Title : Empty Diary
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Car accident. Ryan. Amnesia. There, that's clear, isn't it?
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N. This fic wouldn't be seeing the light of day if it hadn't been for Joey's enthusiastic comments and invaluable help. Thanks, again!
Chapter Seven
Ryan steps off the bus, squinting in the sunshine, and tries to breathe in the stifling heat after the hours spent in an air conditioned environment. The sun beats down relentlessly on the people, the cars, the ground, making Ryan's skin burn. He grimaces as sweat prickles down his neck, irritating the skin.
Glancing around, he fights the urge to turn tail and take the next bus back up North.
What the hell is he doing here?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Finding out Dawn's address was easy enough.
Convincing his friends to help him was more complicated—they all had very strong, perfectly logical arguments against the idea, and it was even more difficult to argue about it when Ryan totally agreed with what they were saying.
Lying to the Cohens was hell.
"Why don't you just tell them?" Julia asked him again yesterday, in a last-minute attempt to change his mind.
"Because they'd refuse." Ryan had long ago lost track of the number of times he had said that. "Or they'd want to come with me."
And this… this is something he needs to do on his own.
He needs to understand.
He needs answers.
He needs to look his mother in the eyes, and maybe then he'll understand why she never asked him to come live with her.
He needs…
He needs to get moving, because the bus driver is starting to look at him suspiciously.
He heads to the bus station's exit, trying to get his bearings. Julia found a motel for him when she figured that she wouldn't be able to convince him to give up on his "dim-witted, half-assed plan."
"It's not the one closest to the bus station, but it doesn't look like a dump, so…" she told him, looking worried and frustrated with him—the way she usually does when she's dealing with him, Matt and Steve.
Now, all Ryan has to do is find that motel, sleep for a few hours, go visit his brother in jail and go see his mother.
Piece of cake.
Ryan leaves the station behind him and heads to the motel, trying to look like he knows exactly what he's doing, like he belongs here.
Trying to hide the fact that there's a ball of nervousness in the pit of his stomach that has been there since he left the house more than eight hours ago.
He had never realized before how much he has come to depend on the Cohens. His whole support system is now four hundred miles away from him, and he wonders if this was how his past self felt all the time—lost and alone in the world, with nothing and no one to fall back on if things got tough.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan hadn't found Chino familiar the one time he came here with Sandy.
It doesn't look any more familiar this time around.
It doesn't look much better than it did then either—the same gray buildings with graffiti on the walls; the same beat-down cars and beat-down houses.
It's depressing to look at, yet as he walks along a park, Ryan can see kids chasing each others, playing baseball, running around and laughing.
Was I like that? he wonders. Did Trey and I ever…
He stops that train of thought before it can fully leave the station.
Now is not the time. He'll be able to ask Trey tomorrow, but for now, he needs to focus on the task at hand.
Find motel.
Shower.
Eat something.
Shower again.
He finally reaches the motel half an hour after leaving the station. He's sweaty and dirty, his clothes sticking to his skin and his hair sticking to his face. He catches a glimpse of himself in the window of a car and sighs.
He should have taken a cab.
It would have cost more, and he didn't take much with him in fear of awakening the Cohens' suspicions, but maybe that way, he wouldn't be such a mess.
At least the motel doesn't look too much like a death trap and Ryan sends wordless thanks to Julia.
"I don't want any trouble here, kid," the manager tells him, eyeing Ryan's money suspiciously before quickly making it disappear into the register.
"No, sir," Ryan replies, eyes lowered, trying to look as un-threatening as possible.
He looks like he has spent the afternoon running in the sun, and maybe the man is thinking he's hiding from the cops, or from his family.
The man chuckles. "Sir, uh?" He grunts and throws a key at Ryan. "Room 4. No room service."
Well, apparently, the man doesn't care who Ryan's hiding from, as long as he gets paid.
Ryan nods and beats a hasty retreat, eager to find the room and take the longest shower in human history.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
An hour later, he's lying in the bed, fully dressed in blessedly fresh clothes—the motel may not be a death trap, but no way is he getting under these covers, thank you very much.
He hopes things went according to plan and the Cohens still don't know he ran away (or, well, took a small leave of absence for an extended weekend).
