Plot, meet breaking point.
Enjoy.
Music: control yourself; take only what you need from me
She'd come to terms with her tentative friendship with Ryan. She was ok with it, she was used to it, it was nice.
What she hadn't banked on, though, were the intense sex dreams that came with it.
Seriously, she had no idea where those came from.
Sure, she'd noticed that Ryan Atwood was good looking – or, if she were to quote the rest of the girls at the school: hot. But he was from Chino and permanently attached to Marissa Cooper and therefore invisible to her when it came to possible mate selection.
At least until now, apparently.
Her dreams had started off as a way to forget her God awful ex-lawyer – every time she felt his hand on her leg, she'd think of Ryan - her only friend, the only good thing in her life right now. She'd think of Ryan – standing above McMahon, angry and powerful, fists clenched and ready to be used again. So she guessed it was just a small step from comfort to sex.
Really, really hot sex.
She closed her locker harder than necessary and ignored the looks she got from the other students. She needed to get under control.
She was Taylor Townsend, damnit.
He walked away from her and didn't look back.
He'd asked for a decision.
Yes or no.
Black or white.
She'd given him grey.
So he told her it was over. If she couldn't do it, he'd make the decision for her – they were over.
She'd gotten those tears in her eyes that always made him crumble, but he didn't do it this time. If she couldn't decide whether she wanted to be with him or not, then she obviously didn't. If she loved him like she said, it would be easy to choose, right?
So they were done.
"Sorry, man."
He looked over at his brother and wondered how someone so self involved could automatically know what had happened.
"It's ok. I think it was coming for a while."
"Yeah, that doesn't mean it doesn't suck, though," his brother comforted, leaning back against the couch.
"Hey."
His voice sent a thrill through her, but she held it together and closed her locker.
"Hello, Ryan." She kept her voice formal, because she wasn't sure if he wanted people to know they were friends… or whatever the hell they were.
"The Cohens wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight." He leaned up against the locker next to hers and she hugged her books to her chest so he couldn't see her treacherous hands shaking. "You probably have to work, but I figured I'd invite you anyway."
"I don't have to work," she cut in hurriedly. "I'll be there."
"Alright." He actually gave her a smile as he pushed off the lockers and she waved at him as he walked away. It was a stupid, perky, nervous wave and when he was gone, she resisted the urge to slam her head against the lockers. She was such a spaz.
To be fair, though, she hadn't had a crush in… a really long time. Not since her piano teacher in seventh grade…
She wouldn't think of that.
Ryan wasn't like that guy.
Ryan was perfect.
He was setting plates down on the table for dinner and ignoring the strange clenching in his stomach when the doorbell rang. Sandy went to answer it and he could hear his and Taylor's voices from the foyer.
She'd seemed better today in school. Happier, more like her old, perky, annoying self. Maybe he was actually getting to her.
Which should be a good thing, but he could only feel anxious.
"Thank you so much for inviting me, Mrs. Cohen," Taylor smiled as she came into the kitchen. He was afforded a brief look, but she was obviously unsure whether he was ok with the Cohens knowing they were friends.
Too late now.
"It's no problem, Taylor," Kirsten led the girl to the table. "We ordered lots of food, so help yourself. Eat as much as you want."
Shit.
"Thanks, Mrs. Cohen," Taylor tried to smile, but her eyebrows furrowed, like something was off.
Shit.
"Now, Taylor," Sandy leaned up against the counter, pretending to be casual. "I was thinking that my office could use some good publicity. Pro bono work, you know? And I was thinking, with McMahon freezing your accounts, maybe I could work pro bono for you."
Shit.
Shit. Stop, Sandy.
"What?" She froze in place, hand on the back of the chair she'd been offered. Confusion from before hardened into fear and near certainty, but Sandy didn't see that.
"Well, it would be good publicity for me and you wouldn't have to pay unnecessary bills…"
Oh shit.
Her mouth opened but nothing came out and her eyes flicked over to him; accusations clear. He ducked his head and heard her exhale, hand tightening on the back of the chair.
He shouldn't have told Sandy. He should've kept his promise. But everything with Taylor and her secrets and Marissa and the breakup had been too much. It was too much - too many secrets, too many lies, too much damned drama; something had to give.
