Beta'ed by Melanie39

Disclaimer- I own nothing to do with The OC.

O.K so I thought this was just a one shot...I was wrong.

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Lost Chances

Part 2

Ryan slumped by the wall again and looked down at his hand. Fifty cents …how fucking generous. He sighed and put the money in his pocket. All pride was gone now. What the hell was the point, people didn't give a shit about who he was or what potential he'd blown. He wasn't the kid from Chino anymore, he wasn't the bad seed transplanted into the scented rose garden that was Newport, he was just one of the many faceless here in LA. The old Ryan wouldn't have dreamt of panhandling but that person was long gone.

Hassling people for money wasn't so bad. Guilt made a lot of people put their hands in their pockets. Looking at him made them think of their kids, warm, fed, and safe at home, a few dollars salved their consciences and made them feel good about themselves. It bought them the right to ignore his existence.

He never made much begging, he hadn't quite managed the pathetic look that brought in the real money. The fuck you attitude still lingered but it was harder to maintain as the days went by. Living rough was hard but it had its advantages. People left him alone and he liked living in the shadows. It was a relief to just fade into the background.

What he couldn't afford he stole. If he bought groceries it was a case of slipping a few extras under his coat. He tried to stick to the big faceless supermarkets as opposed to the smaller retailer…. the corporate fuckers could afford it, they'd been shafting people for years, but mostly he spent his money on cigarettes and alcohol thus perpetuating the endless media reports that any money given to a freeloader like him would be pissed up against the wall. What the fuck did they think you could do with the meagre pickings you gleaned…buy stocks?

There was a reason that the homeless chose to drink and get high, and it wasn't because this was a lifestyle choice. He'd lost count of how many times people had spat at him to get a job. What the fuck did they know? You couldn't get a job without an address, you couldn't afford an address without a job, and so the fucking endless cycle rolled on.

His sleeping place was a disused video store. He'd found a back window with a broken catch and moved in. It was a dump that he now shared with several junkies. They left him alone once they realized he wasn't going to steal their gear when they were under and he'd become their silent watcher. It was freezing at night and stifling during the day. The place had a broken toilet and the water had long since been shut off. In the six weeks he'd been here the stench had gradually become unbearable. Long term heroin use made you constipated and the need for laxatives a necessity. Sometimes the urge to go was immediate and his cohabiters had no self-esteem left and didn't care how much mess they made. But a place was a place and he was loathe to move on and have to prove himself again. And in a strange way, in his mind, they had become his new fucked up family.

Occasionally he'd let his mind wander when he bedded down for the night, wondering if anyone had even noticed he'd gone? That's when the cheap generic whisky would come out and exorcise the lonely ache he felt in every fibre of his body. He'd sink into oblivion only to wake the next day and find that nothing had changed.

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Elise

The night was slow. Cold weather always made business hard. She hated these evenings where she had time to think about what a fuck up she'd made all those years ago. The traffic noise grated on her nerves and her new shoes rubbed her feet. She'd had enough for this evening. One of the advantages of being her own boss was that she could quit for the night when she wanted to. She made her way to the small Italian restaurant near her apartment. Genaro, the owner, had become a trusted friend over the years. He was one of the few people who wanted nothing from her, and he always treated her like a lady and never judged her. She found herself drawn to him when she felt low; his easygoing manner was like a soothing balm to her on days like today where she felt the world closing in on her.

She sat at her table near the kitchen watching Genaro as he made her his angel hair pasta and talked about his children proudly. Times like this made her regret not having children, of not having anyone to pass the memories of her mother to. When she died then a whole era would end, no one would hear the stories of her mother's escapades in the swinging sixties with the Carnaby Street set, or the secret of her grandmother's award winning gingerbread men...it would all end with her and it was a depressing thought. Would anyone even notice if she wasn't around anymore?

As Genaro moved to the back cold store, Elise picked up the local newspaper and flicked idly through whilst sipping her Valpolicella. Her eyes were drawn to the personal columns; more correctly to the large advert on one of the pages. The face that stared back at her was unmistakable; the half page colour ad had done justice to the eyes, the eyes that she had stared into all those weeks ago. She read the print, Ryan Atwood - missing from Newport, anyone with information as to his whereabouts please ring the Newport Group or contact Sanford Cohen- attorney at law. So, she had a name now.

She had seen him many times in the last few weeks. The preppy, rich kid she had serviced that night had vanished, he was clearly homeless now. The same haunted look was in place but with it was the sallow complexion of a bad diet and the sunken eyes of an insomniac. She had tried to talk to him but he had always slipped out of her reach. He was like a ghost, one minute he was there, the next he would vanish into the crowds. She called through to Genaro asking if he had any old papers. He looked at her puzzled, shrugged, then disappeared, returning with a pile of old newspapers before retreating once more to the kitchen.

She thumbed her way through the copies. In each the same ad appeared. Three different papers ran the plea going back weeks. The ad was not cheap, someone wanted him found but the question was did he want to be? Should she ring the number? She was not naïve enough to think that everything would be solved for him if she called. This kid had run away from something and that something had been big by the way he'd looked that night. She ripped the page out and folded it into her purse. She sipped her wine and thought about the boy with the sad eyes.

