A/N.: Help required. As you didn't allow me to kill Ryan, I was forced to write another story (in which I won't kill him). As reward for keeping alive, I would like to know what kind of soft toy might suit to Ryan (in the story Kirsten wants to buy him one that's 'protecting' him). So, if I don't get suggestions: I still can kill him in this story :)
Visitors
A throbbing pain in my leg wakes me up. The horror trip from last night is just a blur. Oh my god, do I feel sick. Was I saying last night's horror trip? Well, the whole day was one single horror trip and it doesn't feel as if it's getting any better today. Fuck. I slowly open my eyes. The sun shines bright into the room – too bright. Oh God. I feel like after a night with lots of bad shit. I turn to…ouch. No…not good. No turning to the side. Better not.
"Hey kid." I hear someone say. I open my eyes again and look into this always fresh and shiny face. I sometimes wonder whether he's taking something in the morning to be that happy everyday.
"Morning." I mumble. I'm still not really awake.
"How are you feeling?" He asks and I don't want to hear this question anymore. I only shrug my shoulders.
"What means: you don't know or you don't care?" My head isn't really ready for something like that.
"Dunno." I only answer. If someone would be that friendly to chop off my leg I would be deeply grateful.
"Kirsten had been quite worried about last night." Last night? Shit. No. This was real. Fuck. I'm such an asshole. Fuck. No, this doesn't help any further right now. He really has a good timing for making someone suffering from a very bad conscience. Really, very, very bad.
"Sandy, I know you can't hear this anymore and I promise I try …to…change…in somehow, but I'm really sorry." I want this pain to go away. I would do everything to make it go away.
"Sorry, for what?" Okay, now it's going to be worse than bad and worst than worse.
"Do I really have to itemize it all or can I just say for approximately the last…seven or eight months?"
"If you stick to our agreement that you this time really start to trust and believe us, start to become part of our family, I think this is enough." Right now I have no clue of what is hurting more – my leg or my conscience.
"C'mon kid, we can make you feel better. You only need to let us." He looks into my eyes. I try to avoid this look. These eyes can look through me. He can read me and I'm not ready for that. Not now and I doubt I'll ever be and then I should be able to let them…make me feel better? Is he kidding me?
"How?" I only ask. I know this is a fucked up question. I know he doesn't deserve this. But I need to make him stop to go any deeper. I'm not able to control myself – last night's five-years-old-baby-outburst had been the best proof.
"Good morning." Sandra comes in. "And how are you feeling?" I need to bite my tongue to not getting impolite about this question.
"Does your leg hurt?"
"Not as bad as last night, but yes." I don't want to feel that pain once again. I'll kill myself, I swear. This is no joke. Okay, maybe I should trying chopping of my leg on my own. But this… My stomach turns only by the thought of the bloody result.
"Then we should see that this doesn't happen again. But I'm sure the worse is over now." She says and then injects something into my IV. I still didn't get rid of it. Oomph. Sandra leaves and then comes back – with a tray. No…not eating. Not yet. I already feel like throwing up.
"And here's your breakfast."
"Uh…I…I'm not really hungry."
"That doesn't matter to me. When I come back all of this is gone and settled in your stomach. Understood?" She says – no commands. I look on what's on the tray and I can't say that it makes me hungry. I shove it away. I don't care what she says or not. I don't want to eat right now.
"Hey kid, what's wrong? You have to eat. I don't want to know how much weight you've already lost. And not eating doesn't help you with getting better." Sandy says. He's right. My cloths don't fit since months and…I don't think that my body like this not eating much. On the other hand, I'm really not hungry, also since months.
"Do you want something else?" He asks me. I shake my head. I don't want anything right now.
"Okay, what about a little deal: you eat what you like to and I'll help you out with commander nurse. How does it sound?" He smiles at me. I don't get why he's still caring about me. I'm a pain up his ass and he…pretends as everything was fine. It starts to feel as if he – they – really mean it. Hard to believe in this. Who knows what happens when I'm out of here. But I don't want to annoy him – never intended to. I'm just unable to accept that there might be someone who really cares. I start to eat. My stomach thanks me with cramps and the feeling of nausea.
