Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/393661.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_OC
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Atwood/Theresa_Diaz
  Character:
      Ryan_Atwood, Theresa_Diaz, Trey_Atwood, Eddie_(The_OC), Dawn_Atwood
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-09-14 Completed: 2012-04-28 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 22872
****** A Chino Dream ******
by elzed
Summary
     Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart.
     Pre-pilot.
     Betaed by BonnieD
***** High Hopes *****
Ryan woke with a start just before his alarm clock went and slammed the button
down before it had a chance to beep. He fell back onto his pillow, his heart
beating too fast, his breathing ragged. He couldn't for the life of him
remember why he'd woken up so abruptly, but he was already calming down, so it
couldn't have been that bad. He stared at the ceiling and decided he'd give
himself a few minutes to relax before getting up. He felt he could afford to
these days.
Today – Monday – made it thirty-eight days since his mom's last bender –
according to her, since her last drink. And Ryan was prepared to give her the
benefit of the doubt. He was confident she wasn't drinking behind his back. He
had become really good at spotting that after years of failed attempts at
drying up. This time it looked really promising. He was almost willing to
believe that their life was taking a turn for the better.
It was never that bad in the mornings anyhow. Ryan rarely went to bed much
earlier than Dawn, and the walls of the house were so thin, he would have heard
her if she tried to sneak a drink in the night. He also checked her bedroom
over regularly when she was out to make sure she wasn't hiding booze in her
closet. Mornings were not the problem. The real test was coming home in the
evenings.
He would hold his breath as he turned the key in the lock, willing himself to
be calm, every muscle in his body tensing up as he entered the house and
scanned it. Even worse were the evenings where she was working the late shift
at the diner and Ryan would pretend to watch TV or do his homework with one eye
on the door, staying up until midnight to make sure he was there when she came
in. Until he saw her he wouldn't know whether or not she'd stayed on the wagon.
He could tell quickly though, even before smelling her breath, if she had been
drinking. He had been reading the signs for the better part of a decade and
even his mother knew there was no way she could fake being sober with him. She
could hoodwink Trey, maybe, especially if he was wasted, because he never
looked at her that closely. Ryan did.
But as the days clocked by, the tension eased, and he was letting his routine
slacken. It had been at least four days since he'd last checked the house for
alcohol. Five weeks on, Ryan was beginning to think this might be the real
thing. His mom hadn't stuck it that long since she had started drinking
seriously. Since his father had been sent to jail and they'd moved from Fresno,
nearly ten years ago.
It had gotten to the point where Ryan was no longer always on his guard. He was
even considering the possibility of going out the coming weekend – something he
had given up in a discreet show of support that he wasn't sure she'd noticed.
He was also getting a little tired of all the studying he was putting in to
fill the time, of being always on his best behaviour. And of watching the same
crappy shows on TV.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
So Monday morning, Ryan felt pretty good. It was amazing how much easier life
was when it was just the two of them – no AJ to mess him up, no Trey to drive
Dawn up the wall – and when his mother was sober, single, and holding down a
job. She was just a waitress at a local diner – but the job was good. The owner
was friendly, the tips decent, and more often than not, Ryan could count on a
free meal if he dropped by. All in all, his life was starting to sound quite
normal – and he had had precious little experience with normal. It was a new
feeling for Ryan, one that he could get used to. He hoped he would get a
chance.
Then again, if he was going to be leading a normal life – maybe it was time to
deal with some of the issues he had been postponing until now.
The first letter from school mentioning upcoming SATs had gone straight into
the Atwoods' trashcan. Ryan didn't even bother handing it over to his mom. When
it was followed a week later by another one, with a note from the school
counsellor suggesting he give it a go, Ryan found himself in two minds. He had
been carrying the letter in his schoolbag for three days now.
It was time to do something about it.
He got out of bed and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Dawn was
drinking coffee when Ryan joined her in the living room, letter in hand. He
felt very nervous, not least because he didn't have much experience in dealing
with that kind of situation. Most letters from school dealt with reports about
his fights, or his truancy. When his mother ever got to see them – when he
hadn't been quick enough to get the mail – it was either duck out or get yelled
at. Ryan could be very quick on his feet when he had to. But this was
different. And she was different.
He walked slowly to the kitchen counter, placed the letter on it and stepped
back, eyeing his mom warily. He wished it didn't look so crumpled and so
obviously opened and resealed. She was never going to buy that he hadn't read
it.
"What's that, Ryan?"
"Letter from school, Mom. I was going to give it to you and I forgot," he
mumbled. He wanted to get that part over and done with as soon as possible.
She picked it up and smoothed the envelope. "You want to tell me what it's
about? Since you've obviously opened it."
Ryan just shrugged, keeping his eyes on her until she sighed and pulled the
letter out to read it.
"SATs, huh? Isn't that what you need to get into college? What does your
counsellor think, we're made of money?" But she didn't sound as abrasive as the
old Dawn would have.
He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. "Read it, mom. Mr Salazar put
something about scholarships in our area."
She frowned. "Don't you have to be top of your class to get a scholarship? Does
your Mr Salazar think you've got what it takes?"
Ryan shrugged. "I don't know, Mom. I guess." He chewed on his lower lip. "Look,
you're right, it doesn't matter. They're expensive tests. Forget it." It had
been a bad idea. Best to let it be. He started rummaging in his schoolbag,
checking that he had everything he needed for the day.
"No, hon, hang on, that's not what I meant." Her voice was tentative. Sometimes
Ryan swore he didn't recognise his own mother. It was like this new, softer
version of her had taken over and while he knew it couldn't last, he couldn't
stop himself from hoping. "What do you need to send to register?"
"Are you sure, Mom? I think it's like, eighty dollars or something." He didn't
know how to react yet. Maybe she hadn't read the letter properly.
"Nothing's too good for my boy. But you better do well at these tests Ryan, or
else..." She sent him a threatening look. Ryan grinned back, relief surging
through him. That kind of threat he could handle.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Three weeks later, Ryan sat the tests. Dawn was still clean, and was even
promising to save money for college if there was any chance of a scholarship.
Life had never been so good. The last time Trey had come by, he'd even
commented on how impressed he was with their mother, and how relaxed Ryan
looked.
"Bro', you look better than I've ever seen you, man. You're even filling out a
little. Mom's really serious about this, huh?"
"I guess," Ryan said. "She's even started cooking again. Doesn't always work,
but it makes a change."
Trey looked amused. "Are you saying I shouldn't have brought pizza?"
"Umm, no. But she's building up to a decent dinner. Maybe next time?" Ryan
sounded hopeful.
Trey looked at him closely, concern showing in his eyes: "Hey, Ryan, you
know... this might not last, huh? I've seen it before and –"
"It's been more than two months, Trey. She's never lasted that long before. I
think she's really trying this time."
Trey sighed. "I hope you're right little bro'. But Ryan, don't bet on it. It's
mom, remember?"
Ryan nodded. His good humour was a little deflated. Never mind. She would stick
it this time. He was sure of it. Almost.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ryan looked at the envelope, turning it over and over between his fingers. He
couldn't face opening it, even though he was pretty sure he'd done well. He
tried to tell himself that he didn't really care, that there was no way that
these scores would make any difference to his life, but he knew he was hoping
for the best. He still couldn't believe that his mother had sprung eighty-
something dollars to pay for him to sit the tests. All that new talk of college
and saving and thinking about scholarships was still hard to believe. But
potentially good. If he'd aced the tests, that was. Otherwise he was going to
have to face a very angry Mom.
He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and sat down on
the porch. A smoke would help steady his nerves, he figured. Just as he lit it,
he heard a wolf-whistle from the house next door.
"Well if it isn't Ryan Atwood! What are you doing home on a Saturday afternoon,
man? I thought you were working?" Theresa stood there grinning at him.
"Stock-taking at the warehouse. They didn't need me. What about you?"
She grimaced. "I had to take the day off to go to the dentist. Ugh. Two
fillings. And my mouth is still numb. At least I get the afternoon free. Wanna
hang out?" She crossed over and flopped down next to him on the steps.
He looked at her sideways. "Where's Eddie?"
"Garage. Like you care. Hey, what are you reading anyhow?" Theresa tried to
read the envelope over his shoulder. "School stuff?"
Ryan swatted her away. "None of your goddamn business, chica." But Theresa was
persistent.
"C'mon, stud. You're looking all broody and shit. What's it about?"
"Theresa, fuck off!" He bit his bottom lip, annoyed. Why was she being so damn
inquisitive?
Theresa pouted at him, mock-angry. "Okay. But you know I'll find out
eventually."
She made as if to leave and then lunged at him and snatched the envelope out of
his hands, laughing, and ran out of his reach. He narrowed his eyes at her and
debated briefly whether to chase her or finish his cigarette. The nicotine won,
narrowly, and he settled for flipping her the finger. She was right – she would
have found out sooner or later. Maybe she would open the letter and put him out
of his misery.
"So, what have we here," Theresa said. "Oh wait, these are your test results,
right?" She looked back at him and he nodded curtly.
"Want me to open it?"
Ryan looked away. She waited. Eventually, he gave a small shrug and she grinned
at him and tore the envelope open. She scanned the papers inside, frowning.
Suddenly she squealed with glee.
"Oh, Ryan, that's unbelievable. Wait..." She scanned further. "It says your
scores are in, like, the 98th percentile here. That means..."
"What?" Ryan felt his heart lift. Ninety-eighth percentile? That was way better
than he had hoped. He rubbed his face and smiled at Theresa. "You're not
shitting me, right?"
"As if!" she retorted. "Oh Ry, you son of a bitch, you're so smart! That's
fantastic!" She ran back at him, waving the letter, and hugged him. He hugged
her back, elated.
It looked like it was going to be a good summer.
***** Intimacy *****
She was almost asleep when she heard the familiar tap at her window, just loud
enough for her to notice but no one else. It had been a while, Theresa thought.
She lay still for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea, whether her
mother was sleeping, whether Arturo would hear anything. She thought about
Eddie, who sure as hell wouldn’t understand. She got up.
Ryan was pressed against the wall in the shadows, hand raised for another tap
when she slid the window open. He looked freaked out, pale and nervous and his
eyes kept darting back at his house over the backyard fence. When she leant out
he glanced at her for a second with a look of such despair that her heart gave
a lurch. It had to be really bad. Ryan hadn’t come over like this in ages, not
since things had gotten better at home. She never dared ask – he never told –
but she’d seen enough next door to figure out that Dawn had been pretty sober
recently, that her fucking boyfriend was out, and that Ryan was doing okay.
More than okay, actually – it was the happiest she’d seen him in years. Until
right now.
She held out a hand and helped him over the sill. He dropped to the floor and
crouched there, breathing shallowly.
“What’s up Ry?” she whispered. “You okay?”
Ryan nodded. “It’s just… I wanted to get out for a while. I thought maybe…” He
looked up at her and squinted, and she could see that he was trying to pretend
everything was all right, that this was just a normal visit, a little hanging
with Theresa time, like they used to do. He snaked a hand up her bare leg and
attempted a grin, but she wasn’t fooled.
“Don’t shit me,” she said, suddenly furious. “You don’t come over for months
and now it’s like nothing ever changed? I’m seeing Eddie, remember? This…” she
gestured at his hand on her thigh, “…this isn’t us anymore. What the fuck is
happening, Ryan?”
His face fell and she felt mean. All the more so since she could still sense
the warmth of his hand on her skin, although he had dropped it back to his
side. Damn, that boy knew how to push her buttons. But she wouldn’t let him get
away with this. She stared at him in the semi-darkness, frowning.
He spoke quietly, without looking at her, head hunched into his shoulders.
“It’s… Things aren’t so cool at home tonight, okay? AJ’s back.”
