Disclaimer: I don't own The O.C. or its characters (except Richard, in this case)
"So, Kirsten Cohen," Charlotte begun the next evening, laying back on a porch chair sipping a coffee, "how are you finding life outside your Orange County bubble?"
"It's definitely different," Kirsten admitted, remembering waking up that morning half falling out of bed and with a pain in her back. Going out today had been good-she and Charlotte and gone to the local shops and had lunch out before spending the afternoon watching movies. "I'll tell you what, though, it's nice not to be outnumbered by the male vote on what movie to watch."
"That I could imagine," Charlotte laughed. "And what about being out of Suriak?"
"That's weird," Kirsten said quickly. "When you were released…were you worried that you'd, you know, 'revert back to your old ways'?"
"I'll be right back," Charlotte said, jumping up, her long, blonde hair flying behind her.
Kirsten wondered when Sandy would visit. He'd told her the last time she'd seen him that he would, but he'd made no mention of it when he'd called her today. Kirsten knew it wasn't fair to expect him to abandon his work-or her work, as he was looking after the Newport Group for her-and the boys just to come see her, but the other part of her wanted nothing more.
"I was worried," Charlotte said, returning with a bottle of tequila. "Not as worried as you, I think, but I was still worried until I got this."
"Tequila?" Kirsten asked incredulously.
"I look at it if I ever need to remind myself how far I've come," Charlotte explained. "I get tempted sometimes, but not to the point where I'd consider opening this."
"You don't?" Kirsten asked, in admiration.
"No," Charlotte said simply. "You know what, Kirsten, you need to have more faith in yourself. You're not weak at all. Repeat after me: I am an amazing woman who is strong enough to overcome all temptations."
"You got that from rehab," Kirsten proclaimed before sighing and repeating the mantra.
"Now take the tequila," Charlotte instructed, which Kirsten did, hesitantly. "Now yell at it-I won't let you beat me."
"This wasn't part of rehab," Kirsten declared, observing the tequila. "Yell? What about your neighbours?"
"Oh, they're used to me yelling out obscenities at the computer," Charlotte said, breezily. "Now yell!"
Kirsten stared at the tequila, took a deep breath and yelled, "I won't let you beat me!"
A chorus of "shut ups!" and lights flicking on ensued. Kirsten glanced around mortified, before bursting out laughing.
"Someone's got a good set of lungs," Charlotte stated approvingly. "Now, doesn't that feel better? Don't you feel stronger?"
"I guess so," Kirsten decided, before bursting out laughing again. "You didn't tell me I'd get a train of abuse!"
"You really need to get out of that bubble more," Charlotte said sadly, shaking her head.
Kirsten was washing up her plate from breakfast the next morning when Charlotte entered, dressed and groomed for the day. Guiltily, Kirsten stared down at her robe and thought of her bed hair, messily pulled back.
"Oh, don't worry," Charlotte said, noticing Kirsten's inspection. "I'm normally in my robe for most of the day. I have to go to therapy and then do grocery shopping, so I'll be back some time this afternoon. If you have any problems with that tap, give it a thump. That usually does it."
Charlotte waved goodbye and breezed through the door in her blithe, carefree way. The tap spluttered and sprayed Kirsten. She stared at it, summoning her anger before hitting it hard. To her surprise, Charlotte's advice worked.
Two hours later and Kirsten was bored out of her brains. She had scoured Charlotte's house for books (she'd read all of hers in rehab) but found none that interested her. She'd checked her e-mails and come within an inch of cleaning the house. If it wasn't for the fact that Charlotte had firmly told her not to when she'd been caught putting away a book lying on the floor, Charlotte's house would be almost tidy by now.
Finally, Kirsten had decided on watching some tacky, midday movie. Now would have been the best time for Sandy to visit, Kirsten thought, close to giving up on even trying to make sense of the movie.
Sandy flicked through some papers without really paying attention to a word written on them. Sighing, he set his papers on his desk and placed his head in his hands. For some reason, he just could not focus today.
The fact that Kirsten was out of rehab but not home seemed to be hitting Sandy harder and harder and time progressed. He'd decided to visit her tomorrow; try to talk her into coming home but there was this nagging feeling that pushed for him to visit today.
Sandy knew he was never going to be able to pay attention to work today. There was no point in trying-he'd be better off obeying that nagging feeling and visiting Kirsten.
Grabbing his keys, Sandy gave up on work and left.