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Ryan

The last two nights had been spent in the open behind a cinema on North Street. His home was no more. It was secured as tight as a drum now with grills over the back windows and a 'To Let' sign over the door; he supposed he'd been lucky to have a place for that long. He had contemplated stealing a car to sleep in but he didn't have the energy left. The SUV he'd taken the night he'd left Newport had been like taking candy from a baby. It was parked at the pier; the owners had left it unlocked while they collected an order from one of the restaurants that lined the Boulevard. The keys had been in the car and it had been so easy. Rich people didn't seem to care about their property. This area of LA was not so lax.

The days dragged but the nights were worse. He'd begun to fantasize about a real bed where he could cocoon himself under a warm comforter and bury his head in a soft pillow and just sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had really slept. His nights were made up of catnaps and drunken comas that didn't leave you feeling refreshed. He'd walk the streets until the early hours putting off the need for rest; a dank alley was not an inviting bed. He pushed the thoughts of the pool house out of his mind…. that had never been his, he had always been a transient who had outstayed his welcome in the Cohens' house and the last week he'd spent there had showed that to him. He had roamed the rooms and realized that apart from the pool house he didn't feel comfortable anywhere…it still felt like a hotel to him. He had never opened any of the drawers in the den, he had never just turned on the TV and sat with his feet up and felt like he had truly belonged there.

The Cohens had spent the last two years trying to get him to open up, telling him that he was part of their family. He had thought that they really meant it but when he'd really needed them they had shut him out. Sandy had always been too busy and Seth had been spending more and more time away from the house, clearly unsettled around him. He was like a puppy who had peed on the carpet one too many times. The novelty had worn off and they were thinking of sending him back to the pound. So he'd made the decision for them.

Leaving had been easy. Forgetting was not.

He sat on the step and blocked them from his mind. Looking back was not an option but what the fuck did he have to look forward to? He knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the somnolence that hard drugs would bring; he'd watched the smack heads fall into their sweet state of Nirvana and wished that he could feel that release. The only thing that held him back was knowing that once he was on that merry-go-round he wouldn't be able to get off, and he wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet.

He looked up at the shadow that had fallen over him; the wide-eyed stare that he met didn't worry him. The plea for money would just have to go unanswered, as he had none to give. When the man made a grab for his backpack. Ryan stood up. What the fuck was this idiot on? Did he look like Rockefeller? He was not about to relinquish his worldly goods to feed someone else's habit, so he held on.

For the first time in weeks he felt alive. If this punk wanted a fight then he'd give him one. He swung his arm but it never connected. He felt the blow to his solar plexus and looked down. The fist was still resting against his abdomen; he was ruminating on the fact that this was a strange way to punch when he felt a burning pain as the man twisted his hand then pulled upwards towards his breastbone. He stumbled forward and loosely hugged the man; his hand dropped his pack to the floor. His brain was frantically trying to catch up with the pain he now felt. He fell to his knees as the stranger removed his hand and bent down and picked up his pack. Ryan saw the blade in front of his face and looked down at his stomach. He stared up incredulously…but the wild-eyed man was already running. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars.

He could hear voices around him but they were strangely distant. He lay there and wondered if this is how Trey had felt that night.

It wasn't remotely frightening. If anything it was surreal. He could feel the blood flowing down his sides and it tickled…it fucking tickled.

He coughed and tasted the metallic tang of copper on his tongue. The night sky looked so peaceful from down here and he wondered why he'd never really stopped and looked at it before. It was strange that the patch he glimpsed through the tall buildings had been there since before time began and would be there long after he had gone.

He let out a choked laugh as he pictured the man going though the spoils his bag contained, some dirty clothes, a half empty bottle of whisky he'd stolen, a few cigarettes………… and a stupid fucking plastic horse.

He wondered if the sky was this clear over Newport tonight.

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Elise

Elise neared Genaro's. She sorely needed an espresso and a helping of his fine tiramisu tonight. She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced over at the other side of the road. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. She walked on for a few steps but then crossed the road intrigued. She asked a young man what was going on. She turned away as he muttered that a young kid had just been rolled by a junkie, it wasn't her problem. She heard someone yell for the cops and turned back. There was a time when she hadn't been so disinterested in the world, when she had been compassionate and cared. There wasn't anything she could do but she wasn't going to walk away this time. She nudged her way through the throng.

She felt a chill run through her body.

No…please no.

The crimson pooled darkly under the streetlamp and the once piercing blue eyes were dull now and stared sightlessly upwards.

She felt her throat tighten and turned away.

She walked for miles that night, absently wiping the tears that ran down her face. Why was life so fucking harsh, so fucking cruel? She stopped and pulled the newspaper page from her bag, she looked at the smiling face one more time before she angrily tore it into tiny shreds and watched as they fluttered and swirled down the street caught in the breeze.

Life was full of lost chances.

Fin