“Oh, fuck.” Theresa’s heart sank further. She didn’t know for sure why AJ had
left but there had been an unholy fight on the night Ryan’s mom sent him
packing and she knew for a fact that he dealt drugs from the house because
Arturo told her so. She barely knew the guy but she hated him for what he did
to Ryan, whose frequent black eyes and split lips were testimony to AJ’s anger
management issues.
No wonder Ryan looked fearful. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him,
impulsively. He went rigid, and she could just feel the tension radiating from
him, then something gave and he relaxed into her embrace and rested his
forehead on her shoulder. They had been there so often, Ryan bruised or angry
or scared, escaping his shitty house and his shitty mom and his shitty life by
coming to her. He never spoke much about what it was like, but he often sought
comfort with her. It was the bedrock of their intimacy, together with the
chemistry that kept them coming back to each other again and again since they
first tested the waters together years ago.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was something about the smell
of him which was instantly familiar; that mixture of smoke and lemony soap and
clean skin, of cheap leather and fresh sweat and the underlying scent of boy,
not quite man, that was Ryan. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it
until now.
When he started kissing her neck she almost brushed him off, then thought
better of it. She kidded herself that he needed it too much for her to push him
away, that he had nowhere else to go but she knew it was bullshit. She loved
how he could turn her on without even trying and get her off every time like it
was the most natural thing in the world. So unlike Eddie – but that was
something she didn’t want to think about right now. She surrendered with a
shudder of recognition to his mouth on her neck, his lips hot on her skin, his
teeth grazing her earlobe.
Theresa’s mind was racing as they kissed feverishly, still kneeling on the
floor, Ryan’s hands snaking under her loose T-shirt to caress her breasts. She
felt guilty for cheating on Eddie but then it was Ryan, so it didn’t really
count. Although Eddie might not see it like that. Eddie, who was already
jealous of Ryan even though he didn’t know the half of it. Eddie, whose careful
lovemaking was perfectly satisfying but never exhilarating like this was.
Fuck Eddie. She moaned into Ryan’s mouth as he let his hand slide down her body
and past the waistband of her shorts. He knew exactly where to touch her, he
always had. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm of his fingers,
her breath uneven, ragged.
She just couldn’t resist him, she thought fleetingly as she came, smothering
her cry into his kiss. Then she slid down onto the floor and he rolled onto her
with his warm, heavy, hard body and she was whispering incoherently into his
neck as he pushed into her with a groan and moved with her. And he was fucking
her, hard and silent but good and she was so tuned into him she could feel his
pent-up anger and fear dissipating as he took her back up the rollercoaster –
until she peaked again, biting his shoulder hard to stop herself screaming the
house down. She felt him smile against her neck then, and he came too, hardly
making a noise. And then they were both still but for their hearts beating
wildly, chest to chest.
And Theresa wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it was that she and
Ryan had, and how it was that she was going out with Eddie, and why it was that
she always let Ryan do her without a condom but never Eddie, even though Ryan
probably slept around more than Eddie did. But he swore he always used a condom
with all the other girls and for some reason she believed him. Besides, she was
on the pill so at least on that front she was safe.
Sometime early in the morning she felt him stir and kiss her softly and then he
was gone as she turned over, spread her cramped limbs out and fell back into
deep sleep.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was barely light but Ryan knew he had to leave. He could never stay at
Theresa’s – even if they had been going out together her mother wouldn’t have
allowed it. And he didn’t want to stay this time, anyhow. He climbed out of the
window with practised ease, crossed over to his house and sat on the front
steps. He had no idea what to do next.
Sleeping with Theresa had been good, just what he needed to forget why he left
last night, but now it was fucking morning and he had to deal with reality
again. He could feel his heart pounding when he thought of what AJ’s presence
really meant.
The worst thing was, he’d been getting used to coming home and not having to
check everything. He’d been feeling confident. Relaxed even. And then he’d
opened the door only to see fucking AJ sitting on the couch like he belonged
there again, and Mom sitting next to him laughing, no, giggling like a fucking
schoolgirl. And she never, ever giggled sober. And suddenly all the bullshit of
the previous weeks was just that, bullshit, and Ryan wanted to bang his head
against the wall because he had been such a fucking stupid asshole to believe
even for a second that things were going to get better.
He still hoped beyond hope that it could be a one-off, that AJ was just paying
some sort of friendly visit, except that in any version of Ryan’s life worth
living, AJ would never come round for a friendly visit, ever.
Ryan dug into his pockets, searching for a cigarette to keep him occupied as he
weighed his options. AJ had spent the night, that was clear enough, because his
fucking pick up truck was out front. The thought of him sleeping in the house
again made Ryan want to throw up. There was no way Dawn would’ve let AJ spend
the night unless they were back together. And there was no way they were back
together unless she’d abandoned all pretence of being clean. Because AJ wasn’t
the kind of guy you hung around with if you wanted to stay away from booze or
drugs. Or flying fists, for that matter.
Ryan felt suddenly tired, like the weight of ages had landed on his shoulders
with no warning at all. If he was honest with himself, he felt like crying,
too. Except that he hadn’t cried since he was about six and his father had told
him off for being a damn sissy. In his mind’s eye, he could see all the plans
he’d been building over the past months falling down, all his dreams of getting
out of Chino, of maybe going to college and getting a decent job being shredded
and scattered to the four winds.
He was still there in a black mood several cigarettes later when Theresa came
out with her bike, ready for school. She walked over, and he could tell she was
forcing herself to smile and look cheerful. He hated her for it, even though he
knew he was being unfair.
“So, Atwood, school not cool enough for you or what? C’mon, it’s only the last
week. Why give up now?”
He squinted up at her. “Why fucking bother?” It wasn’t like his GPA was going
to count one way or another now, he wanted to add, because his fucking mom was
back to being a no-good drunk and his life was back to shit.
“It’ll keep you out of the house?” She smiled at him, brown eyes full of
concern. Ryan bristled. He didn’t need her pity. He shouldn’t have gone to her,
shouldn’t have cracked. They weren’t even fucking these days, now she hung with
Eddie and pretended to be all grown-up. Last night had been a fluke. He didn’t
want to be a charity fuck.
“Yeah, well I can always go hang out somewhere else. I don’t give a fuck about
school, Theresa. Fuck making an effort. I’m tired of it.”
“You don’t even know if he’s back for good,” she said softly.
“What’s it look like?” He looked back at her, bitter. She dropped her bike on
the ground and went to sit next to him. He stiffened immediately and looked
away.
“Don’t be like this, Ry.”
“Theresa – look, thanks for last night but – I just want to be alone.”
“Thanks?” She scowled at him. “Thanks for last night but fuck off? What kind of
a jerk are you, Atwood? I mean, I know it sucks but it’s not my fucking fault,
is it? Do you have to be so goddamn insulting?” She was still speaking low, but
her tone was angry. She had quite a temper on her.
He sighed. “I didn’t mean it like this. I just can’t deal with people today.”
“Yeah, well, next time, think before you open your mouth. You’re such a fucking
boy sometimes.” Theresa got up, still scowling and picked up her bike, refusing
to look back at him. Ryan watched her pedal off, eyes narrowed. He felt like a
shit, but to be honest, it was hardly the most pressing thing on his mind right
now. He wanted out of the house before his mom and AJ woke up. That was one
reunion he wanted to postpone as long as he could.
He slipped in through the front door, silently, and made his way to his
bedroom, trying not to notice the empty bottles of beer on the table, the
overflowing ashtrays and – his stomach cramped at the sight – a ball of singed
foil on the kitchen counter. If AJ had talked her into freebasing coke Ryan
might as well give up on any semblance of a normal life. Jesus, how could she
lose it so fast? He could hear Trey’s voice in his head: “It’s Mom, remember?”
How the fuck could he have forgotten? Mom never took things slowly – it was all
or nothing.
He crept past her bedroom door – he could hear AJ snoring, for fuck’s sake –
and slunk into his bedroom where he stuffed a few clothes and basics into a
backpack. He was on his way back out when a floorboard creaked and he heard a
sleepy voice call out his name. He froze. Damn. So much for a quick exit.
“Hey baby, is that you?”
“Yeah. I’m going to school, mom, I’m late.”
“Wait up, hon.” He could hear her shuffling inside, probably looking for her
robe. She looked rough when she finally made it out, eyes rimmed with smudged
mascara, her face puffy with sleep and her hair matted and messy. He clenched
his jaw and tried to ignore the bite marks on her neck. He was glad he hadn’t
spent the night and been forced to listen to her and AJ making up in bed.
She looked anxiously at him “Ryan, honey, I wanted to explain last night but
you took off… I know what this looks like but I swear it ain’t what you think.”
“Yeah, mom, whatever.” He really didn’t want to be discussing this now, outside
the bedroom, with AJ’s snores hovering over their conversation.
“Sweetie, I know you and AJ don’t get along, but he’s changed, baby, he really
has.” With each word Ryan felt his irritation rising. He just itched to be
outside – away from all this. “He’s promised he’ll make an effort. He says he’s
missed me, he’s missed us, and…”
“Yeah right, I’m sure he’s missed me, mom.” Ryan spoke through gritted teeth.
“I’ve got to go, please, give me a break.” He tried to walk on but she held on
to his arm.
“Ryan, “ she pleaded, her voice whiny, “I know you’re pissed. But it’s not that
bad. We were just having a little celebration last night… I can keep it under
control. Come on, can’t a girl have a little fun now and then?” He recognised
the words he’d heard again and again in the past. Lies, every time.
Something snapped in Ryan. He turned to face his mother, angry and upset enough
that he no longer bothered to control his voice. “Mom, don’t give me that
bullshit. You know you can’t. And I don’t know what he told you to get back in
here but have you forgotten why you kicked him out in the first place? Doesn’t
he have another fucking family to look after anyhow? Jesus, mom, this time I
thought you were serious about this!” His voice cracked and he took a deep
breath, afraid of breaking down if he went on. Suddenly Ryan realised he could
no longer hear AJ snoring and the back of his neck prickled. He better leave
before the big man had a chance to come out.
Dawn stood there, stock-still, a sheepish look on her face. She made as if to
open her mouth but he shook his head and pushed past her towards the front
door. He didn’t want to hear any more of her apologies. And he sure as hell
didn’t want to stay and see her crash and burn in agonising close-up.
It was time to take shelter at Trey’s.
***** Boyz N the Hood *****
There was no point calling his brother that early in the morning – Ryan was
better off just turning up on his doorstep. He knew that going to Trey’s was
probably a bad idea in the long run, but at this point, staying home was worse.
He let himself out of the house without a backward look, stuffing a half-full
pack of cigarettes he found in the living room in his jeans and set off on his
bike.
As he rode down the streets in the early morning light, he tried to think it
through. School was pretty much over for the year so it didn’t really matter if
he blew off the rest of the week. Besides, what he’d said to Theresa was true –
he was past caring. Fuck school.
This much he knew – he was done dreaming a way out of the shit-hole that was
his life. He was done pretending he could escape the white trash existence he
was so clearly destined for – why deny the genes? So his mom was a doped-up
alcoholic with a cokehead boyfriend? So what? His dad was in jail and his big
brother dealt drugs and jacked cars. It was the kind of family he came from.
Ryan Atwood in college? Who was he kidding? It would never work. No one would
ever buy it – not with that kind of history, no matter what his SAT scores
said.
No, it was time to face up to reality. He wasn’t going to get anywhere being
the good kid. Not with his fucking mom selling out on him. He might as well try
to learn something off Trey and start upping his street smarts. Maybe it was
time to go and play with the big boys. At least if he hung with him Trey might
stop treating him like a pussy.
By the time he pulled up in front of Trey’s seedy apartment block, in one of
Chino’s less salubrious neighborhoods, he had almost convinced himself that
this was the best way to go. He knocked on Trey’s door with more confidence
than he felt. His brother could be a bitch in the morning.
It took a good five minutes before a sleepy and clearly pissed off Trey yanked
the door open.
“Ryan? The fuck… What time is it?”
