A/N: Ok, ok, I know I haven't updated in, like, forever, but I have a good reason: my computer's hard drive failed about two weeks ago, and I have had virtually no internet access since then. Coincidentally, I was going to get a new laptop anyway though (all mine!), and now I have it, so there is little chance of a problem like this happening again. Sorry to keep you all hanging. So, after waiting for an unnecessarily long time, here it is: chapter 4! Enjoy, and R&R!
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. Nothing. All rights to the lyrics to "After the Fall" belong to Journey and all of their associates. Or something like that.
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Chapter 4
Ryan closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the bench, the midday sun peeking through the leaves of the giant sycamore tree above him. His hands absentmindedly pounded out the rhythm to Journey's "After the Fall" against the hard wooden seat, accompanying the music playing in the jukebox of his mind.
So now love is gone
I can't go on
Love is gone
I want to say
Now it's just too late
Waited far too long
Should have told you then I knew
Should have told you right
From the start
But the words didn't come out right
So I'll tell you
Straight from my heart
You meant more to me
Than I let you see
You held on somehow
All your tenderness
And your sweet caress
I need you now
Ryan's thoughts drifted to the drum he'd gotten for Christmas when he was eight. He had spent most of that year loving everything about rock music; he used to sit outside on the sidewalk, rapping two sticks against the cement, imitating the drummers of bands like Guns N' Roses, AC/DC, and, of course, Journey.
The Christmas gift had been a complete surprise. Earlier, Ryan had tentatively asked his mother for a drum, and she had flat-out refused - they didn't have enough money, and he felt slightly foolish for asking. Upon coming out of his room the morning of December 25th and seeing a beautiful new snare drum underneath their tree, he stammered thanks to his parents (his dad still lived with them then, as he hadn't yet landed himself in jail at that point) and vowed to keep the drum in good condition for as long as possible.
Five days later, Trey put his foot through the drum in the middle of a tantrum directed at their father.
Though he was crushed, the experience taught Ryan an important lesson: Sometimes it's better not to get what you want, because then you don't have anything to lose.
Buy a headstrong stubborn man
Only works it out the
Best he can
Valentines he never sent
There's not enough time
He's a workin' man
Can't stop fallin'
Heartache's callin'
Finds you after the fall
Saints or sinners
Take no prisoners
What's left after you fall?
No not much, no
12:10 P.M. Marissa was late. With a tinge of worry, Ryan sincerely hoped that she was actually coming. He reassured himself that she had asked to meet him there. But what if she chickened out? What if she decided that she couldn't even handle having a mundane conversation with him? What if she deserted him again?
Before he could stop it, his memory rewound itself two years and ten days.
He was laying on the poolhouse bed in the dark. The only light came from the glow of the Cohens' kitchen and the lamps above their back patio.
He was worried about Marissa. She hadn't called him in a few days, and she wouldn't return any of his calls. It didn't fit with the policy of completely open, honest communication they had agreed on after Trey died. Trusting each other and talking was the only way they'd been able to make it through all that. They had both been determined not to let anything else come between them, no matter how great. And they' d done it. They'd gotten through it. Together. He was proud of the fact that they were still a couple, when so many others in their position would have given up. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself opening up enough to really let another person into his life. He was learning what it was like to be vulnerable, and he didn't mind the feeling as much as he'd thought he would.
A knock came on the glass of the poolhouse door, and Marissa entered before he had the chance to respond.
He quickly pushed himself off the bed and stood to greet her with a "Hey…", before trailing off at her appearance.
Even in the dim light she looked like a mess. She was wearing a pair of rumpled jeans and ordinary flip-flops. Her t-shirt was wrinkled and covered in smudges of what looked like black makeup, and her tangled hair was piled unceremoniously on the top of her head. Dark circles stood out against the large red blotches under her eyes. Her entire body was shaking, on the verge of bursting out into hysterical tears.
"What's wrong?" he asked, moving to comfort her.
She didn't answer; instead, she surprised him by taking a step back, away from him. He had gotten used to holding her when she was upset, and the fact that she didn't seem to want that now told him that something was horribly wrong.
She took a few deep, ragged breaths before finally speaking.
"I can't do this anymore, Ryan."