He sighed and raised his head to look at her – at the anger in her gaze. "Look, Taylor…"
"I have to go," she whispered hurriedly and grabbed her purse. Sandy opened his mouth to say something, but she rushed past him and they all heard the door open and close.
Silence filled the kitchen.
"Did I miss something?" Seth asked, coming into the room.
She sat on the bathroom floor and closed her eyes.
She wouldn't throw up.
She wouldn't.
The nausea hit, but she managed to keep her lunch down. She wasn't going to let the stupid Cohens upset her like this anymore. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Ryan upset her like this. He wasn't worth it; getting upset, losing her cool, losing her control. None of this was worth it; nothing helped.
Tomorrow she was going to call Sandy and fire him. Then she'd find a lawyer who wouldn't meddle; who didn't have a son to follow her around and mess everything up.
It wasn't really Ryan's fault, though; it was hers. She should've listened to her head, because she knew trust wasn't real. You couldn't trust anyone, even if it seemed like they earned it.
Especially when it seemed like they earned it.
"Taylor?"
She heard his voice echo through her house – her giant, empty house – and she remembered she hadn't locked the front door in her rush to get to the bathroom. He called for her again and she stayed silent, hoping he wouldn't find her.
Except the light was on, so she stood slowly and turned it off, keeping her breathing shallow and soft.
"Taylor, I know you're here. You're car's outside."
Great deduction, Sherlock. Now, couldn't he figure out she didn't want him here?
Apparently not, because she heard him moving around and she knew that eventually he'd look in the bathroom. Maybe she could slip out and go somewhere he'd already checked? That sounded like a good plan, so she opened the door slowly and peeked out – nothing.
She made sure to take off her shoes and she tiptoed down the hall, toward the kitchen.
"Taylor?"
His voice echoed from somewhere behind her and she hurried, making it to the kitchen, only to remember that the kitchen was huge. If he walked by one of the entrances, he'd see her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought out her next move. She needed to get somewhere where he wouldn't find her. Somewhere he wouldn't think to look.
She could hide under her bed. Why would he look there for her?
She took a deep breath and smoothed out her skirt before creeping to the doorway. He hadn't called her name in a while, but he hadn't left, either. She had no idea where he was and it was freaking her out. She stuck her head out of the door and looked both ways before stepping into the darkened hall; feet padding silently on the hardwood floors.
She was almost to the stairwell when he grabbed her arm.
"Hiding from me?"
She twisted to look at him, narrowing her eyes. "Yes. Apparently you don't take a hint, though," she spat, trying to sound as venomous as possible. Maybe he'd leave, then. Maybe he'd leave before he saw what he'd done to her.
"You left before I could explain myself," he reasoned, voice dangerously calm – like he was the wronged one here.
"I don't care, Ryan. I'm not angry." Well, that was a lie, but he didn't need to know that he'd… hurt her. She refused to acknowledge that.
"Really? So running away, that was because you were happy I told them?"
"No, I left because you telling them made me remember I didn't want to be there." Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see his jaw tighten; his eyes glint like steel.
"I was just trying to help you," he growled lowly, eyes narrowing.
"I don't need your help."
"Drop the tough girl act," he ordered, keeping his voice low. "I don't buy it."
"It's not an act," she hissed back, regaining enough of her senses to try to pull her arm away from his grip. He didn't budge, even when she brought her other hand up to try and peel him off. "Just go away."
"No."
"I don't need you," she protested again; desperately, as she tugged her arm. "Go work your hero act with someone who cares-"
"Why do you always have to be such an annoying bitch?"
"Because I can," she challenged, voice hard and low; mocking.
Because I can.
Because I have to be.
He wasn't sure how he ended up here, in Taylor Townsend's bedroom with his shirt half off and her hand down his pants and her lips hot and soft and compliant under his. It was a flurry of motion, hurried stumbling up the stairs, fumbled attempts to rid themselves of clothing , heavy breathing and quiet moans, hot and dark and dizzying.
He couldn't tell if it was his way of dealing with Marissa or the irritation of arguing with Taylor or just the general frustration with his life, but he was here and it felt good; she was comfort and oblivion, soft and warm underneath him. He lost himself in the feel of her, the noises she made, the taste of her skin, the thrum of her blood in her veins, pulsing under his fingertips.
She was alive; she was warm and alive and humming with energy and touching her was like touching a live wire; like a jolt of energy.
Like feeling again.
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