“Um, eight, I guess? Sorry, man, but I kind of need your help.” Ryan looked up
at Trey through his lashes, a little uncertain. Trey stared back at him, still
annoyed but at least he hadn’t slammed the door shut.
“What’s up?”
Ryan bit his bottom lip and looked down. “AJ.”
“Shit.” Trey’s expression softened. “She took him back already?”
Ryan nodded, eyes still down.
“Stupid bitch,” Trey muttered. He opened the door wide and motioned Ryan in,
looking him up and down as he walked past him. “Did he…?”
“No. I left. And I guess he’s still on his best behavior with Mom. But, Trey,
she’s, you know…” Ryan grimaced. He didn’t want to say she was back on the
booze. Because he knew that Trey would say ‘I told you so’ and he’d feel like a
jerk for having bought it for so long. But Trey didn’t say anything; he just
pulled Ryan in for a one-armed hug, in a rare display of brotherly affection.
“So you want to crash here, little bro’?”
Ryan shrugged. He tried not to sound too pathetic. “Yeah, you know, just for a
couple of days. Until I figure out what’s happening.”
“Man, with that fucker around, you can always stay here, you know that,” Trey
said with feeling as he made a half-hearted attempt at clearing some space on
the living room floor for Ryan to dump his backpack. The place might as well
have ‘bachelor pad’ stamped on it. It was a mess of empty pizza boxes, full
ashtrays, half-full beer cans and stray clothes, with a pile of girlie and
motor magazines in a corner, a few CDs strewn about, and on a low table –
surrounded by dirty cups and dishes and more random crap – cigarette papers and
an open bag of weed that Ryan eyed speculatively. Trey caught his glance.
“You want some? Go ahead. I’m going back to bed because I’ve only slept, I
don’t know, four hours tops and I need more. We can talk later. You know where
all the shit is anyhow.” He yawned and walked back to the bedroom. As he was
about to go through the door he turned back to Ryan and smirked. “Oh, and
don’t, you know, walk in or anything. I’ve got company.”
Ryan smirked back at the closing door and sat down on the couch, having cleared
some space. He sighed as he looked at the mess around him. He hated crashing at
Trey’s because his brother was such a pig. And unlike home, he had nowhere to
retreat from the chaos – just the living room, which meant he could only go to
bed when everyone had left, and Trey liked to party. He might as well get
stoned, he figured. It made it easier to put up with all the shit. Plus, right
now, it was exactly what he needed. He rolled himself a large one, lit it and
settled back on the couch, inhaling deeply. He hoped there was some still-
edible leftover pizza somewhere in one of those boxes, because he was going to
be very hungry pretty soon. Unless he fell asleep first.
------------------------------------------------
When Trey finally got up several hours later, his little brother was spread out
on the coach dead to the world. In the ashtray next to him were the remnants of
a couple of sizeable joints. Trey smiled to himself. Ryan didn’t let himself go
very often, but when he wanted to, he could indulge with the best of them.
The girl who’d spent the night – what was her name, Tina? – had just left. Trey
had made it clear he didn’t expect her to hang around, seeing as his brother
had come over and there were family issues to discuss. It was as good an excuse
as any to get rid of her, and it happened to be true. She’d gotten a lot of
free drugs out of him anyhow so he didn’t reckon she’d complain. And she seemed
to have enjoyed the fun later, too.
Trey managed to find a couple of clean cups and made coffee in the dingy
kitchen. He looked at Ryan sprawled on the couch, looking very young as he
slept, and felt his chest tighten. What the fuck had Dawn done this time? She’d
fallen off the wagon, okay, but how could she take back that bastard AJ, after
all the times he’d beat up on Ryan? Sure, Ryan had a smart mouth, and hated AJ,
and should’ve known better than to answer back to him, but it was his mom and
his home, and the guy was making his life a misery, from what Trey could tell.
It was too bad he was still at school and underage, and had to stay with Mom.
He walked over to the couch and shook Ryan gently by the shoulder. Ryan started
and looked around, disorientated. Trey handed him a steaming cup.
“So, shouldn’t you be at school or something?”
Ryan eyed him over the rim of the cup. “Since when do you care about school,
Trey?” he asked, his voice even.
“Hey,” Trey protested, “You’re the one who’s been making a big deal of it.” And
then he bit his lip, realizing how stupid he was being. Shit.
“Yeah. Well, it’s not like it matters anymore.” Ryan shrugged. He looked up at
Trey then and his expression was blank. Trey felt uneasy. He’d never seen his
brother this… detached. When Ryan got really upset or hurt he would sometimes
fold back in on himself and close down, shut up and refuse to communicate
altogether. He turned mute and hid away, like a wounded animal. But this
emotionless response was something else.
“So, got any plans?”
Ryan didn’t answer immediately. He sipped from his cup, staring into its
depths. When he finally spoke Trey was again struck by how calm and cold his
voice was. “I thought you and I could hang together, you know. You keep telling
me I know jack about real life, so why don’t you show me. I guess I could learn
a couple of things off you.” And then he looked straight at Trey with a defiant
expression and Trey felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to
tell Ryan that he was better off not knowing all the shit that came with the
territory, because Ryan was still his baby brother – but he also knew that if
anyone had to teach Ryan anything it should be him.
It wasn’t much of a choice, actually.
“’Kay. I’ll see what we can do about that later. But you’re such a little bitch
Ry, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make anything out of you,” he said with a
forced grin. He tried to put a spin on it, but he didn’t like the idea that his
smartass kid brother was headed his way. Trey was nothing if not a realist.
Jacking cars and dealing pot in Chino was okay as far as he was concerned, but
not the career path he would have chosen for Ryan. Because Ryan was smart, and
soft, really, and not half as much of an asshole as Trey tried to pretend he
was, and he had what it took to get out of Chino – if only he could get a
break.
Ryan just closed his eyes.
-------------------------------------------
Later that day, they went to a pool hall nearby where the guys hung out – and
where Trey did a fair amount of business. Ryan squared his shoulders as they
walked in. It was that kind of place, where it paid to look a little meaner,
and bigger, than he was. He had been there a couple of times for drinks with
Trey – they never carded anyone, though, which was a definite bonus.
Arturo and Eddie were already shooting pool under a fug of smoke at one of the
back tables. Eddie smiled as he saw Ryan.
“Hey kid, what’re you doing here? Isn’t school still on?”
Ryan shook his head at him. “Not really.” He looked sideways at Trey. “Just
hanging. Any chance of a game?”
They played a few games, Ryan easily holding his own even though the others had
months of practice on him. He was good at calculating angles, thinking his
shots through beyond the obvious, and at being discreet when he set one up for
later. Eddie could sometimes figure that out – Trey and ‘Turo not so often.
After an hour, Ryan was twenty bucks up. You didn’t not play for money with
these guys. He looked at the table meditatively, studying his next move.
“You hustling me, punk?” All of a sudden Arturo was in his face, looking
menacing. Ryan took a step back, hands raised.
“Whoa! ’Turo?” Theresa’s brother was shorter than him, but built like a brick
shithouse. He could probably knock Ryan down in ten seconds flat. But he was
smirking, so Ryan let his breath out. “Fuck you, man. What was that about?”
“I swear you are just like Trey, Ryan. Except that you keep your mouth shut and
you can actually shoot pool, not just brag.” Arturo said, lighting a cigarette.
Ryan snorted. “And how does that make me like him?” He leant over and lined up
his shot as he talked, keeping his eye on the ball. Just as well Arturo was mad
already because he was about to sink two in one.
“You’re a sly little bastard, that’s how,” said Arturo. Then he noticed Ryan’s
move. “Fuck you, Ry! Okay, that’s it. Next time you come round our house
looking for a friendly face I’ll kick your ass out.”
Ryan froze. Did Arturo know about last night? No, impossible. For a start, he
wouldn’t have let Ryan sleep there. Arturo must have known Ryan slept with his
little sister, but he’d never let it happen under his nose. He’d almost caught
them once, a year ago, in her bedroom, and it hadn’t been pretty. Ryan and he
didn’t talk about it, and now that Eddie was dating Theresa, it was unlikely
he’d let anything like that go by. No, it was a chance remark. He focused on
his cue and potted the balls smoothly. Trey laughed and smacked him on the
back.
“Shit, Ryan, you keep doing this I swear I’ll take you out on the scam for
real. You’re about ripe for some hustling, bro’. I know this place up in Chino
Hills where we could make some good money.”
“Who’s that ‘we’ you’re talking about Trey?” Ryan shot back. “If I have to win
back the money you’ll lose us on the tables we’re not going to go very far.”
Eddie and Arturo both cracked up at that. “Hey, Trey, remember that time at
Larry’s?” Arturo said. “You ended up begging that bitch girlfriend of yours for
enough money to keep those fucking bikers off your ass.”
Trey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks for the brotherly support, you
shithead.” He picked up his cue and started looking for an easy shot.
Ryan picked up his beer and sipped it, smirking. It wasn’t so bad, hanging with
Trey and Arturo and Eddie. Sure, he was still the little brother, but in the
past year he’d made the transition from annoying little kid to being one of the
guys. They still talked over his head sometimes, but he’d earned some respect.
He could play a good game of pool; he could beat them at cards; he could smoke
and drink with them without puking; and – that was the clincher – he wasn’t bad
at getting laid, either.
Ryan wasn’t quite the pussy hound that his big brother was – shit, Trey was
always looking to get some – but since last summer, when he’d worked
construction and bulked up, his luck had changed. He found out, much to his
surprise, that he was no longer the scrawny kid ignored by the girls (well,
apart from Theresa, which was a different thing altogether), but that he could
score with the pretty girls at parties. And that carried street cred with Trey
and his friends.
--------------------------------------------
Ryan was forty dollars up by the time they called it an evening – a good thing
since he’d been flat broke – which meant he got to buy the beers on the way
back to Trey’s. They always ended back there – Arturo still lived at home, and
Eddie, the only one of the three with a proper job, balked at having to kick
everyone out when he needed to go to bed. Also, Trey had a shiny new DVD player
and a stash of DVDs thanks to one of his “business deals”. And he always had
weed.
“So what have you got, man?” Arturo said as soon as they walked in. “I’m in the
mood for something, you know, cool. Maybe some music, man. Got any nice new
DVDs in your stash?”
“Oh, I know what you’re gonna want to watch, ‘Turo.” Trey knelt down by the TV
and started sorting though the pile of DVD cases before shoving one into the
player. “Ryan, roll us a joint.”
When the film started, Ryan let out a groan. “Not fucking 8 Mile again, Trey! I
swear you’re obsessed with Eminem, man.”
“Shut up, bitch. And get this joint started instead of pissing and moaning.”
Ryan lit up and sank back into the couch. No one else was complaining, so he
was going to have to put up with it. The problem was, that film reminded him
altogether too much of the home he was escaping – drunk mom and violent
boyfriend included – for him to enjoy it. Although it didn’t seem to bother
Trey. The similarities didn’t escape the other two, either, as the film played
on.
“Man, Kim Basinger is your mom,” Arturo muttered, before he was silenced by a
swift kick from Eddie. Ryan stared stolidly at the screen and inhaled deeply,
keeping the smoke in his lungs as long as possible. He tried to focus on the
music rather than the action. Yeah, Kim Basinger </i>was his fucking mom. Only
more fucking glamorous.
“So whassup, man, seriously?” Eddie asked when the credits were rolling. “I
mean, what happened? I thought your mom was going straight.”
Ryan didn’t reply immediately. Eddie shot him a thoughtful look “Sorry, Ryan,
none of my business,” he said, seeing his discomfort.
Ryan shrugged. “Didn’t work out. It’s not like it was a big surprise anyway.”
Eddie nodded and slapped him on the back sympathetically. “Shit happens, man.
Hey, have another beer.”
Ryan took the bottle and knocked it against Eddie’s. “Thanks, dude,” he
muttered before taking a gulp. Eddie smiled at him before turning back to the
TV. Trey was back at the DVDs, this time looking for porn, he’d announced. Just
as well, thought Ryan. That at least was safe. And fuck, he was feeling buzzed
and a little horny anyhow.
