disclaimer: No, I still haven't managed to buy them.
AN: This one is weird, even for me. And I am not very secure in my sports vocabulary, so there might be a bunch of mistakes in that section. Feel free to to correct me. (That was me, begging for reviews ;)
Chaos Theory - Part 5
The funeral wasn't as bad as it could have been. Ryan was actually grateful for Julie's barely concealed dislike of him, since it insured that she wouldn't ask him to say something. He had no idea what he could have said. He didn't believe "Sorry" was going to help anyone. Sorry was something people said to make themselves feel better, so they could say that they had atoned for their sins and therefore should be forgiven. He shouldn't.
Ryan didn't have to say anything, but Summer did, and he reminded himself once more that there were a lot of people suffering because of what had happened.
"I, I never thought, never imagined having to do this. When I sometimes thought about giving a speech for Marissa, in my imagination, I was always her maid of honour. We, we promised each other we would do that when we were in fifth grade. Back then, Marissa was absolutely convinced that Luke would be the groom. I guess things don't, they don't work out the way you imagine when you're a kid."
Ryan closed his eyes, not feeling able to stand the sight of Summer standing there, tears streaming down her face uncontrolled, her voice wavering with fought back sobs. He could hear Seth shifting next to him on the bench, and he would say he was inwardly complaining about how uncomfortable it was, if he didn't know that really, Seth was fighting the urge to run up to Summer and pull her away from the stand, take her as far away from all this as possible. Seth might be egocentric, but Ryan knew how much he loved Summer. Loving someone meant not wanting them to be in pain.
"Back then, when we fantasized about our weddings, Marissa made me promise that my speech wouldn't be full of embarrassing details about her as a kid, because her wedding would be her day, and if I made a fool out of her, she would not allow me to be the godmother of her firstborn. I, I'm afraid that threat doesn't …I am going to tell you some stories, anyway. Because we're here to remember Marissa, and she wasn't always the Harbour beauty queen, and we should remember that, too."
Ryan remembered the conversation he had overheard between Summer and Seth, Summer choking out that they had been best friends since kindergarten, and how no one could understand what that meant, if he hadn't known her back then. As Summer went on, telling him and everyone else about the shy girl that had been sitting alone until Marissa had come up to her and asked her if she wanted to be her best friend, he realizes he wished he did. It sounds as if that young Marissa was full of the qualities that had attracted him to her in the first place, several life times ago. They had only been discernible in certain moments back then, and over the time had diminished completely. He wondered if, had he known her longer, he would have been able to cope with the change better, to accept the new Marissa the way Summer had. He wondered if that would have been enough.
Muffled sobs by his side shook him from his thoughts and he realized that Summer had stopped talking and had returned to her seat by Seth side. Chilly got up to the stand next, and Ryan was ashamed to realize he didn't want to listen, didn't really care what the boy had to say about his friend. It was probably horrible and selfish, but he didn't want to hear what a great guy Johnny had been. He didn't like judging people from what others said about them.
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The stood in line, waiting for their turn to throw flowers and dirt into the holes in the ground. The sun was burning down, warmer than usual for February, and it dried the ripped open ground, diminishing the smell of earth to a minimum. Sunglasses looked out of place at a funeral.
When it was his turn, he was relieved to see that the flowers placed on the coffin were not the Cotillion-white ones he had seen in his nightmare. The shovel of black dirt he threw into the hole landed with a dull thumb, and he stepped back quickly.
Letting his gaze wander around the graveyard, he saw that people had taken to pairing up. Sandy and Kirsten. Seth and Summer. Julie and Mr. Roberts. Johnny's friends and family were somewhere else, he didn't know where and was ashamed to realize he didn't care. Actually, he was relieved, glad that he did not have to face Mrs. Harper, didn't have to look at the woman who a week ago had a son, and now no longer did. He didn't know what he should say, because sorry sure as hell didn't cover it.
The only one else standing alone was Kaitlin, and the girl looked so lost, so small, so her actual age, that he felt compelled to go over to her, see if there was something he could do. He knew what it meant to lose an older sibling; even though dead to him was not the same as dead, period.
She looked up at him, and it had to be the first time he saw a Cooper without make-up. Her eyes were a swollen red, her nose colloured the same, raw from the tissues she had kept getting out of her purse all throughout the service.
She didn't say anything, instead surprising him by rushing into his arms, clinging to him, her small frame shaking with sobs. Wrapping his arms around her was instinctual. He was used to comforting crying women. The familiarity was oddly soothing.
He strained to understand the words coming out of her mouth in bursts, barely discernible from the choking sounds and hiccups.
"It's all my fault." That's the one he could hear clearly, and rushing to assure her it wasn't was just as automatic as the rest. Yes, she had called Marissa, but she hadn't caused her to climb up there, hadn't made Johnny get drunk. It wasn't her fault.
He contemplated telling her the truth, making her see that it was his, but he couldn't. Even if might make things easier on her; he wasn't ready to say it out-loud yet.
