Um, so I totally adore this fic and I hope you all do too, cause I've worked really hard on it... Apparently I like being depressing.
Also note, the chapter titles are song names. Chapter one was 'The Fallen' by Franz Ferdinand, two was 'Like Eating Glass' by Bloc Party. This chapter is 'The View' by Modest Mouse. All lyrics are taken from the respective chapter song.
Music: if life's not beautiful without the pain, well I'd just rather never ever even see beauty again
He wasn't quite sure why he was here.
Kirsten had been freaking out; Sandy a little better at hiding his concern over the fact that Taylor never showed up and never answered her phone. Kirsten was worried she was dead on the side of the road.
Ryan just assumed she was being a bitch.
But Seth and Summer had mysteriously remembered they had plans and he was desperate to get away from Marissa and Julie, so now he was here. He sighed and knocked on the door again.
Finally he heard movement on the other side and the door opened. Taylor frowned at him.
"You guys don't take a hint, do you?"
He couldn't help it – he laughed.
"Sandy and Kirsten are persistent." Yeah, he had definite first-hand experience with that. She studied him for a while, then sighed.
"I guess I should invite you in."
She stood aside and he passed by her, into the house. It was just as big as he remembered from the funeral.
"So why didn't you come to dinner?"
"Why do you care?" she shot back, obviously not seeing any point in being nice to him.
"I don't," he shrugged. Hell, if she was going to be rude, he would too. "But the Cohens do, so now I'm here."
He waited for her to answer, watched her struggle with herself. She seemed like she was debating what answer to give him – the truth or something to make the Cohens feel better.
"I didn't feel like dealing with Marissa."
Well… that he could understand. Marissa had spent all dinner smiling at him, flirting with him.
Fucking with him.
He still wasn't sure what she wanted from this 'break'.
"Did you need something else?"
Her voice pulled him back from his thoughts. She was staring at him with a strange expression, eyes flicking from him to the door. She wanted him to leave.
"No, we just wanted to make sure you weren't dead." It was only after he said it that he remembered her mom just died. And he was about to apologize when he realized she didn't look upset over his choice of words. Good. "I'll see you in school."
She took a deep breath and stood up slowly, just in case.
Sure that her stomach was done heaving, she flushed the toilet then made her way to the sink and rinsed her mouth out.
The Cohens made her sick.
And not in some metaphoric way, like ew, they make me sick.
No, the Cohens made her physically sick.
They just couldn't leave her alone, could they? They just had to keep bothering her and being… nice.
She didn't want it. She didn't need it.
She didn't deserve it.
If they wanted to play savior, they should try it with someone whose soul was actually salvageable.
"Taylor," Sandy greeted when the girl walked into his office. She gave him a tight smile and sat in the chair he motioned to, placing her bag on the floor.
Her schoolbag.
The girl was only eighteen. She was still in high school. The law be damned, she wasn't old enough to take on all this. Eighteen was still too young for… everything.
"So what did dear mother leave me?" Her voice was dead, face blank. Like she half expected her mom to leave her nothing at all.
"Well, the good news is she passed everything onto you," he started off. Better to start off on a positive note.
"But…" the girl prompted, seemingly unfazed by the prospect of a but.
He sighed. "But unfortunately, your old lawyer is making it… difficult for me to obtain all the paperwork." He watched her frown and wondered for the millionth time why she'd fired him. He knew Phil McMahon – it wasn't like the guy was a saint. But what had he done to be fired? Switching lawyers in the middle of something never helped the situation and Taylor had to know that.
"And what does that mean, Mr. Cohen?"
"It means," he leaned forward on his desk, folding his hands, "that it may take a while to free up some of your mother's accounts."
"So… I have no money?"
"Of course not," he cut in quickly. "You have your trust fund."
"Right."
She was broke.
Her hands were actually shaking as she stood in the kitchen.
She was broke.
Sandy had no idea she spent her trust fund this summer, when she went to France. She'd told her mom it was to check out the Sorbonne, but it was really to get away. She couldn't handle another summer spent with her mother telling her how fat she looked in a bathing suit.
Now she was broke because that stupid bastard was keeping the paperwork from Sandy. Probably to spite her for firing him.
And not sleeping with him.
Ew.
She just wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. She had no money and she couldn't tell Sandy. He'd just pity her and try to help.
But she'd gotten this month's bills and she had no money and if Phil McMahon had his way, she wouldn't for a very long time.
She'd have to get a job or... something.
He hated Newport parties. They were the bane of his existence.
Marissa was here with her mother, looking amazing as always. And she was still smiling at him, always from afar. But whenever their eyes met, she smiled and he got more confused.
He felt like his tie was choking him.
Noise to his left caught his attention and he turned to watch a gaggle of Newpsies flock to Taylor Townsend. They all started talking to her at once, asking her how she was and if there was anything they could do.