He took another sip and looked around him. The guys were bantering with each
other, laughing, waving cigarettes and bottles in the air. He could do this. As
long as he didn’t think about it too much, this was cool. Getting drunk and
stoned and shooting pool or watching porn with the guys was kind of fun.
Stupid, but fun. It also meant he functioned in a blur, the kind of blur that
made it easier not to think about things. Things like his future. Or, indeed,
his present. Also, it would make crashing on Trey’s lumpy couch much less
unpleasant.
On the other hand, Ryan knew that at some point he was going to have to sober
up and face the music. Like sorting something out with his mom, and getting his
hands dirty with Trey’s business. And no matter how much he tried to talk
himself into it, Ryan wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. But it’s not like
he had any choice.
***** Road to Perdition *****
It didn’t take long for Trey to introduce Ryan to the business. A couple of
days later, he decided it was time Ryan met his associates – as Trey liked to
call them. Ryan preferred to think of them as suppliers. The main one was some
Jamaican dude called Earl whom Ryan had heard of, but never seen. He was a
little nervous at the prospect, even though it was just a visit to make his
face known. All of a sudden it felt real; he wasn’t pretending any more – he
was becoming a drug dealer.
On the plus side, he got to drive Trey’s ancient (but lovingly restored) Trans
Am, because Trey figured it would be a good occasion to get really wasted on
Earl’s personal stash – not the stuff he sold to white boys, the real ganja
from back home.
“Just checking you can still handle a stick shift, bro’,” Trey said, throwing
him the keys. “It’s not like you get to do much driving these days. You gotta
lot of catching up to do.”
Ryan didn’t reply. He didn’t mind doing driver duty for Trey – after his bike
and his Mom’s rusty heap, it made a nice change to drive a car with some power
under the hood. Trey and Arturo had spent many a weekend messing around with it
over the last year, and it showed. Ryan felt a thrill as he engaged the clutch
and the Trans Am pulled away from the curb with a low growl. He was a teenage
boy driving a fast car, and it felt good. He drove down a couple of side
streets, looking for a stretch of quiet road where he could let the engine show
its power. Trey yawned like a cat in the seat next to him and lit a cigarette.
“Look, Ry, give it a spin, okay, but don’t fucking get us stopped by the cops,
huh? I have way more cash on me than I’d like to explain to them.”
Ryan shrugged. He knew what he could get away with in Chino, and where, without
being completely reckless. But when he let rip and sped up all the way into
fourth down a deserted street lined with empty warehouses, he felt a rush like
sex, and he just wanted it to go on, and for the rest of his Chino life to stay
behind while he raced on ahead. He turned a corner with a screech of brakes
into another straight empty road, gunning the engine as he pulled out of the
curve, keeping the illusion of escape going as long as possible.
Eventually they made it to Earl’s place, a low unassuming house not unlike his
home. Trey got out of the car and stretched out and Ryan felt his heart stop.
As Trey raised his arms, his loose shirt rode up, exposing a bulge in his
waistband. An unmistakable bulge.
“For fuck’s sake, Trey, since when are you packing?” he whispered.
Trey glanced at him and looked away. “None of your business, kid.”
“The fuck it isn’t. I’m in this with you. And if the shit hits the fan, I’m
stuck here with you and your piece. I mean, what is this Earl guy like?” Ryan
was shocked. And scared. He hated guns. And he really didn’t want to think that
this was what he’d signed up for when he turned up at his brother’s.
“He’s fine if you play it by the rules. I just like to have a little insurance
in case we run into trouble.”
“Insurance,” Ryan repeated. “Yeah, well to me it looks more like a fucking
liability. Do you even know how to use that thing?”
Trey shrugged. “Yes. Now will you shut up, you little bitch? We have some
business to do.”
Ryan could feel his heart beating way faster than normal as they walked up to
the door. The gun freaked him out. And the whole situation was intense enough
as it was. It wasn’t that big a deal, in any sense of the word. He’d been
around when Trey had had dealers come round, or clients; and this time they
were just scoring a few ounces of weed to top up their stash – nothing
spectacular. But he knew that was it – for the first time, Trey was taking him
seriously enough to get him involved in a deal. And that was a big symbolic
step.
For all his bad boy attitude and street punk looks, Ryan was actually fairly
tame when it came to actual law-breaking. Sure, he drank some, he smoked, and
he took drugs – hell, getting stoned and getting laid was as good a way as any
to spend a Saturday night in Chino – but by and large he’d steered clear of the
serious end of the business. Not anymore. He felt like he was joining the
family firm – Atwood Brothers, Inc, petty criminals. He felt like a jerk. And
he fucking hated the fact that Trey was armed.
The guy who opened the front door was about 6’6”, and looked forty if he was a
day. He had a headful of dreadlocks stuffed into a huge knitted cap and a near-
impenetrable Jamaican accent. And he smelled of high-grade, THC-heavy
marijuana. Ryan assumed he was Earl. Trey high-fived him.
“This is my bro’, Ryan. He’s going to be working with me.”
Earl didn’t say anything. He just looked at Ryan through heavy-lidded eyes, and
nodded. Ryan nodded back. They walked in, and Ryan nearly choked on the pungent
smell of grass that pervaded the house.
There were another two Jamaican rastas in the living room. Ryan couldn’t make
out much of what they were saying, but judging by the bouts of laughter, they
were having fun. He scanned the room quickly, nervous. On a low glass table he
could see several bags of weed, some scales, a bag of white powder – which he
hoped wasn’t out for Trey – some smoking paraphernalia, a couple of large,
full, ashtrays, and a gun. Another fucking gun.
He sat on an overstuffed white leather couch next to Trey and tried to relax
and pay attention at the same time. Earl was weighing grass on the scales while
Trey shook some of the weed on the table and examined it. It looked pretty good
to Ryan, tight sticky-looking buds and plenty of them. Trey never skimped on
the quality of his weed if he could help it.
“It’s the usual stuff, man. It’s good gear,” Earl said. “But if you want
something nice, have a toke on this.” And he flourished a large cone-shaped
spliff at Trey, who took it with a smile.
“This I keep for I,” said Earl. And he smiled at them. He had the kind of grin
that was in equal parts welcoming and disquieting, thought Ryan, depending on
which side of paranoia you happened to be sitting at that point. After a couple
of drags on that carrot-sized joint, he expected Earl would look pretty fucking
scary.
They whiled away an hour or so, Ryan desperately trying not to get too stoned.
After a couple of tokes, he wanted to opt out altogether but the joints kept
being offered to him and he figured it was easier to take a puff now and then.
Clearly, he wasn’t the only one driving – and that didn’t seem to make any
difference to the other guys’ consumption. He didn’t want to seem like a
complete pussy or offend anyone, either. Maybe he was starting to get paranoid.
Finally, after handing over cash, shaking hands and making appreciative noises
about the general quality of Earl’s wares, Trey was ready to go and Ryan
summoned every ounce of his remaining concentration for the drive home. He was
glad to be out of the house and away from that gun on the table, but he was
also very aware that he couldn’t afford to fuck up. He was stoned, very much
so, and Trey was carrying a gun and drugs. If they got stopped they were in
serious trouble – especially Trey, who had priors.
Ryan drove home in complete silence, eyes focused on the road ahead, careful
not to drive too fast or indeed, too slowly. He avoided busy roads where his
sluggish reflexes might be caught out. He hated driving stoned, but it looked
like he might have to get used to it. Apparently, it came with the job. Inside
him, it felt like another little piece of his self was crumbling away.
---- - - ------- - - ---- - -- ---------- - - ------------ - - ---- ---
Back at Trey’s he zoned out while Trey rambled on about how great that Jamaican
shit was, and did he notice how Earl talked to him like an equal because, dude,
he got respect from those guys even though he was a white boy and… Ryan tuned
him out after a while because Trey could drone on like there was no tomorrow
when he was high, and he’d been the captive listener all too often.
He slouched there, eyes closed, reliving the afternoon in his mind, and
fighting the depression he could feel creeping up on him, like a dark tide.
This is what his life was shaping up to be. This is what following in Trey’s
footsteps meant. Hanging with dealers, getting wasted, avoiding the cops,
getting used to the presence of guns. Waiting for the moment when it all went
wrong and came crashing to the ground. Trey had had a couple of close calls
already – no doubt Ryan would, too.
But it was better than watching his mom drink herself stupid; better than
listening to her and AJ fucking or fighting in the bedroom next to his; better
than having to get home through his bedroom window to avoid the coke dealing in
the living room, or than dodging AJ’s fists when the coke ran out. He just had
to keep remembering that.
And there were perks. For instance, there was never a shortage of girls at
Trey’s. And Ryan had already found out that they weren’t just interested in his
brother, either. It bugged him a little that part of the attraction was the
drugs but he wasn’t above flirting with the pretty ones. And if getting laid
was also something that came with the job – that had to be a good thing, right?
As if on cue the doorbell rang.
“You get it, dude,” Trey said from the depth of the couch. “I ain’t moving.”
He’d been smoking some more since they got back, relying on Ryan, who was
trying to sober up, to weigh and bag the stuff. Ryan figured he’d be the one
doing a lot of the actual work involved from now on – not that it was too
taxing.
He looked at Trey wearily and got up to open the door, admitting two giggling
girls. He knew one of them, an ex-girlfriend of Trey’s called Barb, dark-haired
and chatty, with a dirty laugh that was infectious. The other, a busty redhead
with extravagant cleavage, introduced herself as Cheryl.
“Well if it isn’t Trey’s little brother,” Barb exclaimed. Ryan sucked on his
upper lip, embarrassed. “Well hon, aren’t you grown-up these days!”
He grimaced back at her. “Thanks, I guess.” He still didn’t know how to respond
to that kind of comment, which happened more often than he’d expected when he
decided to move in with Trey. Trey had a lot of ex-girlfriends who remembered
him, apparently.
The girls swept into the apartment in a cloud of cigarette smoke, perfume and
chatter. Trey smiled at the intrusion from where he was sprawled. Women were
always welcome in his house – he was never one to pass up an opportunity for
sex, however unlikely.
“Hey, ladies, what can I do you for?” he called out. “If you’re here for
merchandise, you’re in luck. I’ve got some really fine stuff just in. My man
Ryan here can roll you a little sample. In the meantime, why don’t you lovelies
come and join me on this here couch.”
Trey’s unashamed cheesiness made Ryan cringe. It amazed him how often it
worked, though. In the few days since he’d moved in, his brother had only slept
alone on the one night, as far as he could tell, and not twice with the same
girl, either.
It didn’t fail this evening. A couple of hours later, Ryan found himself
staring at music videos with Barb as Trey groped Cheryl unashamedly on the
couch. Just as it threatened to turn into a floorshow, Barb got up.
“Guys, I hate to cramp your style, but Cher, I need a ride home, doll. ‘Cause
I’m not going to hang here and watch you get it on, much as I love the pair of
you.” She sounded amused, but determined. Trey looked up at her and smirked.
“Ryan can give you a lift home. Can’t you?” And he shot Ryan a glance that
stated clearly that no wasn’t an option. “He’ll take good care of you, babe.”
Ryan sighed and got up. “Sure. But you better not be having sex on the couch
when I get back, man. This is where I sleep.”
Trey flipped him the bird as he left with Barb.
------------------- --- - - - - ----- --- ------------- - - ---
The ride home didn’t take long, Barb directing him through the deserted
streets. When he reached her house, he pulled up in front and looked over at
her, the engine idling. “This okay?”
She smiled at him, her eyes predatory. Ryan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable
and suddenly aware that he was a still a little stoned and more than a little
horny. He’d had a thing about her since way back, when she used to go out with
Trey. So he was half-hoping that yes, she was coming on to him, and also half-
dreading it. Because, well, she was Trey’s ex, and that was a bit weird. And
then she licked her lips and he realized that the hoping had won, and that his
jeans were tighter than they should be. She reached over and deliberately
turned the key and killed the engine. Ryan’s mouth went dry.