It didn't take much convincing to get the Cohens to agree to let him spend the weekend with Matt and his family, in a cabin they own in the woods. It was the perfect cover story—he could even tell them that he would be unable to use his cell phone, blaming it on the fact that there was no service so far out of town.
Ryan feels horribly guilty telling them such blatant lies but he needs to do this, and doesn't want either of them here with him.
Sure, they'd be supportive, and caring, and they would stand by his side. But Ryan has suspicions about what he's going to find, and he doesn't want anyone around to witness it if he falls apart, if he's disappointed or hurt.
If what he fears comes true.
So, with his friends' reluctant help, he constructed a careful web of lies and fed it to the Cohens—a nice cover story that doesn't have a chance of holding up to scrutiny. It doesn't matter. All he needs is two days in Chino, then he can go back to San Francisco and get grounded for the rest of his life, because even if the Cohens miraculously don't learn about this on their own, Ryan can't imagine hiding it from them.
Still, he needs to turn this page.
Talking to his mother on the phone isn't enough; she can hang up on him too easily that way. He needs to see her in person.
He needs to see Trey and, this time, he won't take "You're better off not knowing," for an answer.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Entering the prison and asking to see his brother is unpleasant.
Being patted down for weapons is worse.
Sitting in the sun, waiting for his brother to come, under the eyes of the other visitors and the other inmates, makes his stomach clench painfully.
It could have been him living here.
And, of course, he'd still have his memories if he had stayed in Juvie, but Ryan doesn't think he would have considered that a fair trade off.
Trey glowers at him as he sits down, asks, "Are you all right?" and when Ryan nods hesitantly, he snaps, "Then why the hell are you here?"
"I just wanted to…" Ryan trails off, gestures at the fading bruises on his brother's face. "How about you? Are you all right?"
Trey stares at him. "You're still…" He taps his temple gently, the meaning clear.
"I'm still amnesic, yes." Ryan clenches his fists, surprised at how easily his brother just managed to offend him. "I'm not stupid, Trey."
Except for the fact that I am, just not the way you're implying.
Trey looks around, probably checking that no one is listening to them. "Right. So, why did you come?"
"I want to go see…" He bites his lip, unsure how to go on. What did they call their mother? She doesn't sound like the "Mom" kind, and saying "our mother" would have sounded weird.
"Please tell me you're not planning to go see Dawn."
While the use of the first name surprises Ryan, he forces himself not to react.
"I just want to talk to her."
Trey shakes his head, snarling. "Bad idea, kid. She's still with AJ, and even if she wasn't… She's using again." His fingers are tapping on the table, he looks ready to flight, and Ryan wonders again just how bad things were at their home and why there's no evidence of anything. "You may not remember how that makes her, but trust me on this, bro. In this case, not knowing is a fucking blessing."
The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he has spoken them. "I doubt it."
"For fuck's sake, Ryan!" Trey stands up and starts pacing. He stops and raises a hand in surrender when a guard approaches him. "Sorry," he mumbles, and sits back down.
Ryan breathes a sigh of relief. For a moment, he feared that Trey would ask the guard to take him away, just to avoid answering his questions.
Trey waits until the guard is out of earshot before talking again. "I told you last time—"
"I know what you told me last time," Ryan snaps, trying to keep his voice below yelling level. "It's not enough."
"Damn, bro, can't you take my word for it?"
"No, I can't! It can't be worse than what I'm imagining." Except he's starting to doubt that, and his voice doesn't sound nearly as assured as he wants it to.
Trey growls softly. "What do you want me to tell you? You want to know about our father and how he used to hit me to make you cry? Or about Dawn, who never went a week without getting drunk and apologizing over and over again. And then drinking some more. Or about these boyfriends of hers? How about the time one of these assholes twisted your arm behind your back until it broke? Biking accident, my ass."
There's a disturbing light in Trey's eyes, and Ryan resists the urge to look away.
"How about when one of them put out his cigarette on your arm?" Trey adds viciously.
"What about you?" Ryan asks softy.
Trey barks a sharp laugh. "Me? I split when I was sixteen. And waited for you to come to your senses and do the same. But no, of course you had to stay there and watch Dawn sink."