"Are you up to some…not that happy news?" He asks me.
"Dunno. Just tell me." I answer. I'm only used to bad news. I never was ready for them and I doubt I ever will.
"On Friday in two weeks is your Dad's funeral. I…wanted to know if you plan to attend it." He starts. Shit. I haven't thought of that – of him. Why now? Why does he have to open up these wounds? Pinning needles stick in my heart and they start to hurt.
"No." I only answer. I haven't been at my Mum's funeral, or at my brother's. Why should I go to my Dad's? He was nothing but a stranger for me.
"Are you sure? It could help you to draw a line under this." He says. Why can't he accept my answer? Why does he have to turn the knife in the wound?
"I don't want to." I answer and then turn on my side, back to him. I fight back tears. Shit. Since when am I such a pussy. I never used to cry. Why do I feel like I have to every five seconds?
"Kid." I feel how he sits down on the bed. I try to get more distance between him and me, but it doesn't work. Shit. Fact is I can't handle these family issues. And fact is this is wrong. He starts rubbing my back. He should stop with it. Now. I try to fight this contact.
"Kid, as sorry as I am for you being here right now. But the advantage is you can't run. Thus you have to stand us as long as you accept that you're a part of our family – that we're your family." Family. Bullshit. Not existent, at least not for me. I don't do family. Not that I don't want…but family is nothing else than a word for pain.
"What's making it so difficult for you to realize that we really mean it?" You and Kirsten and Seth and…well all of you together and then there was me…I guess this should be enough. Yes, I admit it. I'm afraid and intimidated. Who tells me that this is no bad joke? Who tells me what family is? I have so fucking no clue and that's the best premise for messing it up, but really messing it up – the Ryan Atwood way of messing it up. And this is what I don't want. I already caused so much trouble and pain. Why don't they understand that?
"Know what? I think you should go to this funeral. We all come with you. You don't have to do this alone, not when you have us. And if you feel uncomfortable we just leave the scene. Do you think that's a good idea?" Well I could leave five seconds after arriving, what would mean I won't have to attend this funeral…shit. Why does it hurt, when I think of my Dad's death? He never had been around much. He was a stranger and when we had the chance to get to know each other, he decided to leave. He used to yell at Mum and Mum used to yell at him. So why does it hurt, when I think of my Mum who didn't care much about me, but more about her drinks and drugs and loser boyfriends. She used to watch Tray and me getting my ass kicked and then blamed us for it to happen. I had to work my hands to then bones so she could finance her booze. Why did it hurt? Why did it hurt, when I though of Tray who had left me alone for three years with that shit and then came back and still hadn't learned his lesson? Why does it hurt, when I think of all bruises and cuts and those punches and kicks that have caused them? Why does it hurt, when I thought about those men that entered my room when I was supposed to sleep and took from me what my passed out Mum couldn't give them? I'm done with it – was done with it. Why does it hurt when I think of it now? Why do I want to tell Kirsten and Sandy about this and how I feel about it? Why do I want them to take me into their arms and comfort me? Why do I wish so hard for having them as my family and being a part of it? And why does it hurt awfully that I can't? It's as if it's tearing me apart. No matter how hard I try. I never feel relieved but scared. That's why I ran, after I told Kirsten. I had the feeling as if I had told them too much, as if I have been already too close to them. What's scaring me?
"A penny for your thoughts." Sandy drags me out of…what ever was going on in my head. I only shrug my shoulders.
"Do we want to try it then?" He asks. I only shrug my shoulders. I don't know what I want to try and if I want to try something or anything.
"Was this a yes, a no or an I don't care?"
"Yes." I say. I don't want to disappoint him. The urge to please them, to…make them happy…maybe even proud of their little social project forbids me to say no. Why do I feel like that? I didn't even care what my own Mum or my own Dad thought. I never would have come to the conclusion to make something, only for them being pleased or happy or both.
"That's good. And now go back to your breakfast. You haven't even eaten half of it. What do you think? Shell I let Seth smuggle some Thai food into the hospital?" How is he doing this? No matter how strained an atmosphere is he usually manages to lighten it up. It must be genetic, because Seth is the same.