Barb was pretty, in a pouty kind of way. She had those really full, glossy lips
which Ryan couldn’t stop staring at. She licked them again, this time looking
at Ryan’s crotch in the most direct and unambiguous way possible, and he got
really hard. He could feel himself blushing, too.
“Um,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I… I should go back,
Barb. Is here cool?”
“You know,” she said, clearly not paying attention to a word he said, “I always
thought you were cuter than Trey.” Yeah, thought Ryan, and I used to jerk off
listening to the two of you fucking in the other bed when Trey smuggled you in
and you thought I was sleeping. He’d learnt to be stealthy, then, bringing
himself off in time with her not-so-muffled moans and coming silently, face
down in his pillow.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and leant across the front seat towards him. Ryan
felt out of sync with reality, as if his brain and his body were working on
different planes. He wanted to move, to respond, but he was rooted to the spot.
Barb was looking mischievous.
“Hey, Ryan,” she whispered into his ear, tickling him, “I heard you getting off
once when I was making out with Trey in your room. And it was just so hot. I’ve
always wanted to tell you that.”
Before Ryan could process what she was saying she kissed him. When her lips
touched his he reacted instinctively and kissed her back, while his brain was
desperately reasoning that no, she couldn’t possibly read his mind. Also, she
was a good kisser, and the way she sucked on his tongue he guessed she probably
gave good blowjobs, too.
Again, as if she’d read his thoughts, her hands slipped down to his belt buckle
and his breath hitched when she touched him though his jeans, her long nails
grazing the fabric and teasing his erection. Wow, Barb was a fast worker. And a
nimble one, too, as her fingers reached skin and his pulse went up a notch. He
wasn’t going to last long at this rate. Especially when the memories of his
horny fourteen-year-old self kept breaking into his addled brain.
“So… I guess this is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time,” she
said.
And she smiled at him with a dirty look and her lips were oh so inviting and
then his heart stopped as she dipped her head into his lap and took him in that
mouth of hers. Ryan hissed and just tipped his head back, closing his eyes
because the sensation, magnified by the cannabis buzz, was un-fucking-
believable and Christ could she give head.
When he came he dug his nails in his palm to stop himself from crying out loud
and it lasted for what felt like an eternity. He kept his eyes closed while his
hammering heart returned to a steadier beat. He was wondering whether he should
return the favor or whether she expected some serious backseat action but when
he finally opened his eyes she was back in her seat and looking at him with a
smirk.
“Er, thanks?” he managed. He smiled awkwardly and leant towards her. He kissed
her neck. She smelled of cheap perfume, but it didn’t really bother him, as it
would have normally. “Can I…?” He raised his eyebrows at her, letting his
fingers trail down her thigh in a light caress.
She shook her head. “No, babe. I just wanted to know what Trey’s baby brother
was like now you’re all grown up. Plus I like me a taste of jailbait,” she
teased. And with that she pecked him quickly on the cheek and let herself out,
leaving him unzipped and still breathless in the front seat.
Christ, he really was turning into Trey.
***** Face-off *****
A week on, Ryan had settled into his new routine. As he suspected, Trey had
seized the opportunity and landed most of the work on him. So Ryan drove up to
see Earl – he’d been twice already on his own, because the summer party season
was on and the supplies were selling fast; Ryan carried the cash and the grass
around; and Ryan got to weigh it and bag it. Trey did most of the actual
selling, but Ryan did the accounts. Which considering it meant prying cash off
Trey so they could afford the next batch, was actually a challenge. Nothing
compared to getting the rent money off a drunk Dawn, though, so Ryan considered
himself lucky.
He’d gone back home once in that time to pick up a few things, check that his
room and his stuff were there and tell his mom that he was doing okay. She was
pretty straight that day and seemed satisfied that Trey was looking after him.
All in all, the meeting had been surprisingly friendly. Ryan ended up staying
the night – and reveling in the comfort of sleeping in a bed again. Of course,
AJ hadn’t been around that night – which had helped. It also meant that if all
hell broke loose at Trey’s – always a distinct possibility, judging by past
events – he still had a place of sorts there.
In the meantime – well, life wasn’t all bad. Trey had threatened to take him
car-jacking some night but hadn’t yet – just as well, because Ryan wasn’t
looking forward to that particular lesson. There had been a few more parties, a
couple of friendly girls, a shitload of weed and more than a few beers. It was
summer, and Ryan was chilling out. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t
have a job. At all. Apart from the dealing, but that wasn’t much of a chore,
compared to the previous summer, which he’d spent on a construction site. And
that felt weird, but it also felt like a vacation.
He was “working” one afternoon, bagging grass, when Eddie dropped by. Trey was
out doing some unspecified business – there were still areas that Ryan was not
involved in – and Ryan welcomed the distraction. Eddie was easy conversation;
they’d shoot the shit – talking about sports, or cars, or Trey’s endless supply
of women, which never failed to impress Eddie. By some sort of unspoken
agreement, they never mentioned Theresa. Ryan sometimes wondered how much Eddie
knew about him and Theresa. He was sure she wouldn’t have said anything – but
Trey might have. Or Arturo. Either way, he did not want to find out. Not when
the memory of their last hook-up was still fresh in his mind.
“So, man, how’s it hanging?” Eddie asked, sinking into the couch opposite Ryan.
Ryan shrugged. “Okay, I guess. You want some?” He nodded towards a half-smoked
joint on the table. Eddie smiled and picked it up. As he lit it and inhaled he
made a face, and started coughing.
“Jesus, Ryan, what is this?”
“That’s Trey’s personal. Pretty good, when you get used to it.”
Eddie frowned. He took another couple of drags and looked at the spliff, then
back at Ryan.
“So, you’re smoking this stuff all day?”
“Huh? Sometimes, I guess. It’s not like I need to be straight to do this.”
Eddie was looking wary. “Ryan, man, you sure you’re okay?”
Ryan scooped up the grass from the scales with a piece of card and filled the
bag before ziplocking it. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Because, this,” and he gestured at the joint, the scales, the stash of weed,
the neat little bags on the table, “this isn’t you, Ryan. This is Trey. And
you’ve never been that similar before.”
Ryan kept his eyes fixed on the weed, weighing the next lot. “So? People
change.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the nicest of changes, Ryan. You don’t look that happy.”
“I’m fine.”
“Look, kid, I’ve known you since you were, what, eleven? You’re not a stoner
like Trey. Why are you even trying?” Eddie sounded frustrated.
Ryan stayed silent.
“I mean, you were doing good at school, you were always the straight kid,
heading for better things, and now look at you. I know your mom…” Eddie trailed
off as Ryan looked up for a fraction of a second, with a flash of anger, and
then away again.
“I’m fine, Eddie. Drop it,” he said testily.
Much to Ryan’s relief, Eddie sighed, and got up. But he couldn’t let it go.
“It kills me to see you fuck you up your life like that, Ryan,” he said – and
this time he put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, compelling him to look up at him.
Ryan clenched his jaw, but held the stare. “Listen, if it’s money you need – I
know it’s not great, but I’m sure I can get you a job in the garage for the
summer.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” Ryan snorted. “If I wanted a job with long hours and
shit pay I could have stuck with my Saturday one. I’m done doing that, Eddie.
Have you ever thought that maybe Trey’s got it right?”
He glanced away then, furious at himself because he knew he sounded stupid and
self-conscious and like a fucking kid.
Eddie shook his head. “No, man, I haven’t. Because, Ryan – in a year, two years
tops, Trey’s going to be in jail, or in hospital with a couple of broken legs
or worse, because one of his dealer friends got the wrong idea.” He stopped and
looked hard at Ryan again, before continuing. “And the way it’s going, you’ll
be with him. I hate to see that, Ryan. I know it’s not really my place to say
anything – but I can’t see you doing this to yourself and say nothing.”
“Yes, you can,” Ryan snapped back “And you’re right, it’s not your place. So
just fuck off and leave me alone, okay?” Because, of course, Eddie was right,
and Ryan really didn’t want to think about where he’d be a year from now.
“’Kay,” Eddie muttered, and he slammed the door shut as he left.
---------- - - ----------- ------------ -------- ------ - --- ---- - ----------
-----------
The next day, Trey kicked Ryan out for the night.
“I’ve got some guys coming over, Ryan, and they’re kind of serious. They don’t
know you yet and…” He shifted about, looking uncomfortable.
“I thought you were all about introducing me to your associates?” Ryan said. He
suspected Trey was holding something back.
“Yeah, but not yet. Not these guys. Gattas is – kind of paranoid. He doesn’t
like new faces.” And Trey still looked like he was lying though his teeth but
Ryan let it slide, not really caring one way or another.
“I’ll go see Mom,” he shrugged.
“I’ll drive you,” Trey said, unexpectedly. Fuck, thought Ryan, there really was
something going on tonight. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know about it, but it
pissed him off that Trey was so willing to cut him out of the loop if they were
supposed to be partners.
Or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, Ryan didn’t like it.
The ride home was quick and silent. Trey didn’t stop long but just dropped him
off with his bike and pulled off in a screech of tires. He always drove like he
was in some goddamn seventies car-chase movie.
Ryan eyed the front door apprehensively. This time, AJ’s pick-up was outside,
and there was little chance that he was out without his ride. Still, it was
mid-afternoon, possibly the best time to face the fucker – after he’d shaken
his morning hangover, and before he started getting seriously high.
He put his key in the lock and slowly opened the door, holding onto it with his
fingertips so that it shut behind him as noiselessly as possible.
AJ was sprawled on the couch, beer in hand, watching some stupid cop show.
Ryan’s mom was nowhere to be seen. But her car too had been out front, so she
couldn’t be far.
“Hey,” Ryan said, nodding at the back of AJ’s head. His chest felt tight and he
could almost hear his heart hammering. He hated AJ, and he was scared of him,
and he really hated that he was scared of him.
AJ barely looked at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, but
without much malice or enthusiasm. Ryan felt the tightness ease a little. Maybe
this time would be okay. There were countless nights where AJ didn’t decide to
whale on him. They were not, however, as memorable as the ones where he did.
He shrugged and muttered something noncommittal as he walked across the room.
AJ had already turned his back on him and was staring at the TV, swigging from
the can mechanically. He looked barely fucking human, Ryan thought, and he
repressed the shudder of disgust that overcame him when he thought of AJ and
his mom together.
Ryan holed up in his room for the rest of the afternoon, stretched out on his
bed, reading old magazines and watching TV. He’d missed having his own space
just to relax – Trey was always around at the apartment, and there were
hangers-on every evening. Ryan needed his alone time – and if it meant that he
had to put up with the piece of shit outside his bedroom door, so be it. He
could always avoid him.
Or so he thought.
It turned out to be one of AJ’s bad nights. Some guy hadn’t turned up with cash
he owed, and the big man was getting angry. Even through his closed door, Ryan
could figure out that the evening was panning out nasty. He hoped against hope
that Dawn wasn’t headed for some stupid-ass fight with AJ because that always
ended up with him having to intervene and getting his ass kicked.
“Fuck you,” Ryan heard her screech, and then the thumping noise that he knew
meant AJ had belted her one.
Every fucking time, he thought tiredly, and he got up and opened the door.
Because, really, no matter how fucked up she was, and how much he hated her for
what she’d done to him, he couldn’t pretend she wasn’t his mom, getting beaten
up by her coke-dealing thug of a boyfriend, ten feet away. And he couldn’t let
that pass.
He stepped into the living room, staying close to the wall. AJ was still on the
couch, but looking decidedly nastier than when Ryan had come in. Dawn was
sitting next to him, holding her cheek, which was red, and she was cursing him.
