Chaos Theory - part 2
disclaimer: Ohcome on, do I really need to say it? We all know I don't own squat.
Ryan hated hospitals. He always had. The smell of disinfectant made him want to hurl, the knowledge that everyone there was either sick or hurt was depressing and there was nothing worse than knowing that people come inside your room at night to check on you. Ryan had always hated hospitals, but when the doctor told him that they wanted to keep him the night for observation, he didn't even try to protest. Hospitals were bad, but going home would have been so much worse.
He didn't want to go back to the pool house, where only hours ago he had been making out with Marissa. He didn't want to think about it, and he certainly didn't want to remember how wrong it had felt. He had still been so mad at her, so fed up with the whole situation. Marissa's "I want you" hadn't done anything to convince him that it was really true.
But in that moment he had given in, tiered of fighting, knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable. Ryan didn't know why, but it seemed as if in the end, he always ended up back with Marissa. He had stopped trying to understand it a while back, accepted it as one of the many rules of life in Newport that didn't make sense but were still followed. So in that moment in the pool house, he had gotten tiered of fighting and had given in to Marissa. Them being together was a rule.
Only now, it was a rule that he would no longer be able to follow. And going back to the pool house would force him to acknowledge that. He didn't want to, so he didn't try to talk the doctors into letting him leave. Sandy seemed relieved.
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He fell asleep again, maybe because of the drugs, maybe because he was exhausted, maybe because sleeping was a way of not thinking. Ryan didn't really care why, didn't have the energy to question what was happening to him. A part of him insisted that it was wrong to hide in his sleep, to hide in a hospital room, but he didn't want to listen to that voice. He had no idea what else he was supposed to be doing, and at least as long as his eyes were closed, Sandy wasn't trying to talk to him.
He did before, but Ryan hadn't been able to give him the answers he wanted. He wasn't sure if he wasn't able to remember or didn't want to remember. It didn't really matter anyway, as the doctor had told Sandy that he needed his rest and not to bother him. Ryan hadn't even had the strength to say something apologetic to his foster father. Instead, he had simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.
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When Ryan woke up again, Kirsten was sitting next to his bed where Sandy had been before. She tried to smile at him, but he didn't buy it and judging from the pain in her eyes, neither did she. When she took a deep breath as if to ready herself for a long speech, Ryan knew that his break was over.
"Ryan" Her voice was hesitant and soft, as if she was afraid that a louder voice would make him fall over. "I am so sorry."
For a moment, he didn't understand, wanted to remind her that this was what you said to people who lost someone they loved, but then he remembered that Marissa was his girlfriend and he was supposed to love her. He got lost in thought for a second, trying to pinpoint the moment he had stopped and coming up blank. But he didn't want to have this conversation with Kirsten, didn't want to talk to her about his feelings when he had no idea what they were. He tried to come up with a distraction and found one.
"How is Kaitlin?" He really did want to know. The young girl watched her sister fall down a cliff, maybe she even saw her afterwards. That had to be traumatising.
"She's in the hospital, too. They are treating her for post traumatic stress. But Kaitlin isn't my concern right now, you are. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all to make this a little less horrible?"
He wanted to tell her no, that he was fine, but stopped himself. For one thing, he was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to be fine, so his standard reply probably wouldn't have been well received. Also, it seemed like Kirsten really wanted to do something, be useful somehow. This was a need that he could relate to, and he decided to give her what she wanted.
"I am kind of hungry. Do you think you could get me something?" He hated asking her for something like this, hated the thought of her running errands for him when there were bound to be more important things for her to do. But he reminded himself that she wanted this, and if the new determination in her face was any indication, she really did.
"Of course, honey. I'll be back as soon as possible, ok?" She pushed back her chair, both of them cringing at the sound it made while sliding over the laminate floor, and left the room. The clicking of her heels somehow seemed to echo even after she had left.
He closed his eyes again, willing himself back into oblivion, but this time it didn't work. It seemed as if right now, there was nothing to keep him from thinking, from remembering.
The smell of blood had been overwhelming, a sickening sweetness to it that overlaid everything else, even the salty breeze of the ocean. It had stuck to his fingers like glue; everything had felt like blood. He remembered stroking back a strand of Marissa's hair and…
He stopped his own train of thought, tearing his eyes wide open. Anonymous white walls were much better to look at that the picture generated by his memories. Eyes weren't supposed to be that dull.
A nurse entered the room, followed by Kirsten. "Hey Ryan. My name is Louise; I'll be taking care of you while you are here. Your mom told me you were hungry, is that right?"
It took him a moment to realise that she was talking about Kirsten. And really, he wasn't hungry at all, but he could hardly tell her that he had only been trying to keep the woman busy. Instead, he nodded. " A little."
