Well I must say, t'was the reviews that inspired me to update so soon ;) So thanks to everyone for the encouragement I love it! Okay, so I'm sorry to say, I still don't know where this is going, it just kinda comes to me on the spot… but I intend to have much longer chapters. Yeah and I'm also gonna do different POV's later on, not just Sandy's… maybe even in this chapter, only my fingers can say.
Disclaimer- Hmm I dunno if I have to do this every chapter but what the hell, I own everything. Oh wait no… that's not true. I own nothing.
I forget the other little paragraph things I had so I guess it won't be a tradition I'm starting here…I'll just get on with the story. Enjoy!
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As soon as Sandy locked eyeshim, the kidducked his head to avoid any contact, which resulted in a sharp gasp of pain. Panic rose in Sandy's throat, as he looked around desperately, wanting someone to call for an ambulance. He knew he couldn't just leave this kid lying on the grass alone.
Sandy felt his gaze fall back on the kid, taking in his injuries. It didn't look like there was any damage done that couldn't be fixed, he definitely had a broken wrist, judging by the swelling, his face was covered in bruises, as Sandy assumed his chest was as well, and it looked like someone had smashed a beer bottle on his temple.
"Hey kid… are you okay? Can you open your eyes for me?" Sandy asked gently.
Without saying a word, he grimaced painfully and opened his eyes, revealing fear written all over them. Sandy was about to say something comforting, when he glanced back and noticed that the boy's eyes didn't give anything away anymore. He wondered if they ever had, or if his mind was just playing tricks on him. No, Sandy thought, this kid had just put on a cover.
Sandy was so deep in thought that he nearly jumped ten feet when the kid started to speak hoarsely.
"What were you doing at Theresa's."
At first Sandy didn't even understand the question, no, the accusation. Who was Theresa? After taking a minute to mull that over, he realized the kid must've seen him go in to the house or something. But why, of all things was he asking this when he was lying on his front lawn bleeding, just having been beaten by his father. Sandy sighed and decided to reply truthfully.
"Theresa got into some trouble with the law kid, she needed a lawyer. But forget about that now, what the hell just happened? What's your name?"
The boy began to process the information before looking up at Sandy with wide eyes. The fear seemed to return for a brief second again, before disappearing once more behind his cover.
"You… you're a lawyer?" He asked hesitantly.
Sandy was beginning to get frustrated. He needed to know exactly what had just happened, so he could report it to child services.
"Yes I am, and I need to know what just happened. What's your name?" He asked for the second time. The kid ducked his head again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, I'm fine.
From what Sandy could see through the kid's ruffled blonde hair, he had reverted back to a stony gaze on his wrist. Sandy grimaced, that probably really hurt. Sandy had never felt so helpless, he had no idea what he should do.
Without warning, the kid stood up.
"I gotta go." He said. Glancing back at Sandy he added, "Thanks" before walking away slowly, and painfully.
Sandy could tell that the kid was having a hard time just staying on his feet, let alone making the long trek back to his house. When he stopped suddenly and began to sway violently, Sandy was on his feet, ready to help if the kid should collapse. He was half way there, when the boy started walking again, and Sandy figured he should let him go. He obviously didn't want any help, and despite Sandy's annoying need to do just that, he knew that if he pushed to hard, it would only make matters worse.
With much regret, Sandy turned his back and began walking back to his car, deep in thought. He was not going to let this go. If he knew anything about himself, one way or another, he was going to figure out what happened, and help this kid, whether he wanted his help or not. Obviously, he knew this kind of thing happened all the time, but this was the first time he'd had a front row seat and frankly, it was shocking. How could someone do that to a kid? Probably no older then eighteen!
Anger began to make its way into Sandy's thoughts, until it took over completely about halfway home. He was angry that people like Theresa, who don't deserve to live like that, are forced to steal to provide money for their family, why? There is absolutely no reason at all.
He was angry because people all over Chino, all over the world really, were unfair. Whatever it was that the kid did, and Sandy was sure it wasn't anything big, he did not deserve to get beaten. Child abuse was cruel, and no matter what, Sandy was going to save this kid with whatever it took. The more he thought about it, the more sure of himself he became, and by the time he got home, he was dead set on what he was planning on doing.
The sight of the huge Cohen mansion didn't improve Sandy's mood, as he scowled and trudged up to the Victorian designed entranceway.
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Once Ryan Attwood was safely around the corner, and he was sure that the lawyer had driven away completely, he collapsed back against the gritty wall of the side of his house, and concentrated on breathing evenly. Ryan slid down slowly, until he was sitting slumped against the wall comfortably.
Ryan closed his eyes for a second as he thought about what he was going to do. He knew that this probably wasn't the last he was going to see of the lawyer, and he just hoped that it wouldn't cause to much trouble. God, why'd he always have to pick fights with A.J? He knew nothing good ever came of it.
Ryan decided that he should go see Theresa to see if she was okay, but found that he couldn't stand up again.
"Shit" He breathed, feeling the full damage on his body from his fight with A.J. Ryan noted that it was probably his wrist that hurt the most, from when the huge man had crippled it against the edge of the counter. He also noted that it was pretty hard to breathe, and that his head felt like it was pulsing. Wow, I must look pretty hot. He thought to himself sarcastically.
Ryan groaned sluggishly and raised his left hand up to his face, wincing and drawing in a sharp intake of breath when he felt a soft spot around his eye. Jesus this guy could throw a punch.
Ryan held his breath as he let his fingers inspect the rest of his face, to make sure there wasn't anything to bad. He paused when he felt something wet on his temple, followed by what felt like glass.