The words slapped him in the face and left him momentarily stunned. He studied her for a moment before speaking. She avoided his eyes, her lower lip trembling and her shoulders gently heaving in misery.
"Wh-what are you talking about? Please tell me what's wrong. We'll get through it together -"
"-No, we won't!" she interrupted, flinging his compassion back in his face.
At that moment, he knew that she was about to cause him more pain than he had ever experienced in his entire life. He rose to her bait, though, like a cancer patient who knows deep down what the doctor is going to tell him, but needs to hear it confirmed out loud anyway.
"Why?"
She hesitated, the tears forming under her lashes, and sucked in another great breath before blurting it out.
"I've been seeing someone else."
He stared blankly at her for what seemed like an eternity, desperately trying to convince himself that he hadn't really heard what he thought he had just heard. Marissa…his Marissa…his Marissa had cheated on him…
She continued on, to fill the silence. His ear only caught crucial bits and pieces of what she was telling him.
"…he goes to a different school…you don't know him…I met him over Spring Break that one night when you went out for a guy's night with Seth…I'm so sorry…I'm not seeing him anymore…I can't keep doing this to you…we're both going away to college next week…best thing is to start over…"
He didn't answer her; he merely continued staring at her in disbelief. His entire body, including his vocal chords, seemed to have gone numb.
She finally met his eyes, and he could see her visibly register the betrayal in his before saying one final thing.
"I'm leaving for North Carolina on Saturday. Don't try to contact me."
She turned from him and reached for the door, the tears pouring down her face and onto her already-dirty shirt. He watched her walk out of his poolhouse and out of his life for the last time as if he were in a dream. Only he was certain he wasn't dreaming. If he were dreaming, he wouldn't feel the pain swelling up inside his chest as it did now, leaving a large, empty hole that would never be filled again.
The sound of his cell phone ringing jerked Ryan back to the present. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the tiny screen, telling him he had a call from Seth. He smiled wryly, shook his head and returned it to his jeans. He was in no mood to talk to Seth right then, as he was almost positive that Seth had known about Marissa being there but had purposely left him uninformed. There was no way that Summer hadn't told Seth about Marissa. As much as Summer complained that Seth couldn't keep a secret, she wasn't that great at keeping them, either.
12:15. Ryan decided to give Marissa five more minutes, then head back to his dorm to give Seth a good punch in the gut.
Can't stop fallin'
Heartache's callin'
Finds you after the fall
Saints or sinners
Take no prisoners
What's left after you fall?
No, not much, no
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Marissa glanced at the clock above the door, nervously twitching her pen in her right hand. Class should have been over ten minutes ago! For a moment, she vaguely wondered why so many college professors thought that students would rather listen to them drone on and on past the bell than go and get a sandwich, or play some Frisbee on the lawn. She couldn't skip out early on this lecture, though. It was her first-ever class at USC, and where teachers were concerned, she firmly believed in the "first impressions are lasting impressions" mantra.
The first impression she was giving that day, though, was distracted at best. She had spent most of the period shifting uncomfortably in her seat, fidgeting with her jewelry and her hair and letting Professor Jenkins's talk on twentieth-century French literature wander into her left ear and slide out her right.
Okay, she admitted it, she was completely preoccupied. But how the hell was she supposed to pay attention, when Ryan Atwood was, at that very moment, waiting for her on a bench right across the campus lawn? The same Ryan Atwood whom she had been in love with forever. The same Ryan Atwood she would still be in love with, had it not been for her unbelievable self-sacrifice and the fact that she had transformed herself into a strong and independent woman with the ability to move on. She had been devastated back then, sure, but she had picked up the pieces, and she had started a new chapter of her life. Now Ryan had suddenly been thrown back into the picture, bringing infinite memories of the old life she had wanted behind her.
Her ears perked up as the professor wound down his speech. He had barely finished announcing the homework when Marissa scrambled out the door, her instincts overriding any practicality. She began running out onto the lawn, before considering that appearing out-of-breath and overanxious was not the way she wanted Ryan to see her after their long separation. She closed her eyes and concentrated on using all of her willpower to walk calmly and confidently up to him, like this was no big deal.