Kirsten jumped awake as a knock sounded on the door, just in time to see the closing credits of that awful movie.
Yawning, Kirsten slowly got up and headed for the front door, wondering who the visitor was. Her optimistic side hoped it was Sandy, surprising her. That idea brought a smile to her face as she opened the door.
The person on the other side could not have been less like Sandy: tall and balding, the man's features seemed anything but in proportion. A large mouth contrasted his small eyes, his nose was slightly crooked and his ears stuck out. Scruffily dressed, Kirsten could not help but feel uncomfortable around him. It was not just the man's appearance, but the dominant, aggressive look expressed through his body and face. This was enough to cause her smile to falter.
"Can I help you?" Kirsten asked, ensuring that there was as little room left as possible between her and the door, so she could shut it quickly if need be.
"Are you Ms. Morgan?" he asked, taking a step towards Kirsten who was certain her heart stopped beating for a second.
"No, I'm afraid Ch-Ms. Morgan can't come to the door at the moment," Kirsten said. "Could I take a message?"
"It's not quite like that. I'm Richard, by the way," Richard introduced himself, holding out a hand which Kirsten hesitantly took.
"Kirsten," Kirsten told him, trying not to notice how firm his handshake was, or the fact that he held on to it for a few seconds too long.
"We're conducting a survey around here," Richard told her, moving closer still. "Hopefully, we'll be able to make a few changes but the participation of everyone is vital."
"If you'd call back, say, tomorrow or in a few hours I'm sure Ms. Morgan would be happy to answer your questions," Kirsten said, uncomfortable at the fact that she could feel Richard's breaths-short and hot-on her, he was standing so close.
"I'm afraid that will be too late," Richard explained. "This is one of our last houses-we have to start looking through the surveys within the next few hours. There isn't anyone inside who could answer? What about you?"
"I've only been here a couple of days," Kirsten reluctantly told him. "I'm only just visiting. You really can't go without answers from just one house?"
"No," Richard said firmly. "In order for this to be of any use, we need answers from a certain number of houses. Perhaps there's a number you could give me that I could reach Ms. Morgan at?"
"I don't know that she'd like me giving out her number," Kirsten replied uneasily, certain that she and Richard were standing maybe a nose width or two apart.
"Please," Richard pleaded in a low voice, "this is for the good of the neighbourhood. This is something Ms. Morgan would benefit from."
Instinctively, Kirsten did not trust this man or any word he said but she was desperate to get him to leave.
"Do you have pen and paper?" Kirsten asked him.
Richard searched his jeans pocket, producing a scrap piece of paper but no pen.
"I don't seem to have a pen on me," Richard told her.
"Hold on," Kirsten said, looking behind her at the hall table. Seeing a pen on the top, Kirsten turned around to grab it but fell, hitting her forehead on the way down, pushed back on the floor.
A pain ensued as Kirsten tried to make sense of what was happening. Richard closed the door behind him and knelt in front of Kirsten.
"You know, you seem a bit reluctant to give me that number," Richard told her quietly. "There is a compromise we could draw."
Kirsten's eyes widened in fear as Richard grabbed her and roughly pulled her up. Kirsten was paralysed with fright. Unsure what to do, she opened her mouth in a gesture to scream but Richard's hand was quickly clamped over it.
"Don't go there," Richard snarled. "If you do what I say, you won't get hurt."
With his other hand, Richard took the back of Kirsten's top and pulled it to read the label.
"Diane von Furstenberg," Richard read. "I thought it was a bit nicer than the average top you see around here."
Richard pushed Kirsten into a wall, his hands either side of her to stop her from escaping.
"You must have a fair bit of money," Richard observed. "The hair-cut, make-up, jeans, jewellery-none of them look cheap."
What did he want? Kirsten wondered, terrified. She glanced down, wishing this whole ordeal was over, only to be met with a stinging slap on the face.
"Answer me!" Richard yelled, holding Kirsten firmly by the wrists now.
"Yes," Kirsten said quietly. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Richard asked, releasing one of Kirsten's wrists and tracing her face, pulling her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him. "I want what any man wants but I want my payment in advance."
Kirsten looked at him, into cold unfeeling eyes, praying as his mouth smashed against hers in a rough kiss that something-anything-would save her.
Richard pushed Kirsten in the direction of the hallway.
"Go get your wallet and check book," Richard ordered as Kirsten stood frozen on the spot.