“You think I don’t know how much money Gary owes you? I told you not to trust
that asshole, you motherfucker,” she was screaming at him.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” AJ said, and he slapped her again, but without too
much enthusiasm, Ryan noted. Just because he held back with her, though, didn’t
mean he wouldn’t let rip with him.
“Hey, AJ,” he called out.
AJ looked up, his face blank. As he focused on Ryan, emotions flitted across
his features – anger, disbelief, and also a sort of resignation. Here we go
again, he seemed to think. Yeah, that’s exactly how it felt, thought Ryan
“Leave her alone,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. He let
his hands ball into fists at his sides. As long as he managed to land a punch
or two, it was kind of worth it. Plus AJ would generally leave Dawn be if he
vented his anger elsewhere.
“Yeah? Or what, punk?” AJ stood up. He was an ugly motherfucker all right. A
big ugly motherfucker. Ryan drew a deep breath in and braced himself.
“Don’t. Fucking. Hit. My. Mom,” he spat out. And as he said the words, he felt
anger coursing through his veins, white hot, and he knew he’d be able to cope
with whatever AJ did to him. As long as he just used his fists.
He ducked the first swing and landed one on AJ’s chin, snapping his guard back
in time to stop the next punch hitting his face. AJ’s next one, though, hit
straight through and whacked him in the jaw. Ryan staggered back into the wall,
and caught another one to the face before slipping out of AJ’s reach and
backing into the room towards the front door.
“AJ, stop it,” Dawn called from the couch. Ryan shot her a glance. She was
cutting lines on the table. Huh. Maybe she was onto something.
“Shut it, Dawn,” AJ snapped back.
“C’mon, AJ,” she whined, a rolled bill in her hand. Ryan was still edging
towards the door, and kept checking on AJ, but he saw that her tactic worked.
AJ shrugged and shot him an evil glance.
“Fuck it,” he snarled, and ambled back towards the couch. “You better get the
fuck outta here, kid.” He grabbed the bill and leaned down over the twin tracks
on the table.
Ryan nodded and looked at his mother. She hadn’t come out of the encounter too
bad, considering. He was definitely going to look worse in the morning.
“Come back later,” she mouthed at him over AJ’s bent head.
Ryan let himself out.
---- - ---- ------------- ----------- - --------- ---- - - - - ------
He stood outside the front porch for a few moments, checking his injuries. He
was going to have a shiner tomorrow for sure, and a bruised jaw. But apart from
that he was okay, so for AJ that wasn’t too bad. And he had landed a hard punch
on the motherfucker, which made him happy. It also looked like AJ and Dawn had
stopped fighting for now.
Ryan patted his pockets and swore under his breath when he realized he had left
his cigarettes on his bed. He might be able to crack the window open from
outside, but it seemed pointless at this stage to risk getting AJ pissed again.
Later, when he was wasted, it would be easier to sneak back in. Until then, he
had a couple of hours to kill. He looked over the fence at Arturo and Theresa’s
house, wondering whether he wanted to spend time with either of them. He
thought of Eddie, too, and his concern for him.
His stomach rumbled. Ryan checked the time – it was eight o’clock and he hadn’t
eaten since breakfast. That swung it. Eva always had food ready, and always
shared it generously. Plus it would give him a chance to catch up with Theresa
and say hi. He crossed over and rang the doorbell.
Theresa opened the door.
“Huh. There’s a face I haven’t seen in a while, Atwood.” She stood there,
looking at him stonily, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Ryan felt
uncomfortable. The last words they’d exchanged weren’t exactly friendly,
something he hadn’t really thought about when he rang the bell.
“Hey Theresa. Any chance I could come in?” he asked.
“You back at your mom’s?” she said, not moving.
“Just for the night.” What the hell was she playing at?
“Okay then, I guess.” Theresa said without enthusiasm, and she stepped aside to
let him in.
The house was more than usually quiet, and Ryan realized neither Arturo nor Eva
were home. Suddenly the dynamics of the situation shifted. He wasn’t sure he
was up to one-on-one time with a pissed Theresa. And after his little pep talk
from Eddie, he didn’t really want to work on making up with her, either,
because that generally involved fucking, and that somehow felt wrong now.
“Your mom’s not around,” he remarked. “What’s up?” He’d rarely known Eva not to
be there. That had been one of the main differences between his home and
Theresa’s. Her mom was always there in the evenings, cooking dinner, looking
after her and Arturo, and making the place a home. It was as close to a real
home as Ryan had ever experienced.
“Mom’s visiting my aunt in San Diego,” Theresa said flatly. “So, what are you
doing here? I thought it was all about you being a drug lord with your brother
these days?”
Ryan could feel his ears burning. “Listen, Theresa, I…”
She went on. “Or so ‘Turo tells me because it’s not like you keep in touch.
Last time I saw you, you were a prize ass, but it looks like you’re even more
of an ass now.” She was glowering at him.
“It’s not like I could stay there, Theresa,” he said hotly, gesturing vaguely
in the direction of his home. “And what’s the point of trying to do anything to
get out of this mess if my fucking Mom can’t stay straight for three months at
a time?”
She sighed. “Oh Ryan, for Christ’s sake, what are you playing at?”
“I’m not playing at anything,” he snapped back. “What choice do you think I
have?”
They were standing eye to eye in the center of the room. Theresa looked at him
with something a damn sight too close to pity for comfort. Ryan wanted to tell
her to shut up, to stop telling him off, but he’d rather she bawled him out
that than look at him with those eyes.
She leaned in and touched her lips to his and he kissed her back, his mouth
opening as a reflex. She pressed her breasts into his chest, her hands sliding
up his arms to his shoulders, and he found himself hugging her close. Her lips
were soft, yielding, her tongue hungry. He could feel his whole body responding
to her, his brain shutting down and letting his dick take over. He ground his
hips into hers, and heard her moan softly. This was so easy, so natural. He
felt like shit, he went to Theresa, Theresa gave him comfort, they got off,
everyone was happy.
Except that this time, he felt really bad about it. He pulled away.
“Theresa, we can’t,” he muttered and he felt her stiffen.
“Huh?”
“I mean, I really want to… but Eddie…” he faltered. He sounded like an ass and
he knew it.
Theresa stared at him and pushed him away. She looked really pissed.
“Eddie? Since when do you give a fuck about Eddie, Ryan? Because I don’t
remember you talking about him when you were here last.” Her voice was bitter
with pent-up fury and frustration.
“Since – whatever, Theresa, it’s not a good idea.” Ryan knew she was right,
that he was acting like a prick to her. Nobody else had ever come between them
before. And he had never turned her down before
But Eddie – Eddie gave a fuck about Ryan. Eddie had actually taken the time to
tell Ryan what he thought about his current situation. He’d offered help. And
Ryan may have told him to fuck off, but he knew the guy was doing the right
thing, and it felt plain wrong to bone his girlfriend after that. Even if it
was Theresa.
“It’s never a good idea Ryan. But when did Eddie start counting more than I
did? Is that what happens when you hang with Trey? You turn into the same kind
of asshole as him, and ‘Turo? It’s all about the guys and their honor and us
girls, we just get lumped in with the shit? Jesus, I hate you Ryan. Fuck you!”
“Theresa…”
“You know what? Next time you’re in fucking trouble, don’t come knocking on my
door, Atwood. I don’t care anymore. You can go fuck yourself. Now get out of my
house.” And she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Ryan sighed. This time he’d fucked it up good and proper with Theresa. But
maybe it was for the best. He didn’t really want Theresa hanging out with him
and Trey these days. And with Eddie – it made things simpler if they just
didn’t see each other. Yeah, simpler.
Even if it meant losing one of the few things that had made his life bearable
until now.
***** The Party *****
It was, like, the third party that weekend, and Ryan was wasted. Seriously,
booze-and-drugs, up-to-the-eyeballs-and-beyond wasted.
He was leaning against a wall – propped against it really – in a room full of
flashing lights and colors, a steady beat humming into his bones, squinting at
the girls and boys gyrating and thrusting to the music. He had no idea what
time it was, or where exactly in Chino he was but it didn’t matter. It was a
cool party, he knew a couple of people, and there were enough pretty girls
flashing cleavage to make the view interesting.
Besides, it had been a good night. Trey and he had sold all their stash pretty
quickly, and then Trey had gone off to do some other deals – pills, it turned
out – and now Ryan was carrying a fair amount of cash in his jeans and feeling
quite relaxed. A couple of girls had come and whispered entreaties to join them
on the dance floor but Ryan always shook his head. He didn’t dance. He watched,
but he didn’t fucking dance.
The music, though, was getting just little too heavy, a little too loud, the
bass line pounding into his temples, making his head throb. He had a metallic
taste in his mouth and kept licking his lips. That stuff Trey had given him was
beginning to make him antsy. So far it wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. So
far. Wait and see.
It occurred to him that he was spending a lot of his time out of his head,
drunk or stoned or, now, coming up on some chemical approximation of E (but
better, Trey had whispered as he slipped him the little white pill; Ryan had
hesitated a moment before palming it and then swallowing it with a mouthful of
beer; it tasted bitter and chalky). His memories of the last few weeks were
beginning to blur at the edges. It was a deliberate move – he was happier not
thinking too closely about the life he was choosing for himself – but it also
reminded him way too much of Dawn, and that was never a good thing.
But hey, that was the kind of stuff Trey did – and if he was becoming Trey’s
sidekick, he might as well take advantage of the material benefits.
Right now though he was looking for a place to mellow out, because the noise
and the people and the music were just getting too loud for his brain. He
staggered towards the back of the house in search of an unoccupied room. The
house was surprisingly large and after a trying a few doors he found a small
empty bedroom with a few cushions and a mattress on the floor onto which he
sank gratefully. He drained the can of soda he was clutching in his hand. His
mouth was so fucking dry he could swear the liquid evaporated on contact with
his tongue. He lay back on the mattress and closed his eyes, listening to the
muffled beat.
---- - - ---------- ---------- --------------- ----
A door opened somewhere.
“Hey there, you OK?” A girl’s voice. Nasal. He couldn’t quite place it but he
thought he’d talked to her earlier in the evening. Did he sell her something?
Maybe if he kept his eyes closed she’d go away. He wasn’t up for small talk.
Through the open door, the music blared into the room, the tune winding its way
into his consciousness. It sounded good. He could see the rhythm dipping and
spiking in his mind’s eye, as if his brain had turned the bass into a visual
display. He suppressed the urge to mark the beat with his foot. A small part of
him realized it would look stupid while he was sprawled on a mattress.
“Are you asleep, man?” Her again. Couldn’t she see he was doing fine? Better
than fine actually. Fucking girls. Never took silence for an answer.
Through half-open lids he peered at her. Even that demanded what felt like an
effort of superhuman proportions. He couldn’t for the life of him remember her
name but she was a looker all right. A bit slutty, but with really good legs,
which she was showing to her advantage right now with a cropped leather mini
just barely covering her ass. And a thong under it, clearly visible from Ryan’s
reclining position. He could see her ass. It was nice. He felt a rush of blood
to his groin as he stared up her skirt and almost gasped. Christ, the E or
whatever was coming on strong. Even through his fogged brain he realized he had
to do something to cover the fact that he was getting a massive hard-on. And
maybe he should say hi, while he was at it.
He licked his lips again and attempted a grin as he propped himself on his
side. Damn. She was giving him the once-over – and she couldn’t have failed to
notice his bulge. Way to go, Atwood. Fuck it. He was too wasted to feel
embarrassed. Her eyes traveled back up and met his. She smiled. Hell, maybe
that wasn’t so bad; maybe she wanted a piece of him. He took a deep breath in,
savoring the feeling of air entering his lungs. That shit was good. He was
thoroughly buzzed, and in a good way, warm and fuzzy and happy and horny as
hell.
“Uh, hey. Whassup?” He cleared his throat and crinkled his eyes at her.
