A/N: Sorry I meant to put Seth's introduction on the last update as well but I couldn't write it when I wrote the other ones. His was a lot harder to write since Seth never really shows his flaws on the show, except to be sarcastic. The only thing I could think of was when he cried when Kirsten was sent away, so I made Seth a little more open to emotion, and did the best I could. I don't think this chapter is near the caliber of the last one, that one…I was really proud of. Let me know if this one meets the bar that the last chapter set.

Disclaimer: Please I own nothing but the clothes on my back and the converse on my feet!

Dedicated: This chapter is dedicated to KC-Chick and Jules456.

Rough Edges

The lights flickered, giving small glimpses of the rooms' surroundings, softy affected by the mind-numbing lights he slid further into his covers. The clock teased him, calling out the lameness of being in bed at eight thirty at night. The day flew threw his mind:

"Queer,"

"Geek,"

"Homo,"

"Loser,"

"…Do I know you?"

"Nerd,"

Cold, solid tears rolled down his sunken cheek and into his mouth; he welcomed the all too common taste of salt. The lights flashed again, showing the wetness on his face to the world. He cringed at the thought of Luke observing him as he was now, as he always was inside. Only so many sarcastic remarks could be made in response to 'queer' or 'loser.' He had used every one. The pain inside him churned without an escape.

No one, at least no one he knew, flirted with the thought of self-conclusion. His soft, unloved, hand guided his fingers to his wrist fumbling over beaten scars imprinted on his skin. He sighed with some relief knowing at least he was able to transmit some of his inner agony to outer agony. The scars represented every vulgar remark made towards him, every pair of eyes that evaded his own, every hate filled giggle behind his back, every party he missed while under the mask of tears and every friend he didn't have. Life was not something enjoyable for him, with each flutter of his eyes he wished for a new and better existence.

Hiding his barely beating heart was the only way to elude the tears at Harbor. However, looking into those coffee, chocolate brown eyes made his life a little more worth living. If only Seth Cohen could get those love filled eyes to notice him, then maybe he could taste her cherry lips instead of his own salty tears.

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Ryan's eyes squinted as the California sun bore down on his face; his mother's beat up hatch back traveled over the curb and came to a stop in front of him.

"Get in the damn car Ryan," Dawn yelled not looking up from her drink.

"Here's my card if you ever….need anything," Sandy whispered as he handed the delicately engraved card to him.

Ryan nodded, hoping his mother had water in her glass as opposed to what he knew it was.

Sandy watched as the car fumbled on the badly laid streets, wishing with all his heart that Ryan would call him soon.

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Unhurried tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her down comforter. No matter how many times she had been through the stages of 'her' drug, the lows always caught her by surprise.

Darkness seemed to lurk behind her shadows; her eyes were unaware of the concerned looks of her family. Her once vibrant eyes now were listless, her golden locks now stuck to her forehead with sheer exhaustion, and her beautiful complexion now dawned a china-white tone.

Her world was floating away from her, laughing at her as she stands abandoned. Marissa Cooper, the all American girl, was burning on the inside, quietly weltering like a flower forsaken without water.

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The smallest touch to her skin and she would recoil, with shame. The whore, slut, prostitute, "girl with open legs" sat on her bitterly cold shower floor in her abandoned mansion gently weeping into her hands. She had become what everyone had said she was…a whore. No way to go back now, her virginity-very essence of innocence-had evaporated on that very bed in Holly's beach house.

The feathery drops of water did nothing to renew her, just masked the tears that poured down her face. How could she face any boy now? The first question in her mind would be 'is he the one who raped me?' It was hard to say that word…rape. It sounded so pleasant…and it definitely was not that, it was filthy, humiliating, painful, immoral, and scary. 'Rape' didn't sound like it fit, but no words could even begin to describe what happened to her last night, nothing…emptiness was all she could think of that came close.

Summer Roberts the whore.

Alright now I want you to review...that is if you want me to be a better writter and continue on this path that is ROUGH EDGES! The button is your friend...he loves you...but not as much as I will if you click him...:-)