Consequences

Later that evening I go to the pool house. I want to talk to Ryan. He needs to know that Seth didn't mean it…or better he needs to know that Seth can't understand his problems concerning family issues. He needs to understand that it is for us as difficult to deal with him not wanting to be part of the family as it is for him us wanting him to be.

"I come with you." My husband says.

"Do you think it's a good idea?" I ask him. I don't want Ryan getting angry only because of some stupid fight and I don't want him to try to run again. It's too dangerous for him – for his leg, for his psyche. He's too fragile.

"We're both his parents and he has to accept it." He's right. He has to accept us as his family. Only then he has a chance to win against his demons. I knock on the door. The blinds are shut and the light in the pool house is off. I carefully step in. He's curled together under the blanket. I switch on the light on the nightstand.

"Hey honey." I touch his shoulder. I didn't insist to terrify him. But he jumps up, eyes wide open and slowly limps away from me.

"Sorry Ryan, I…didn't want to scare you." I tell him. There is so much fear and sadness in his eyes.

"Ryan, can we talk to you?" My husband starts. We don't get a respond. He's standing in a corner of the room, his arms slung around himself. Seeing him like that hurts. He's protecting himself from something, but I can't tell what it is. Pure, naked fear jumps at me, when I look into his eyes. He presses his body tight against the wall, as if he hopes to be able to disappear through it. He's tired and he's hurt. It's obvious but he doesn't want to admit it. I step towards him and reach a hand after him. He flinches violently. He's devastated and I've never seen him that scared.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I want to comfort him but he's shifting away from me. Every step I make closer, is one step back from him. But I manage to get close enough. My arm reaches out to touch his, but pulls it away quickly, before I can reach it. He's so hurt.

"Nothing…just…" He's confused and I can't help him – he doesn't let me.

"Ryan, why don't you go and sit down on the bed. I think it's better for your knee." My husband suggests. Ryan is only standing on one leg and can lose balance every second, but he shakes his head. He's withdrawn in his shell and he doesn't allow us to give him a hand and guide him out of it. We're standing there in silence. My husband moves towards Ryan and tells me with one glance to do so either. Ryan steps back, with every step we make towards him. Thus we force him to limp from one end of the room to another one – until he reaches the bed again. My husband is a smart man.

"Okay Ryan, do you think you can sit down now?" I ask him. He obeys slowly, his arms still holding his midsection. He doesn't look at us. I start a new attempt to get a little closer to him. I sit down next to him, but leave a gap between us. He flinches violently and shifts away from me. I again try to touch his arm, but again he pulls it away.

"Ryan, you need to tell us, what's wrong with you." But I don't receive a response. Nothing. I'm afraid Ryan might have lost it.

"Hey kid…you're scaring us a little right now." My husband steps in and sits down at the other side of the boy. He's closing his eyes. There's no space for escaping left. We're too close that's what he wants to tell us right now, but I'm not giving way now.

"Ryan, no matter what's scaring you, you need to tell us. We're your family now." I start to sooth him, but I can't tell if my words reach him.

"I'm afraid to ask…but…may it be that you don't want to be …part of this family?" My husband carefully asks. But no matter how carefully he asks this question, I don't like the idea of asking it.

"That's…not…true." A very silent whisper tells us. I see tears slowly running down his cheek, over his chin dropping down onto the floor. I want to comfort him, but he doesn't let me. He forced himself to be alone in pain, although he doesn't have to be. He's inflicting more and more pain to himself. It could so easy if he just would allow us to be at least a little his parents.

"What's not true?" I don't get a response. "That you don't want to be part of the family?" I ask on. He only nods.

"But…why are you crying then?" I ask him. He never was crying – at least not, when he was awake or fully conscious.

"Can't." He only whispers. I get a little closer to him and slowly put one arm around him. I want to give him at least a little comfort.