"No, I mean…" There must have been good times, right? We must have acted like brothers, right? We must have been a family at some point. Right?
The words catch in his throat before he can utter the first one.
Trey looks at him with something akin to pity. "Funny. I've always hoped I'd forget about all that stuff. So did you, by the way. But you did, and it doesn't look like it's a walk in the park now that you have."
Ryan almost laughs. "I just… I'm tired of wondering."
Trey shrugs. "I can't tell you about every single thing that happened every single day," he points out. "We don't have that much time."
Ryan swallows past the lump that's starting to form in his throat. "I know."
Trey sighs and clasps his hands in front of him.
"Life in Fresno sucked," Trey says. He doesn't look angry or tense anymore. Just tired. "Our father… well, the world is a better place now that he's in jail."
Ryan keeps his face blank and nods.
"Life in Chino was better for a while. Dawn had even stopped drinking. Then she started again. And stopped. And started again. She must be on her tenth relapse by now. She took drugs, drank, slept with losers who usually liked to use us as punching bags. One or two were nice, but those ones never stayed long."
Trey looks at Ryan with a smirk.
"We never had any money, so we both stole stuff."
The smirk widens when Ryan feels the blush creep up his cheeks, which was probably what Trey intended all along.
"When we grew up, we started fighting back, and things got worse. I left. You didn't."
He cracks his knuckles.
"I guess the best thing that ever happened to you was getting arrested with me," Trey finishes. "Ending up with that lawyer guy…" Then, a thought seems to occur to him. "They treat you well, right?" he asks, frowning. "These people? Nothing happened that…"
He fumbles for words and Ryan rushes to say, "Yeah, they're nice. Really nice."
"Then why?"
The answer to that one hasn't changed and too bad if it makes him sound like a broken record.
I need to know before I can move on, Trey. If I don't know for sure, I'll never stop wondering.
I need to know how bad it was, and if it was as bad as what you just said. I need to know why it went on for years and no one did anything, and why I didn't say anything.
A guard walks to them, saving Ryan from having to reply. "Time's up."
Trey and Ryan stand awkwardly.
"Don't go there," Trey says.
"I have to."
Trey nods, resigned. "Take care of yourself." He eyes the guard, who sighs and looks away. Smiling, he takes Ryan's shoulder and pulls him into a quick hug. "Be careful," he says gruffly before releasing Ryan and walking away.
He never turns back as the guard leads him back inside.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It takes three hours walking aimlessly in the streets and two hours spent making sure his mother is alone, for Ryan to gather his courage and ring the bell.
Despite the picture he saw, the phone calls and Trey's warning, Ryan is still taken by surprise when Dawn swings the door open.
He didn't expect her to look so old.
There are circles under her eyes, a bruise on her cheekbone and a bottle in her hand.
She blinks at him for a while before smiling tearfully. "Oh, my baby," she says, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him. "I'm so happy you're here."
It doesn't seem to sink in that Ryan's more than six hours away from his home, that they haven't seen each other in well over a year, and that he looks exhausted.
Ryan is starting to have second thoughts about entering this house, but he didn't go through all that just to turn away now.
So he allows her to lead him into the house, and he looks curiously around.
The first thing he notices is the boots next to the couch and the man's jacket on the chair. Trey's warnings echo in his mind, but Ryan ignores them. He knew before coming that she was living with a guy. The guy isn't around for now; Ryan spotted him driving away an hour earlier.
"Hey, Mom," he says, his first words since he entered the house.
She collapses on the couch and pats the cushion next to her, so he sits down carefully. He doesn't dare leaning back, doesn't dare get too comfortable.
He tries to tell himself that it's not fear, that it's not everyone's warnings making him wary of his old life.
He's just nervous around his mother, and since he doesn't remember her, who could blame him, right?
"How are you, baby?" she asks.
"I'm fine." He studies her, trying to look for a clue as to what she's thinking. He doesn't find any—she doesn't even seem to be in the room with him.
"Mom?" he asks.
"Oh, baby, I've missed you," she says, reaching over to touch his cheek. Her movement is too quick and she ends up smacking him slightly.
Her eyes fill up immediately. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," he says, resisting the hysterical urge to start laughing. "You didn't mean it. I just came to… I wanted to talk."