After a few minutes, Julie came over; calling her daughters name with a voice softer and more subdued than he ever heard Mrs. Cooper use, and the girl left his arms and rushed over to her mother, clinging to her instead.
Julie searched his eyes and he braced himself, gathering strength to take the inevitable accusation without a flinch. Her quiet "Thank you" returned his nausea faster than he would have thought possible.
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Ryan sat on his bed, berating himself for not keeping a spare pack of cigarettes anywhere in the pool house. God knew he could have used one right about now. He could have used a drink, too, but people drinking at funerals didn't turn out well in Newport. Plus, there was no liquor in the house. He reminded himself that this was a good thing.
He had left the graveyard as soon as was socially acceptable. On the drive home, he had stopped to throw up.
He knew how to deal with Julie Cooper when she was mad. He knew what to do when she yelled at him and held him responsible for everything from her daughter's private life to the sorry state of the third world. He had no idea how to handle Julie Cooper thanking him for consoling her daughter. Julie Cooper didn't say thank you. Definitely not to him.
The fact that this time, she would have actually been justified in pinning the blame on him didn't help at all. He wasn't sure why, but part of him had wanted her to yell at him, give him hell for what he had done. Maybe having the truth out for the entire world to acknowledge would have made him feel less like a fraud.
Ryan didn't like people who didn't take responsibility for their faults. Yet standing up and telling people what he had done seemed somehow impossible. He didn't even want to imagine the disappointment in the Cohens' eyes. The fact that he was worrying about what the revelation would mean for him, instead of focussing on the fact that he probably owed it to Marissa – and Johnny, too- that people knew the truth, added another layer to the mountain of accusations he kept repeating to himself in his mind.
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Ryan opened his eyes at the sound of music, recognizing the waltz-rhythm. He stepped out of the pool house and stopped short at the sight in front of him. Marissa. And Luke. She was wearing her Cotillion dress, and he was wearing a tux. They were dancing, Marissa's head on Luke's shoulder, Luke's arm wrapped around her in a possessive manner.
Ryan unconsciously took a step back, and the music momentarily droned out by the sound of glass braking. He had accidentally rammed a table. Now there were broken bottles on the floor, the liquor seeping between the shards, the smell of alcohol suddenly overpowering.
The noise had caused Luke and Marissa to stop dancing, and now they were facing him.
"You broke them." Marissa managed to make the short sentence sound incredibly accusing. "How dare you ruin my wedding?"
Only now did Ryan realize that she was wearing a veil. Identical gold bands on her and Luke's ring finger.
"I'm sorry. It was an accident."
"You shouldn't even be here. This is my wedding! I have been dreaming of this day since fifth grade!"
He was going to apologize again, but the sound of someone turning on a microphone and fake coughing stopped him.
"Hey everyone! My name is Summer, and as Marissa's maid of honour, I think I am responsible to explain to you exactly what we are witnessing today."
Ryan turned around, trying to figure out where she was and whom she was talking to. He found himself standing on the running track of some kind of sports arena. The ranks were filled with people, most of them to far away to recognize. The vip-lounges seemed to be filled with Newpsies and Harbour students.
"We are in the middle of the relay. Luke Ward has already finished his round and is now ready to hand over the torch to Ryan Atwood."
Sure enough, Ryan felt Luke press something into his hand. He didn't think the torch should feel this slippery and cold, and he didn't know why it was giving off sounds that reminded him of liquid sloshing around, but he ran of anyway, anxious to finish his round.
"Atwood was originally not supposed to be part of the team, but for reasons unknown to the public, he managed to secure himself a place. I guess we have to believe that coach Cohen knows what he is doing."
Ryan could hear distinct booing from the ranks and reminded himself not to listen. He just had to ignore them, the way he had to ignore the burning in his lungs and the heaviness of his legs. They really shouldn't have covered the tracks with sand.
"Atwood has reached the final metres of his round at last. Harper will have to run really fast if he wants to make up for the wasted time."
Johnny was standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, arm outstretched to take the torch. Ryan lifted his own hand, wanting to pass the torch and be done with it. But something wasn't right.
"Damn. Looks like Atwood is screwing up the transfer. What, does he want the team to loose?"
It was as if the torch was glued to his hand. He lifted it to his hand and discovered that it was covered with a red, thick liquid. It was dropping down on the ground and running along the back of his arm. It smelled weird.
Johnny was grabbing the torch and trying to pull it out of Ryan's hand. It didn't come off.
"What the hell is Atwood doing?" Summer's voice was barely discernible from the shouts coming of the ranks, gaining volume steadily. "Why the hell doesn't he let go and allow Harper to fix this mess?"
Suddenly, the torch was ripped out of Ryan's hand, tearing of skin and flesh in the process. The separation was so sudden that Johnny lost his balance and fell over backwards. Ryan could hear a bottle breaking.
He didn't step closer to the edge of the cliff. He didn't want to see what else was broken.
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When Ryan was finally done dry heaving, he shakily got up from the bathroom floor. He was shivering after spending what seemed like hours crouched over the toilet, his knees numb and throat sore. He had to get out of there. He needed a cigarette.
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