"You can't? Why? There has to be a reason." I go on as carefully as I can, fully aware of that I might push him away with every word said too much.

"This…it's intimidating…I'm afraid of it." He tries to explain to us. I look at my husband and his face looks like I feel.

"What's frightening you?" My husband asks, now rubbing the boy's back. He's flinching again and again and I fear the boy might suffer from a nervous break down.

"Dunno." He only mumbles.

"But if you don't know, you can't change it." I tell him.

"You know a therapist could help you." My husband starts the topic from new.

"Yeah sure, locking me up in a madhouse and drugging me stupid." Shocked about this statement I take him into my arms. I don't care that he wants his physical space.

"No honey, not as long as we have a word in it." I assure him. I never would allow someone drugging him or…admitting him…to the madhouse.

"Talked to the court about it?" He asks. It's incredible. The boy…can't or doesn't want to understand what it meant, when we've signed the adoption papers.

"Just one more time, we adopted you, what means you're our legal son. Now we're making all the unpopular decisions, not a judge." My husband explains him once again and puts an arm around him too. My t-shirt soaks with his warm tears.

"Ryan, we're serious about the adoption, do you want to see the forms?" Why doesn't he believe us?

"Fuck you, not even my own mother or father had wanted me around…why would you?" He now says. He's agitated, but not screaming.

"Because you're parents didn't know what a great kid you are. Listen…your parents…they had been sick …they had too many problems and conflicts with themselves as if they had been able to care for you.…I'm sure they didn't mean it." I try to make him realize that those things that had been said so often to him, never had been really true. I can't imagine any mother that doesn't want her kids, no matter what a burden it is. Sometimes this feeling is only buried under too many other problems.

"That's why my father left me alone a second time and…my…Mum…just watched them kicking my ass or…took their money…or whatever only…for…you know what I'm talking about." I know what he means. I know that his mother had prostituted him. I read it. Hearing it from him, is much harder to take. My heart clenches. I can understand why he believes his parents hadn't wanted him.

"Ryan, this is over now. Now you have us. We care for you and we won't watch anyone hurting you, promised. And when we suggest a therapist, it's only to help you. Right now you're hurting yourself and you'll do as long as you try to bottle up what you can't deal with." My husband says. The tears become more and more.

"Ryan, just give it a try. I promise it'll help you." I tell him.

"And as I told you once, nothing happens if you don't want it to." My husband assures him.

"Does it sound okay to you?" He only nods. I even hold him tighter. "Oh sweetie, everything will be alright again. We're there now and care for you."

"I…d…don't want to hurt you anymore." He whispers. It's as if he never had cried those tears.

"You aren't hurting us. I …might have said some things that weren't alright. But it's normal that there are fights and disputes in a family and then we'll work it out again." My husband explains and rubs the boys back in circles.

"B…But…I…I'm…so screwed up."

"No, you aren't. You're our son now and we love you." I sooth him and slightly rock him. His sobs are silent, but deep. I don't even want to know how long those tears had been bottled up in this boy and I don't want to know how much hurt had caused them. I only want him to be okay again.

"Is okay." I peck him on his hair. If ever someone had hold him that tight and told him that everything was going to be alright? I doubt it. How else was it possible that a boy his age was already that despaired?

I stay with him until he falls asleep. I rub his back, stroke through his hair and he stops flinching. It's late when I go back to the main house.

"Is everything okay now?" My husband asks when I enter the living room.

"Nearly." Now I have to confess to something. Now it's our time to have the conversation.

"What does that mean?" He asks, concern written all over his face.

"We…need to talk about actions and their consequences." I admit.

"What are you talking about?"

"Whirlpool."

~ FIN ~

A/N.: Okay, this story is over now. If anyone feels the desire to get to know, what the whirlpool consequences are, how Ryan starts to heal (with set backs) and what an ass******* people can be, just let me know and I think about something. Thanks a lot for reading this story and a very big thank you for the reviews.