"Well, that is good, a good sign." The nurse nodded approvingly and put a plate on the table beside his bed. "Just some light toast for now, as you have been vomiting quite a lot. If this agrees with your stomach, we will try something more interesting later. If there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call me." With those words she left the room, quietly closing the door behind herself.
Ryan took one of the slices from the plate and slowly began to eat. At least as long as he was chewing, Kirsten wouldn't expect him to speak. He still had no idea what to say.
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The next morning, Sandy came to pick him up and drive him home. Ryan felt quite uneasy at the prospect of sitting in a car with his foster father for a lengthy period of time, but knew there was no way around it. He had managed to avoid deep conversation with Kirsten the evening before by telling her that he was tiered again after finishing his toast, but now there was no escape.
They drove in silence for a while before Sandy cleared his throat.
"Ryan, I said this yesterday already, but I am not sure how much of it you remember. I am so incredibly sorry. This should never have happened, and I feel awful knowing that it happened to you."
Ryan kept himself from pointing out that nothing had happened to him. He was still alive, Marissa was the one who died. That thought made him pause. Somehow he had been able to avoid saying or thinking it like this up until now. Marissa died. Marissa was dead.
"Ryan?" Sandy tore him out of his thoughts, put a stop to the repeat of that sentence in his head. He forced himself to focus on the man driving the car.
"Yeah?" He had apparently lost his capability to speak whole sentences- not that that had ever been his strongest suit.
"You kind of drifted away there for a minute. Are you alright?"
He refrains from answering, instead just looking at the older man. Did Sandy forget that he wasn't supposed to be alright? Or had the rules changed again? Because while Ryan had no idea how he is feeling, is completely clueless as to how to categorize the chaotic mess of thoughts circling around in his head, chasing and contradicting each other, he knew that he was in no way alright. And given how messed up his mind was right now, he didn't think he was capable of pretending the way he usually did.
Apparently Sandy realised his mistake, as he shook his head with a murmured "never mind" and focused on the road again. "I just want you to know that I am here for you. And so are Kirsten and Seth. Whatever you need, whatever we can do to help you through this, do not hesitate to ask, ok?"
Ryan nodded, not voicing the thoughts that came to him unbidden. This was a situation in which he was allowed, in which he was expected to grieve. In Newport, you didn't mourn over the loss of your unborn child, you didn't cry over your brother in a coma. But you did grieve for the girl that you had been trying to break up with. Though maybe it wasn't about who the people were, maybe it was about where they came from. Maybe in Newport, you only grieved for people from Newport.
He shook his head again, trying to shake these useless thoughts off. He had no idea how to deal with this, but bringing up other things he (still) didn't know how to handle was not a way to escape the situation. He was only making things worse, confusing himself even more.
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When they had arrived, Kirsten had already been waiting for them. She had quickly explained that Seth was still "taking care of Summer" and Ryan had taken a moment to berate himself for not thinking of the girl who had lost her best friend before this. Then Kirsten had directed him to the guestroom, insisting that the pool house was to far away. Still not knowing how he felt about going back there, he had not protested too much.
Now he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and willing himself to fall asleep. The doctor had apparently told Sandy that Ryan would need a lot of rest, and Sandy had translated that into strict bed rest at least for the reminder of the day. Ryan had a suspicion that taking care of him as if he was sick was easier for the Cohens than dealing with the reality of what had happened. Since he didn't know how to deal with it either, he didn't mind.
He heard someone entering and quickly closed his eyes. If they thought he was asleep, they wouldn't try to talk to him. His plan seemed to work, as he heard the door closing again quietly after a few seconds. Since he wanted to sleep anyway, he didn't bother to open his eyes again.
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Ryan was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating dry cereal out of the box reading the newspaper.
Seth was sitting beside him, carefully smearing a bagel with cream cheese. The sunshine coming in through the glass doors was almost blinding.
Kirsten came in, dressed in her usual busyness attire. "Morning, boys!" she said cheerfully, grabbing another bagel out of the basket.
Sandy came in, hair still wet from the ocean, still wearing his usual surfing attire. He nodded at the boys, kissed Kirsten on her cheek and, ignoring Seth's complaint about PDA, took the last bagel.
"Ryan" Kirsten said, managing to sound both exasperated and caring at the same time, "you really shouldn't be eating your cereal dry. Take some milk, will you?"
Knowing that there was no way to win this argument- after all, he never did- Ryan grabbed the milk carton from the counter and started pouring absentmindedly, while watching Seth's grimaces as his parents kissed each other again.
A sickening smell distracted him from the sight and trying to figure out what caused it, he looked down at the bowl of cereal. The liquid coming out of the milk carton was deep red and didn't look like milk at all.
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Ryan woke up with a start, sitting up in the guestroom bed while trying desperately to breathe. When that didn't calm him down, he bolted out of the bed, reaching the allocated bathroom just in time before he lost his fight against the nausea.
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