know where he is, exactly, and he doesn't care. The beach is close enough for him to be satisfied.
He walks slowly, his worn shoes digging into his heel because he ran out of socks a week ago. There's a hole in his jeans, right above the knee and it helps him stay cool in the smothering heat.
His wife beater is gray, the last store was out of white ones, but he doesn't mind. Grey is more fitting. White means he's clean and pure. And black would mean he's all evil. Grey is in between.
He isn't innocent, but he hopes he's not evil.
He didn't mean to let her fall.
He meant to catch her.
He keeps his eyes on the sidewalk, counting the cracks as he walks. He remembers the old nursery rhyme, step on a crack, break your mother's back.
His mom would definitely remember him if that were true.
He keeps walking. When he gets to the beach, he sits down on the closest dune where he could still hear the cars driving by but he could hear the ocean, too.
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It's dark when he returns to the room. He'd made a few dollars scamming a pool game at a bar down the beach and he's half-done with his bottle of Jack Daniels.
His stomach is boiling as he tries to fit the key in the lock again. Remembering earlier, he simply shoves it open.
The drinks make Teresa's voice quieter. But they make him think more.
Her broken face. Her displaced rage. Her hatred for him. She'd always loved him, she's always been his best friend. But she hates him now. He gave her a baby and then he took it away.
He should've caught her.
But she fell so fast and he couldn't get to her in time.
He slams the door closed and takes two more swallows from the bottle before setting it down on the table.
His beard itches. As he lights a new cigarette, he runs his fingers across it. He never gets carded. No one questions him. He remembers Seth watching a cartoon where a little short kid wanted a beard. Said he was 'rugged'. He feels rugged. Like he's been in the woods alone for way too long.
There's no maid service in this place. He stretches out on the bed and inhales deeply off the cigarette.
Sometimes he thinks he should call someone. Anyone.
But he can't. He's disconnected now. His lines of communication are no longer in service.
He doesn't want to see the disappointment on Sandy's face. He doesn't want to hear the pity in Kirsten's voice. He doesn't want them to take attention away from their son.
Seth's gone.
He won't think about that either. He's guilty enough as it is, if he thinks too much about that, he'll end up breaking the mirror again.
There's a knock on the door but he doesn't get up. They'll go away. They always do.
It's probably the woman from last night. He didn't catch her name.
He lights a fresh cigarette as he picks up the bottle.
Go! Get out! I don't want you here anymore! I never want to see you again! You're nothing to me!
There's another knock, louder this time.
He can't think of any laws he's broken. Except the underage drinking, but nobody really cares about him so it shouldn't be cops.
Maybe the girl wants her hair barrette back. He gets up and goes over to the trash can and picks it up from atop an empty bottle.
He swings open the door and holds out the hair bow.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He doesn't answer. He drops the barrette and turns his back on the man.
"Ryan…"
He doesn't speak. He has no words. He's out of service. Even for Seth.