She was doing a pretty good job with the "cool and confident" thing until she got near enough to see him properly. She had participated in their earlier exchange in a mild state of shock, so she hadn't taken much notice of his appearance, or his demeanor. She'd simply been trying to wrap her head around the fact that he was there.
She had time to notice him now, though, and what she saw made her slow her walk almost to a halt.
He was leaning comfortably against the back of his seat, wearing jeans and a dark blue t-shirt that hugged the outline of his chest and gave a glimpse of his well-defined abs. His sculpted arms were draped across the top of the bench, his articulate fingers drumming against the wood. His face shone with the filtered sunlight from the leaves above him. He looked exactly the way she remembered him. Only better.
Suddenly, she wished she were anyone but Marissa Cooper. Anyone else could casually walk up to him, sit down and strike up an innocent conversation, without all the weight of a lifetime's worth of words, feelings and actions hanging between them. Anyone else could simply enjoy being with him. She realized sadly that she no longer had that luxury.
Instead of approaching him, she stole behind a nearby tree and watched him from her hiding place. She admired the way a breeze rippled his sandy blonde hair. She memorized the subtle movements of his body: tipping his head down, raising it back up again to stare moodily off into space, adjusting his shoulders. His cell phone rang, and she almost melted at the sight of his lips turned up into an ironic smile. She silently wished that she could stay behind the tree, absorbing him this way forever.
He checked his watch, then stood to leave, thrusting her into a mild state of panic. He couldn't leave. After being away from him for so long, she felt an inexplicable, overwhelming urge to be near him for just a little bit longer. The independent side of her was completely exasperated. This was not the behavior of someone who was strong and self-sufficient! But another part of her told that part to shut up. Her emotions had temporarily seized the reins, and were refusing to yield any control to level-headedness.
Teetering on the edge of a decision, she finally made one when she realized that his retreating back was already halfway across the lawn. She secured her bag over her shoulder and jogged to catch up with him, startling him as she panted his name from behind.
So much for not appearing out-of-breath. He seemed surprised, but stopped to let her catch her breath before saying anything else.
"Hey! I'm so sorry…my French lecture went late, and I didn't really want to risk walking out of my first class here."
"French?" They started walking together in the direction Ryan had initially been heading.
"Yeah, I'm majoring in fashion design, minoring in French."
"Ah." He nodded his head slightly, and they walked in silence for a moment. "I wanted to apologize for kind of running you over this morning."
"Oh, no, that's ok."
"You sure? 'Cause I'm pretty certain that I scattered some of your stuff from here to the Pacific Ocean."
"Seriously, it was fine."
Another pause.
"So," she began, taking the conversation into her own hands, "you're…at USC now. What happened to Boston? Harvard?"
"Actually, it…wasn't so great." He kept his head tilted down, not really looking at her.
"But I mean, isn't Boston supposed to be this great college town?"
"Yeah, it is, but…" he shook his head slightly. "It didn't really do it for me."
"So you came home?"
"Came home."
"Same here, I guess," she admitted.
"What? You didn't like UNC?"
"No, I did, it's just…it never felt like home to me. And being here…I don't know…does. When I was there, I missed people."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
He lifted his head to look at her, and their eyes met for a second, sending tiny shivers down her spine. He directed his attention back in front of him, and stopped.
"This is my dorm," he said, pointing at the handsome brick building with a gold plaque that read "Parkside Suites" above the arches of its entrance.
"Oh - well, I should probably get going then. I promised Summer I'd meet her for lunch." She was half relieved, and half disappointed that their interaction had ended here. She hadn't really wanted to stop being near him, but the conversation up to that point had been carefully casual, and they had just begun to tread on some very dangerous ground. It was ground she knew they would have to cover if they were both living there now, but not ground she felt like braving in her first fifteen minutes of seeing him again.
He was about to go inside when she instinctively stepped forward to give him a small and awkward hug. As was par for the course that day, he was briefly taken aback, but reciprocated to the best of his ability. She savored the transitory feeling of his arms embracing her.
She moved back shyly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I've gotta go, so…I'll see you later, ok?"
"Ok," he replied, his expression revealing no hint of his emotions.
She was about to walk away when she thought of something else. "And Ryan?" she called after him.
He turned back around.
"…It's really good to see you." She smiled at him, a real, genuine smile.
"You too," he said, giving her a small smile back.