"Good going Attwood." He muttered to himself, suddenly swept over with a waveof dizziness and a side splitting headache. A distant part of his mind knew that he should probably get the piece of glass out of his head somehow, but unfortunately for him, the stronger and more sleepy part of his mind took over.
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"Shutup man, you're gunna wake my mum and Theresa!" Arturo Diaz hissed at his dumbass friend, who had just stumbled over two garbage cans in the midst of walking up the driveway. Trey just squinted up at Art in the dark, and gave a hearty chuckle.
"Shit Art," he said, "You really gotta move in with meee in the- inMY apartment!" He slurred, drunkenly. "You don't hafta worry bout that kinda bull"
"It's not bull Trey, I gotta be here for my family. Were you even listening to me before man? Theresa might go to jail cause she STOLE, Trey. She stole money from a convenient store. Theresa." Arturo replied defensively, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief.
"CRAP!" Trey yelled, when his shoe fell off. He bent down to pick it up, only succeeding to stumble on the trash cans again.
"Get out of my way!" He yelled at them, followed by a swift kick which made a dent and quite a loud noise.
"God dammit Trey I said shutup! Jesus, I knew this wasn't a good idea. It's three o'clock in the morning!" Arturo said, grabbing his drunk friend by the collar and hauling him away from the garbage cans.
"You gotta go home man." He said. When Trey rolled his eyes and turned towards the car to depart, Art stopped him.
"Are you kidding me?" He asked. "There's no way in hell I'm lettin' you drive tonight. You're just gunna hafta go to your house. The one next door Trey, not your apartment." When Art's suggestion was met by a scowl, the Latino boy quickly opened the door to Trey's, well not exactly Trey's... but the car, and grabbed the keys.
"Go home." He ordered.
"C'mon man!" Trey pleaded, "You… know I can't go home like this! They'll KNOW!"
When Art reached for Trey's arm to guide him through the back gate and to his house, Trey jerked away quickly.
"Donnn touch me!" He shot at his friend, stumbling towards the gate and groping around for the latch. "Where the fuck is it..." He muttered to himself.
As Art watched Trey Attwood fall into his yard, he felt a tinge of guilt, praying nothing really did happened to him when his mom and her boyfriend saw him drunk like that.
Trey stopped for a minute once he had entered his yard. Even drunk, he knew enough to be as quiet as possible when going inside the Atwood household at this time of night. He weighed his options, and decided that the side door would be the best way to go. The front door always made the loudest creak every time you opened it.
The cool brick of the side of Trey's house met his fingers as he reached forward to feel his way to the door, seeing as he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Trey made his way to the door slowly, keeping one hand on the wall and one out in front of him incase he fell.
This technique proved to work considerably well, until Trey felt himself trip over something on the ground and fall flat on his face.
"Shit!" He yelled, only just remembering afterwards that he wasn't supposed to yell. After waiting until everything stopped spinning, and rubbing his sore forehead, Trey began to crawl towards the wall blindly, planning on using it to help himself up again.
"What the hell?" He whispered when his hand met something solid, that he was pretty sure wasn't the wall.
"Ooooh yeah..." Trey mused, remembering that there had been something he'd tripped over. But the question was, what the hell is it? After a few minutes of feeling the mysterious object, Trey realized that it was a shoe.
"What the hell?" He said for the second time, forgetting to whisper again. After a few minutes of complete confusion, Trey realized that there was a foot in the shoe. His sober self told him to forget about it, and focus on getting inside, but once again, curiosity mixed with liquor got the better of him, and Trey crawled forward some more beside the figure, until he smoked his head on the wall.
"Riiight" Trey sighed. He'd forgotten about the wall.
Trey squinted in the dark again, his eyes growing a bit more accustomed to the light. Or lack thereof in this case. After a few minutes, he realized that the figure was in fact a person.
"Ry?" Trey asked, confused. "What the hell man, what are you doing out here?" When there was no answer from his little brother, Trey sat down beside him clumsily. He sighed, realizing that his brother was unconscious, he could only guess how that had happened.
If Trey knew one thing for sure, it was that he had to get himself and Ryan safely inside the house, without waking up either of the adults inside.
One would assume this was a simple task, but when it's 3 in the morning, you've had 8 shots and 2 coolers, and you have to carry an unconscious 16 year old up some stairs and through a door without making a sound, the task becomes a little more complicated.
The older Attwood made his way to Ryan's right side, the side closest to the door, and grabbed his wrist in the attempt to pull him up to a standing position. As soon as Trey gave the wrist a yank to try to pull his heavy brother up, a deafening yelp of pain escaped Ryan's lips, as he flinched and recoiled, his eyes jerking open widely. He seemed to shrink down in pain, not registering what was going on until he heard Trey speak.
"Ryan! What are you doing?" Trey almost shouted, panic rising in his throat. He was still squinting at his brother when something out of the corner of his eye made him glance up briefly. Something in Trey's muddled brain clicked when he lifted his eyes slowly.
The lights in the house had turned on.
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TBC
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Whew, so what did you think of chapter two? Was Trey's discovery of Ryan too long/drawn out? Is Ryan gunna have to go to the hopspital? What are Dawn and A.J going to do? When shall we hear some Seth comedy? Will Theresa go to jail? Will Sandy help Ryan, or just make matters worse? Do you think the chapters should be longer?
Hang in there, and keep in mind that slowly but surely, each character in the OC will make an appearance. Whether its permanent or not, only time will tell.
Reviews equal a happy me
A happy me equals a MUCH quicker update
A much quicker update equals a happy you… (I hope)
Cheers,
Pen
