Disclaimer: I do not own The OC, or anything pertaining to The OC.
Notes: So, I said to myself, I say, "Something good has to come out of Trey dying." And, volia, this appeared; a story in which Seth has a bit of a break down and Trey is still sexy even when he's dead.
They're too late.
Seth called Marissa as soon as they left the house, calculated the time it would take her to get to Trey's apartment, made sure that they were going as fast as possible, sped past red lights, ignored every traffic law he knew, ran so fast he felt like his appendix might burst when they finally got to the apartment building.
And they were still too late.
Trey is on the floor, motionless, thick liquid sticking to his chin and his clothes. The sight is enough to make Seth want to gag, and he thinks he might, because he's using so much energy just keeping in the tears, he doesn't think he has enough strength to keep his cheap funeral food down.
It could have been Ryan, he tells himself, trying frantically to remember how to breathe. It could have been your brother, he says. It could have been Marissa, he tells himself, trying to recall how he can keep his hands from shaking. It could have been your friend, he says.
But it wasn't.
It was Trey.
Trey, Trey, Trey…
Trey with his spiked hair sticking out in every direction after he just got out of bed.
Trey with his breath that smelled like too much smoke and alcohol.
Trey with his hands that were strong and calloused and surprising gentle if he asked them to be.
Trey with his kisses that were warm and wet and words that were empty and sweet and his smiles that were crooked and genuine.
Seth falls onto his knees, lets them drop with a thud to the carpet, hits his elbow on the pointed edge of the coffee table, and oh God, he's numb.
He feels someone's hands on his back, and he can hear someone saying something, whispering to him, but it doesn't get through and it doesn't matter because Trey is dead, and Trey is gone, and oh…oh…Trey can't be…no.
"Seth, come on Seth, we have to get out of here-"
"Marissa, Marissa? Oh God, Marissa…"
"Seth, come on."
"What's wrong with him? We…we have to leave…"
"We need to call the cops. I just…I k-killed…"
"Seth, Seth?"
And this isn't fair. First, his grandfather dies. A grandfather who, admittedly, at times was cruel and manipulative, but they loved each other, and they were family, and Seth looked up to him. And then he was just…gone. Then, his mother goes to rehab. God, he'd been so self-involved, so caught up in his own problems, he didn't even realize his mother was an alcoholic. Now, now this. Now Trey. Now Trey is dead.
Seth wants to scream, No. Seth wants to run over there and shake Trey awake. Seth wants to close his eyes and pretend like this isn't real.
He can't.
He doesn't know how to scream, doesn't know how to run, doesn't know how to pretend right now.
Someone is pulling him up, and he can't fight them off. All he can do is stare at the limp body and feel warm tears rolling down his cheeks.
Trey, Trey, Trey…
And he hates Trey for this.
Hates Trey for being so heartless, for trying to hurt Marissa, for being with Jess, for selling drugs.
Hates Trey for doing all of these things and so much more, hurting him so much, and not having to do a thing to get forgiveness except kiss Seth gently and promise that it's all over, that it meant nothing, that he was drunk and high and it's never gonna happen again.
Most of all, he hates Trey for leaving him.
Leaving him now, when his grandfather's dead and his mother is in rehab, right when he needs Trey the most.
Someone is tugging at his shirt, pulling him out of the apartment, but Seth doesn't want to leave. He wants to throw himself over Trey's body and cry and scream and throw a fit, like some overdramatic actor in some melodramatic play.
All he can do is cry harder and allow himself to be taken away; from Trey, from the apartment, from everything. He doesn't know where he's going, what's going on with Summer or Marissa or Ryan, and he doesn't think he's coherent enough to completely understand anything even if he did know what was happening.
He's never really been a crier, but the moment he realizes that he's never going to feel those rough, chewed on lips against his again, or those fingers interlaced with his again, or hear that voice teasing and laughing and promising again, or share a bed with that warm body again, or smell that scent or touch that skin or see those eyes again, the tears start coming faster and harder and he's not sure if they'll ever stop.
"Seth, calm down, it's gonna be okay. Seth, please, stop… You need to be strong right now, okay? We all just need to calm down…"
They were too late.
He was too late.
Trey, Trey, Trey…