Marissa thought he had changed, he thought almost bitterly, sitting on the floor of his bathroom. It gave him hope that he could hide. Ryan never been very good at lying, he could not look someone in the eye and lie to them. But he had one strength, he would simply say nothing at all. His silence was his strong point. As long as no one asked, he would never have to lie, and how could a person possibly think to ask?
Marissa thought he had changed! Seth thought KidChino was dead. Sandy was proud of him. Kirsten thought of him as her son. If any of them knew what was going on in his head, they would all change their minds. But this was how Newport worked. Nobody knew what was going on.
Ryan had lived in Newport on and off now, for over two years. Yet still, they knew precious little of him, they knew of his grades in school, of him and Marissa, his want to fight, his temper. But they had never asked about the other stuff, and he had never had to tell.
Trey had come the closest to exposing him, he would have never survived here.
He didn't Ryan told himself. Trey ran his mouth, he didn't censor his words, he just said them. Ryan couldn't do that.
The Cohens didn't know that Ryan started smoking at 11, lost his virginity at 14, that his Dad first knocked him unconscious when he 8. He never told them that his Mother's drink of choice was whiskey, that from the time his father went to prison to the time he moved in with the Cohen's 9 men had gone in and out of his life, and only one had been decent. He never told them that he missed Teresa.
He didn't have to. They didn't want to know. They knew Ryan now, they knew his past was crappy, but they didn't dwell they focused on the future. They were so focused on turning him into a proper Newport boy, so focused on making him perfect, despite his past. Ryan couldn't just look forward, his past was bogging him down, he couldn't help the anger he felt in his heart. He couldn't help the way his temper flared, as much as he tried, god knows he had fucking tried, he could not stop it.
Until now.
He picked himself up off the floor, and walked into the poorhouse, pulling off his dress shirt, leaving him in just a wife beater. His hands wet, his knuckles; red, damaged, but not bleeding. The punching bag was still swinging slightly, just where he left it. He resisted the urge to go back and hit it. He went to the wicker drawers and ruffled around. In the basket with his hoody sweater, in the back, was his wrist cuff. Left abandoned by a boy who thought he didn't need to look tough anymore.
He pulled it out, snapped it on to his wrist. It felt familiar, reassuring, comforting. All the things a secret should feel.
The new Ryan Atwood began now. Anything Marissa and the Cohens couldn't see, was solely his business, not anyone else's. His. He didn't have many things left from his old life. Literally nothing. He had his hoody sweater, his wrist cuff, and buried in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, like it didn't matter. Was his Father's pocket-knife, he had stolen it from his mother dresser, long ago. He wasn't quite sure why, but it was comforting to him, it always had been. Some days, he just carried it around in his pocket, for luck. But he had never used it. He snapped open the knife, pushed his finger against the blade, still sharp.
He walked back into the bathroom.
TBC- leave a review