“I’m looking for a place to chill. It’s getting a little too wild out there.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked a little fuzzy around the edges. And
her eyes had the same unfocused look he knew she could see in his own. “Been
doing some of Trey’s pills?”
“Maybe,” she giggled “You?”
He nodded, weighing his options. If he wanted to get close enough to touch her,
he’d either have to stand up, which felt impossible right now, or convince her
to come down to his level. Which, if she was on the same shit he was on, was
bound to be pretty easy. He reached a hand out.
“C’mere.”
She dropped to her knees, still giggling, and let him wrap his arm around her
waist and pull her all the way down to the mattress. She was willing enough,
Ryan discovered, as he kissed her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, and she
let him run his hands down her shoulders to her breasts, which perked through
her thin tank top. He rubbed her nipples slowly, enjoying the way they hardened
under his fingers, and the effect it was having on him as he got off on her
arousal. Her hands were slipping under his T-shirt, stroking his chest, playing
with his nipples, and Ryan groaned as the sensations radiated through his body.
Jesus, Trey was right. That shit was fucking amazing. He shuddered as she
grazed his skin with her nails. He felt hypersensitive, like every nerve ending
was linked to his cock, and the most innocuous of touches could trigger waves
of pleasure. He pulled away slightly and started kissing her neck, licking and
biting her softly as he descended towards her shoulder. She sighed.
“Oh, God, Ryan…”
Fuck.
What the fuck was her name? Why the fuck did she remember his? There was no way
he could ask her now without sounding like a complete asshole. Then again,
fucking a girl without knowing her name – that was major asshole behavior in
his book. Or would have been, if he’d been straight enough to care.
And then Ryan’s brain short-circuited briefly as her thigh pressed against his
groin and he rolled her over and started dry-humping her against the mattress,
overcome by lust. Nothing… mattered… anymore. Except. Except this, the feel of
her body against his, the press of flesh against denim, the rhythm of his hips
and hers. Her hot breath in his ear, as he continued tonguing her neck, and the
little soft moans she was making. And the goddamn amazing tingling feeling that
had taken over his body, that made him want to moan too, like a girl.
Ryan wasn’t sure how far she’d let him go but he figured it was worth a try.
His hand slid from her breast down to her hip, as he continued thrusting
against her, his cock now painfully hard. In a foggy part of his head, he
wondered whether he was going to come in his pants, and whether he cared.
The girl whose name he still couldn’t remember was more than happy to let him
go as far as he wanted, he realized, as she angled her body to allow his hand
maximum access. It made sense if she was as horny as he was, he thought in a
brief moment of lucidity. He slid a finger under her thong, exploring her
wetness. She arched into his hand and threw her head back. Ryan grinned and
started tracing his tongue down to her breast, all the while stroking her,
finding a rhythm. Just as things were beginning to get reallyinteresting, he
heard a noise at the door.
“Hey, man, sorry, but I kind of need my room…”
Fuck.
Ryan closed his eyes, trying to summon every ounce of willpower and every scrap
of sobriety still at his disposal. Not that it amounted to much. He opened his
eyes a fraction and looked at the girl. She was lying there, lips parted, eyes
out of focus, panting. Which wasn’t so surprising considering he still had his
hand down her thong, and she was rubbing herself against it. Jesus, he could
almost forget about the guy standing in the doorway and just…
No! Shit, he wasn’t going to bring her off in front of an audience. With
difficulty, he pulled his hand away and looked up into the eyes of another,
very spaced out guy who judging by the girl wrapped around him was also in
serious need of a private room. He looked very apologetic.
“Man, I would wait, but, you know…”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, trying to pretend this was a normal conversation and that he
wasn’t lying there, barely able to communicate, with a gigantic boner and a
girl practically spread out under him, begging for a fuck. Not to mention a
very wet right hand.
In the back of his mind he knew that he hated the situation, that he never ever
did that stuff, that fucking with an audience was every kind of wrong and
exactly the sort of shit that Trey got off on and he hated. But his control was
slipping, and his dick had taken over, again, and he really wanted to go on.
But Ryan couldn’t.
He staggered to his feet, pulling the girl up as he did. She was barely able to
stand and he put a hand across her shoulders to keep her upright. The other guy
shrugged at him as they went past, looking sheepish and horny and as the door
shut behind them Ryan could hear a zipper being pulled open. No time wasted
there.
----- - -- - --- - - --------------- --------------
“Babe, what’s happening?” the girl complained in his neck, pressing herself
against him, making him lurch.
“Gotta move. C’mon.”
“Oh, God, I’m so thirsty,” she moaned as they made it back to the main room.
The party was getting wilder, he noted even in his state. There were still
people dancing, but there were bodies slumped in every corner, and he was
pretty sure there was actual sex happening behind the couch. Ryan kept his mind
focused on getting outside, where the fresh air would help straighten him out
and figure what to do next.
He put her down gently on the porch, leaning against the wall of the house.
There were fewer people out there, and he knelt next to her and kissed her,
feeling the E or whatever the fuck it was peaking again as their lips mashed
together and he sought her tongue with his. Her lips were hot and wet and warm
and he lost himself in the moment, again.
“Thirsty,” she mumbled against him after a couple of minutes. He pulled away.
His mouth was dry, too, and he was desperate for a drink, now he thought of it.
“Okay. Back soon.”
Ryan got up and steadied himself with a hand against the wall, scanning around
him for another way into the house without having to walk past the fucking
rutting going on in the living room.
“Ryan?” The voice sounded alarmingly familiar, just behind him.
Who the fuck?
He spun round.
Oh.
“Theresa? What the fuck are you doing in this place?”
She stood on the front steps, her dark curls piled on top of her head, looking
grownup and hot in a tight red dress that showed a lot of leg. Her eyes went
from the girl slumped against the wall to him and back again. She didn’t look
too pleased.
“And who’s that?” she asked. He could hear the scorn in her voice. She quit
looking at the girl, who was oblivious to her presence, and stared at him
intently. Ryan squirmed. She was examining him detachedly, like a cat looking
at potential prey, and he felt extremely uncomfortable.
“Cut it, Theresa,” he attempted.
“Oh, Atwood. You are in a fine state. What the hell are you even on? You look –
you look like a damn wreck. And…” Her eyes had stalled on his crotch and
despite her glare Ryan was still hard. Worse, he was getting turned on as he
saw her suck in her bottom lip in a gesture he knew so well. She was, too, he
could tell, and that spurred him on. He reached his hand up to her cheek,
instinctively, his fingers brushing against her downy skin.
Theresa flinched. “What the hell…”
“Hey, I’m… sorry,” Ryan whispered. “About the other day, about Eddie...” He
leaned into her, inhaling her scent, and promptly forgot where he was and what
he was doing, and everything but the fact that he was close to her and she
smelt like home, and he was horny and tingly and high, and this was Theresa for
fuck’s sake, and he wanted to kiss her and run his hands on her skin and lick
the sweat off her collarbone and then bite here there because she liked it and…
“Get the fuck off me, Ry!”
She pushed him away, scowling. As Ryan struggled to keep his balance, he saw
Eddie, straight ahead, looking at him with murder in his eyes, and he felt
suddenly very ashamed, and very stupid, even through the thick fog of chemicals
coating his brain.
Theresa turned on her heels and marched off towards Eddie. Ryan saw her grab
his elbow and whisper into his ear, urgently, soothingly, but Eddie’s eyes were
still on Ryan and he felt like a complete, utter asshole.
----- ------------ - -- -- - - - --- ----------- -----
He stumbled back towards the door and got back into the main room, zigzagging
through the prone bodies on the floor and past the dancers towards the kitchen
where he blindly grabbed some soda and a beer before lurching out through the
back door. Fuck, he could barely stay vertical.
He rested his back against the house wall and tipped his head back, breathing
deeply. The sheer physical pleasure of breathing was almost overwhelming. That
E-like stuff made him act like an ass, but it did have its compensations. He
pressed a cold can against his cheeks, reveling in the coolness and the drops
of condensation trickling down his face and dripping down onto his neck. His
heightened sensitivity was focusing on every little sensation, the warm still
air clinging to his skin, the muffled bass thump coming through the walls of
the house, the smell of tobacco and marijuana smoke around him, tickling his
nose.
How long had it been since he’d had a smoke? He pulled a cigarette out of the
pack in his pocket, lit it with a flick of the wrist on Trey’s Zippo – how did
he end up with it? – and inhaled. The taste was unbelievable – the best
cigarette he’d ever smoked. He felt his spirits soar with every drag, his mood
lightening as he forgot all about what had just happened out front.
Hell, where was the girl he’d been kissing moments ago? Whatever her name was?
Ryan panicked, briefly, and then remembered she was out front, and he was out
back, and nearly giggled before deciding to go and find her again and maybe
bring her the drink he’d promised her whenever that was.
As he turned the corner of the house, he suddenly recalled his encounter with
Theresa and Eddie and stopped, checking the sparse crowd. They seemed to have
disappeared, much to his relief. The nameless girl was still sitting where he
left her, looking a little disheveled and, his dick reminded him,
veryavailable. Maybe it was time to see what he could do there.
She guzzled the cold can of soda greedily, and handed it back to him empty,
with a little sigh and a smile. A lip-licking, definitely “get back in here and
let’s continue what we were doing” kind of smile that made him harden in
anticipation. He took her hand and helped her up, then dragged her after him
towards the other side of the house. The gap there was narrower, and it was
dark under the jutting low roof, and miraculously, no one else had repaired
there.
Ryan started stroking her face – she was pretty, if a little too made up for
his taste, and she had the kind of mouth that immediately made him think of
blowjobs – then let his fingers tangle into her hair and slowly, slowly make
their way down to her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her waist. She
retaliated in kind, her finger tracing a line from his jaw down to his
collarbone, and then down his chest to his waistband.
They just stood face to face, their hands caressing each other’s body, their
breathing hitching in sync as they got more demanding. His fingers slipped back
under her thong and inside her, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. She
was doing her damnedest to keep it together as she unzipped his pants and
inserted her hand into his boxers. Until now, Ryan’s sensations had been
focused on his fingers exploring her. All of a sudden that dropped away and he
concentrated on his cock, and on the amazing softness of her skin against his,
on the assured touch of her fingers on him, on her grip sliding around his
erection and turning his knees to jelly. Holy fuck.
He leaned towards her and captured her lower lip between his teeth, softly
tugging until she opened her mouth and they kissed again. He pressed her
against the wall, his fingers still pushing inside her rhythmically, as she
spread her legs wider.
“Fuck me,” she half whispered, half moaned into his ear, letting go of him and
bracing herself against the wall. “Please baby, please.”
He paused for a beat, his heart hammering, and then shook his head. Right,
condom. Condom, now. Thank Christ he had some in his wallet. It took a few
seconds for him to tear the packet and roll it on while she pulled off her
underwear and then he grabbed her by the waist and gently pushed his way into
her and stopped, overcome by a wave of pleasure. She moaned into his ear,
egging him on.
His legs felt shaky. He was tingling all over, and felt pretty sure that he was
going to come any second now, whether or not she did, because he had lost all
control over the situation. He grunted and hoisted her up so she wrapped her
legs around his waist although he could barely stand, and then he just followed
his instincts and thrust up and hard into her welcoming wetness, and again, and
again, until he heard her cry out and he let himself follow her, his whole body
erupting into orgasm, with a loud groan and a muffled curse because fucking
hell that felt good.
And then they both toppled over and fell in a tangle of limbs and lay there out
of breath, trying to recover and tidy up their clothing.
“That was… whoa,” she said, when she regained her breath. She smiled at Ryan,
who wrapped her into a loose embrace and rested his head on her shoulder. He
could feel the drug ebbing slowly, but he was still high, and insanely relaxed,
and buzzed. For the first time in a long time he felt happy – and like he
didn’t have a care in the world. He knew it was an illusion, but it worked for
him.
He just wished he could remember her damn name.