Taylor, for her part, smiled and told them she was handling it all. It was a bullshit answer for bullshit questions. He had to hand it to the girl, though; she handled them better than a lot of people could.
Eventually they got bored with her – when she didn't break down or say anything wrong – and went to find something else to amuse their alcohol flooded brains.
Then he watched her move off to the side of the house.
He followed.
What the hell, it's not like he wanted to stay at the party and he was sure the Cohens would be happy he was checking up on her.
He found her around the corner of the house, pulling a cigarette out of the pack. Her hands shook as she put it to her lips and he watched her root around in her purse – probably for a lighter. He got his own out – the Cohens never had to know about that – and held it up for her.
She seemed startled that he'd found her, but lit her cigarette anyway.
"Thanks."
"Didn't know you smoked," he said back, leaning up against the wall. She sighed and stared down at the burning cigarette.
"I don't. I found them in my mom's purse and I figured why not? Smoking's supposed to make you relax, right?" He didn't say anything as she put the thing to her lips and inhaled.
And then broke into a fit of coughs.
He grinned. "It's only relaxing if you're addicted," he told her, still smiling. Then he reached out and took the cigarette from her and took a drag.
Ah... nicotine.
"God, that's awful," she breathed, holding a hand to her chest. He nodded in agreement, but took another lungful in. It was awful and fantastic at the same time. She held out her hand and he quirked an eyebrow before handing it back.
She was more careful, this time, taking a smaller puff of it. She still coughed, but it wasn't as bad.
He took it back.
"So why do you need to relax?" he asked, blowing the smoke out into the night sky.
"Because my mother just died and apparently everyone wants to see me break down into hysterics so they can watch." It was oddly blunt and he handed her the cigarette back. She winced as she inhaled. "I just wanted to… I don't know, get away? No one ever paid attention to me at these things before. I always just stood in the corner and waited for my mom to decide it was time to go home."
"I usually stand in the corner, too," he told her. She handed the cigarette back.
"We must stand in different corners, then."
He smiled and tried to blow rings into the air.
He used to be better at it.
They continued to smoke in silence, passing it back and forth until he eventually snuffed it out on the cold ground below.
"Time to face the wolves," she muttered, smoothing out her dress. He noticed she did that a lot.
"Shit. Wait, do you have any mints or anything? I don't want the Cohens…"
"Right," she nodded, opening her purse and rooting through.
He took the mints gratefully and popped a few in his mouth, hoping that they wouldn't be able to smell it on his clothes in the crowd. She followed his lead and did the same, then pulled out a small bottle of perfume.
"I'd offer you some," she said, holding up the bottle, "but I doubt smelling like a girl will be any better than smelling like smoke." He laughed again and for the first time that night, she smiled back.
"Thanks anyway, and thanks for the smoke."
She nodded and headed back out to the party.
"…is so lovely," the woman in front of her was saying when she came back to reality. What was lovely? "Who is it? Marc Jacobs?"
Oh, her dress.
"Monique Lhuillier," she corrected, smoothing down her skirt. The woman nodded and started to ramble about how her niece knew someone, who knew someone, who knew Marc Jacobs.
Like she cared.
Her tongue felt fuzzy; she was dying to go home and brush her teeth.
Smoking was gross.
When she was little, she remembered thinking her mother looked so glamorous when she smoked, like one of those old-time movie stars with the long cigarettes. As she got older, her mom looked less and less like a movie star and more like a bitch, but still.
Ryan definitely had a James Dean vibe when he smoked.
She hoped he didn't say anything to Sandy about her smoking. She didn't need a lecture.
"Hey."
He remembered when that voice used to make his heart jump wildly, when it used to bring a smile to his face. Now it just brought annoyance and a headache.
"Marissa." He tried to make his voice neutral and took a sip of his water to hide his discomfort.
"So this party's really lame," she laughed, coming to stand next to him.
"Yeah."
He didn't say anything else, even though he knew she was waiting for it. What else was he supposed to say? This whole 'break' thing was her idea, he wasn't sure what the rules were.
"So how are you?" She sounded like she actually cared, and he felt his head start to pound.
"Confused." Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her open her mouth and he braced himself for the inevitable conversation.
She left at a respectable time, hoping no one would notice. Why would they? They'd gotten all the gossip they could from her tonight, so they didn't have any other use for her. Before she really left, though, she looked around the party for Ryan. She had no use for a pack of cigarettes, and he seemed to enjoy them, so she figured she'd give them to him.
She spotted him at the edge of the crowd, having what looked like an intense conversation with Marissa Cooper. When wasn't everything intense with that girl? Marissa was the one reason she hated social committee. She loved planning, she loved organizing, she loved bossing people around. And that was all ruined because Marissa was social chair.
For a second she debated going over there and interrupting them – to thank Ryan for the 'nice time' just to see the look on Marissa's face – but she didn't feel like dealing with drama tonight.
No, tonight she had to go home and think of her future.
She needed a job.
Or something.
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