"Uh…no…thanks…but…if Seth…could come without too, it…would be cool." I answer.
"Of course. I think he's getting unused to be an only child."
I managed to eat half of the breakfast, afterwards I fell back to sleep. Hell, these drugs really knock me out and I don't think I like this effect.
"Hey bro! Good you'll be awake. Reading comics alone is really boring. I don't know how I managed to survive doing all the fun stuff alone." Seth starts to babble when I wake up.
"Hey you too Seth." I only answer and try to get up in a sitting position. The wounds on my back and stomach still ache, but it's okay. The only really bothering part of my body is my leg. Hell, I thought the pain will ease off one time.
"So how do you feel?"
"Stoned." I don't care that Seth probably doesn't know how it feels to be stones. What does probably mean, I'm sure he doesn't. But that's the best description of the effect the drugs use to have. I would be grateful if they could ease off the pain as well.
"Oh…okay…interesting way to describe your current state. So the drugs they give you seem to be good? Dude, take care that you don't become a junkie or something."
"Shut up Seth." But I give him a lopsided smile, so he understands how this is meant.
"Okay, no junkie jokes, promised. So when do you think they release you out of your prison?"
"The sooner the better." Fact: I can't stand hospitals. I hate them. Ew…no, I never want to come back again.
"Can imagine, hey I can't wait for you to come home. I have this amazing new videogame, X-men, you know the game to the movie. It's awesome, but a little boring if you play it alone."
"X-men? Cool." I sometimes ask myself whether Seth will be able sometime to leave his comic world. I don't wanna imagine him and Summer moving together and he's having to separate from his comic collection. And I'm sure Summer doesn't know any regrets.
"Oh, before I forget, here. I have brought you the comics of the last few weeks. So you'll be up to date again." He raises a pile of comics and…a throbbing pain runs through me leg into my spine and leaves through my skull.
"Ouch! Seth!" I shout out. He had dropped them onto my leg – the injured one.
"Oh…sorry man. I…didn't mean to…Is…is that…oh shit. I really didn't want to." Seth starts to stammer. Worse of all the pain doesn't seem to leave, but I don't want Seth noticing anything. Gritting teeth and hope for the best.
After Seth's visit Kirsten comes back again. Hell, can't I have one minute for myself?
"Hey honey, are you better today?" She asks me, when she enters the room. No, I don't want to answer this question anymore. I hate this question.
"Well, I think you have to, because Dr. Conrad says you can leave latest on Friday in two weeks under the condition that we keep you from moving around. Your leg needs a lot of rest." Friday? So, Friday is good because I can leave this place. But also Friday is not good because of the… My heart feels heavy once again.
"What's wrong?" She asks me. I look up at her. "Is it because of your Dad's funeral?"
"Dunno." Yes it is. I only don't dare to tell you. She sits down on the bed and put an arm around me. It's the same discomfort spreading through my body as comfort. Shit, I am screwed.
"You know that we'll be there, do you?" I only nod. "I can imagine that this must be hard for you. I felt awful when my Mum died. I thought I never could get over it, but…somehow I did. We're there for you and we deal with it."
"Thanks." I only manage to say. I have to respond to this. I only don't know what is appropriate in such situations.
"It's okay. Now let us come to some other thoughts or do you wanna talk about it? If you want to, no matter when, you can come to me, okay?" I only nod. Her way of talking, the heart she's putting in every word and the fact that she's meaning it – it's intimidating. She puts out a new Sudoku book and sits down next to me. I can't help to solve it for too long. I'm still too tired and my leg starts to ache again.
"Are you tired?"
"A little." I mumble.
"Then go back to sleep." I turn on my side. Man, am I glad that I can lie on my side again. Lying on an aching back is everything else then relaxed. I feel how she tucks me in. My Mum never tucked me in. It had been my Dad's job, until he was put into jail. Shit. Every thought about my Dad feels like a knife stabbing in my heart. I feel how she strokes over my cheek again. My eyelids feel heavy and I just close them.