Dawn looks at the bottle she's still clenching in her hands. "I know, honey. I've been a bad mother, but I'll try to do better."
Ryan realizes with a sinking feeling that his first impression was true. She doesn't realize he's here with her when he should be with the Cohens, hundreds of miles away.
She's wasted and in no shape to talk, that much is obvious, but perhaps he can come back tomorrow? Perhaps she'll be more coherent then? Perhaps they'll be able to have a true discussion—even if she can't tell him about the past (and that looks increasingly likely), he just wants to talk to her, get to know her a little. He knows a lot more about Sandy and Kirsten than he does about his mother.
"Maybe I can come back," he says softly, hoping she understands what he's saying. "Maybe tomorrow?"
She nods absently, but the reply comes from behind Ryan. "Or maybe you can leave and not come back."
Ryan jumps up off the couch and turns to face the man who spoke.
The disturbingly large man who spoke.
Who's clenching his fists.
Who's smirking at him, and not in a semi-affectionate way, the way Trey did.
There's nothing but contempt on that man's face and Ryan's heart starts to beat faster.
Fuck.
He definitely should have listened to Trey.
And his friends.
And the Cohens.
And his instincts.
The man looks at him and snorts. "She threw you out, kid, what part of that didn't you get?"
Ryan swallows and tries to glare at the man.
"She's my mother," he says. "I still have a right to come see her."
Okay, maybe not his smartest move ever, but damn it, she is his mother and Ryan doesn't put up well with being bullied. He learned that much about himself when that kid tried to steal his backpack.
The man doesn't laugh, reply, grunt or anything of the sort. He just reaches out, grabs Ryan's arm, his fingers digging deep into the flesh, and drags him to the door.
Ryan follows, grimacing when he trips and the man's grip tightens around his arm even more.
"I did it once," the man says conversationally. "I can do it again."
Ryan struggles and stomps his foot on the man's, as hard as he can.
And wow, is he full of brilliant ideas today or what?
If he survives this, he'll never stand up to anyone who tries to attack him ever again.
Still, it seems to work. The man lets go, probably more out of surprise than pain.
Ryan turns to his mother, who has been staring at them both with wide eyes. He doesn't doubt there'll be payback for what he just did; he just wants to talk to her again.
"Mom, I'll call you, okay?" he says.
"I don't know," she mutters. "AJ's going to be mad if you do that."
Ryan doesn't have time to answer.
He doesn't even have time to feel hurt at the fact that she's submitting to that... man.
AJ grabs him again and slams him into the wall.
Ryan's ears ring and he falls to his knees, the breath knocked out of him, his whole body still rocking with the force of the impact.
He feels AJ haul him to his feet by the collar of his shirt and then, he's on the ground again, the area around his left eye feeling like it has been hit with a hammer.
He feels AJ's breath on his ear. "Leave. I won't tell you again."
Ryan nods, trying to push himself off the floor.
A hard kick to his side makes him fall again, curling up on himself, gasping for air.
He opens teary eyes to see AJ looming over him, and closes them again.
Waiting.
After a few moments, when it seems like no other blows are coming, Ryan painfully gets to his feet. He prods his eye carefully, wincing at the tenderness.
He doesn't even want to think about the bruise he feels forming on his side.
He looks at his mother, who's crying silently but hasn't moved from the couch while he was getting his ass kicked.
Who hasn't even said anything.
"I'm sorry, baby," she sobs.
Ryan nods once, a bad taste in his mouth.
He understands now what Trey tried to tell him.
Dawn is still whining. "I just don't…"
She trails off and the small part of Ryan's brain that's still capable of analyzing the situation recognizes that it's well-put.
Dawn just doesn't, that much is pretty clear.
"Okay," he says, keeping the hurt out of his voice. Men like AJ feed off other people's hurt, and fuck if Ryan's going to give him that satisfaction. Bad enough that Ryan allowed him to wipe the floor with him.
AJ's watching, arms crossed over his chest, smiling.
"Don't come back, kid," he says as Ryan makes his way to the door.
Ryan never planned to.
He may have forgotten what life taught him before the accident, but he's a quick student now.
TBC