----- ---- ---- --- ----------- -- -- ----- ---------- -----
I took Ryan an hour and a half to walk home – including several wrong turnings
and shortcuts that weren’t. By the time he made it to Trey’s he was getting
back to sober. Exhausted, jittery and weirdly hungover, but he wasn’t on that
sensual trip anymore, and parts of his evening were already starting to fade
away with the dregs of his high. He had no trouble remembering the sex though.
He still felt tingly and hot from that fuck against the wall, from her urgency,
the incredible physical intensity of it all, and the amazing feeling of
release. That endured.
He climbed the stairs slowly, and came to an abrupt stop in front of their
door. Which was hanging off its hinges, propped against the doorframe
awkwardly. Something had been spray painted on it, he couldn’t quite make it
out in the dim light of the landing, but the word SCUM was clearly legible. His
heart missed a beat.
Ryan moved the door and let himself in. He was greeted by a spectacle of utter
devastation. Everything had been ransacked, turned over, scattered across the
room. The spray cans had been active there too, with messages scrawled across
the wall. Trey was lying on the couch, asleep.
“What the fuck happened here, Trey?” Ryan whispered, in shock.
Trey started violently and almost fell off the couch.
“Fuck! When did you get in?”
Ryan didn’t reply. He was still trying to process what the hell had taken
place.
He waved a hand at the mess. “Who…?” His voice failed.
He tried again.
“What the fuck have you done, Trey?” And as he said the words he realized that
was exactly what it was about. Because Trey looked fucking guilty. Not pissed,
not affronted, but guilty. And scared, which made Ryan’s stomach go queasy.
Trey didn’t scare easily.
Trey blinked rapidly – thinking up a lie, thought Ryan.
“Don’t bullshit me, man. What the. Fuck. Have. You. Done?”
Trey sighed. “Okay – it’s about this guy who I owe some money to. And he’s not…
patient.”
Ryan ground his teeth in frustration. All the relaxed, mellow feeling from the
night had evaporated. He was back in the fucking messed-up reality of life with
Trey, except that now it looked a great deal worse than it had earlier in the
evening.
“Are these guys going to come back or did you sort it?”
Trey said nothing but the look he gave Ryan was enough. Ryan groaned and closed
his eyes, leaning back against the doorjamb.
“So are we fucked?” he asked, and as he said the words he could tell that yes,
they were fucked, totally, and this was probably another one of Trey’s
spectacular, life-changing cock-ups.
He opened his eyes and squinted at his brother.
Trey shrugged and let his hands drop to his side. “Yeah. Can’t stay here. These
guys are no joke, man.”
Ryan looked around him at the graffiti on the wall, the TV and DVD player,
which had been taken apart with a baseball bat, the plates and the ashtrays
smashed on the floor, his few possessions scattered about, the clothes flung
around, the books ripped. He felt a lump in his throat. Just as he was getting
used to this life, he thought.
“What’re you gonna do?” he asked, hoping Trey had thought of something that
would take him into account.
“Dunno. I guess I’ll stay at ‘Turo’s for a couple nights. Or maybe Jackie’s.
She’s kinda cool.” Trey looked up at him and Ryan could read the apology in his
eyes.
He wasn’t headed anywhere but home, and Trey knew it. Time to reacquaint
himself with the joys of living with Mom and AJ – the fighting, the beatings,
the disgustingly loud fucking and the constant arguing… He couldn’t wait.
“Just for a few days,” Trey whispered. “Until I find us another place.”
Ryan nodded. Yeah. Like that was going to happen in a hurry.
“So what kept you? Party that good, or was there more?” Trey added, in a feeble
attempt at relaxing the atmosphere.
“Nothing. I just…”
Trey scanned him from top to toe swiftly, his eyes taking in Ryan’s disheveled
hair, his untucked T-shirt and his dusty pants. He flashed a knowing grin.
“You’ve been getting laid, man! I told you that stuff was good.”
“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Yeah, it was.”
“So who’s the lucky lady?” Trey asked. And then he saw Ryan’s uncomfortable
look and started laughing. “Damn, little bro’ you don’t even know her fucking
name, do you? You really are an Atwood.” And he raised his fist in a mock
salute.
Great, thought Ryan. Another fucking badge of honor to be proud of.
***** The Great Escape *****
It took exactly six hours for Ryan to feel he was really home. Six hours – most
of them spent without the benefit of AJ’s presence – before he could enjoy the
full Technicolor glory of daily life at home with Mom and her motherfucker
boyfriend.
And it had started so well, relatively speaking.
When Ryan arrived on his doorstep, sometime on Sunday afternoon, dragging a
duffel bag that contained his remaining unspoiled possessions, he hesitated a
few seconds before ringing the doorbell. For some reason, it seemed wrong to
let himself in if he was coming back for good.
The first good omen was that it was Dawn and not AJ who made it to the front
door.
“Hey baby, what’s up? You lost your key?” she asked, and she sounded downright
friendly.
“Um, no. I was just… Mom, can I crash back here for a while?” Ryan stood on the
doorstep squinting at his mother and feeling like an ass; a very hungover and
jittery ass, but an ass nonetheless, asking his mom if it was okay to sleep in
his own bed and hoping she would say yes.
“Are you boys in trouble?” she asked immediately, suspicious.
He shrugged.
She rolled her eyes and held the door open.
“I swear, Ryan, you better not turn out like Trey. One of you’s enough in the
family.”
Ryan bit back the urge to point out that in the fucked-up drug dealer stakes,
she’d pulled a winner with AJ, and walked past her and straight to his room,
where he dumped his bag. He sat on his bed and looked around him, taking in the
faded posters and stickers on his wall, the TV – which he was surprised to
still see here – the few books on the shelf next to his bed.
“Welcome home, Ryan,” he muttered under his breath, before stretching out on
his bed and promptly falling into a doze. He had a lot of sleep to catch up on.
He was woken up a few hours later by the sound of voices arguing next door. It
didn’t take long to figure that it was the usual mix of drunken argument and
bitching about money, which had been part of the background noise of his
growing up. That he hadn’t missed. He debated whether or not it was worth
intervening this time, but it didn’t sound like AJ was really pissed, so he
decided to lie low, maybe even skip dinner and stay under his radar.
No such luck, though, because approximately twenty minutes later, the big man
himself appeared at his door, scowling, a bottle of beer loosely held between
his fingers. Ryan sat up on the bed, eyeing him warily.
“So, you little fuck, you’re back,” AJ said, and Ryan tensed up instinctively.
“You better keep out of my way this time, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Nice to see you too, AJ.”
“Yeah, and you can keep that smart fucking mouth of yours in check, too,” AJ
said, before taking a swig from the bottle. He looked relatively calm, though,
so Ryan let himself relax a little. Maybe tonight would be okay after all.
Except it wasn’t – but not for the reason he feared. A short while after AJ
stomped out Ryan heard the front door slam and quiet descended on the house. He
stole into the kitchen for a snack – generally a depressing prospect at home,
but even day-old bread and peanut butter was better than nothing – and grabbed
a beer, confident that neither AJ nor Dawn would notice one missing. He settled
back in his room for a short evening of TV watching before much-needed sleep.
Before going to bed, Ryan smoked a quick joint outside his window, ears trained
to spot anything sounding remotely like AJ’s truck.
He was woken from deep slumber by the unmistakable sound of AJ and his mother
having loud, drunken sex. Extremely loud, drunken sex, in the case of Dawn.
Ryan groaned and hid his head under a pillow, trying to muffle the sound, but
to no effect. Christ, the walls were so paper thin it was like they were
fucking right next to him, on the floor. Yeah, these were the sounds of home
all right.
He ought to have become inured to it, over the years, but every time he heard
her fucking one of her thug boyfriends, Ryan wanted to curl up in a ball and
die. And AJ was, without a doubt, the worst – the loudest, most vocal of them
all, and he sounded like a complete brute even when he was mid-fuck. Which,
unfortunately, was often. Ryan felt anger and disgust welling through his body.
He craved nothing more than to grab a baseball bat and bash AJ’s head in once
and for all, and then maybe kick his unconscious body a few dozen times with a
steel-toed boot.
Usually, he would have slipped out of the window and gone straight to
Theresa’s. This time he slunk off to get his bike and rode off to get stoned in
a rundown children’s playground down the road. When he got back, they were
still at it, but he was wasted enough that it didn’t matter anymore. He
stripped quickly to his boxers and got into bed. The minute his head touched
the pillow, he was gone.
---- - ---- -- -- --------------- --- -- ------------- - - - -- ---
The next day, Ryan left the house early to avoid having to face either his mom
or AJ and cycled over to Jackie’s. Trey had told him she worked, so they could
probably meet there and sort out some business while she was out. Ryan wasn’t
too keen on dealing out of someone else’s home, but Trey assured him she was
cool with it. Ryan didn’t believe him, but he went along with Trey because at
this point, he was fresh out of options.
It was strange to see his brother in a neat, tidy setting. Ryan had met Jackie
a couple of times – she seemed to be a semi-regular girl of Trey’s – and she
was nice, if not terribly bright. He also suspected she was more than a little
naïve. She let Trey crash at her place without asking him either about his drug
dealing or why he was homeless at such short notice.
“You didn’t tell her why you left your place, did you?” he asked Trey when they
were going through their stash on the living room table.
“She doesn’t need to know.” Trey said, avoiding Ryan’s eyes.
“Yeah, sure. Because those guys would never follow you, would they?”
Trey shrugged. Ryan felt a surge of annoyance – he was getting really pissed at
his brother for his cavalier approach to the whole situation.
“I mean, man, what are you doing about them? And should I be watching my back?”
“Man, give me a break. I ain’t dumb. I have a plan, okay?”
A plan. Great. That was Trey-speak for ‘let’s go and do something stupid’.
“What?”
Trey didn’t respond and focused all his attention on the scales in front of
him.
“Trey?”
“Just make sure you’re free tomorrow night, okay?”
“Not if you don’t tell me what you’re up to,” retorted Ryan, zipping up another
baggie. Although he knew that if AJ was around he’d be out and at a loose end.
And Trey knew that, too, because he looked up at Ryan with something like pity
in his eyes.
“C’mon, Ryan. It’s just something we have to do. I need to teach you a bit more
about shit. I’ll tell you about what happened, too. Deal?”
Ryan shrugged. He suspected Trey was going to take him out to boost a car,
which was something he’d been dreading. He could handle dealing pot. Jacking
cars? That was a stupid idea. But going out, even to do stupid things with
Trey, was better than staying in his bedroom waiting for AJ to get angry at
him, or trying to block out the sounds of his mother getting laid.
So yeah, deal.
------ - -- ------------ - --- ---------------------- ---- ---- ---------------
------
When he got home, late that afternoon, Ryan was relieved to see the pick-up
gone. Maybe AJ was out doing the rounds of his skuzzy dealer friends – or
possibly, checking out what was happening to the wife and kids he’d left
behind. But Ryan didn’t have many illusions about AJ’s grasp on the
responsibilities of fatherhood, so that last option was probably out of the
question. Sometimes Ryan wondered about AJ’s children. He knew there were
three, two boys and a girl, and that the eldest was something like – what,
thirteen now? He wondered whether AJ was as much of an asshole to his own kids
as he was to Ryan, or whether he could be nice to them. He wondered if they
missed him, like he missed his dad sometimes, even though Dad had been a son of
a bitch most of the time anyhow.
“Where you been all day?” his mother greeted him when he walked in through the
door, her voice shrill. “I thought you’d be around now. I need you to go buy
some food while I’m at work. You got money?”
Here goes, thought Ryan.
“Sure,” he said. “I can get some food.”
“Thanks, honey,” she said, reaching out to tousle his hair, while Ryan ducked.
“I’m a bit short this week, but I’ll pay you back.”
Ryan knew better than to hope that would ever happen. But he was reasonably
flush at the moment, and it was drug money anyhow – which somehow wasn’t the
same as hard-earned proper work money, so he didn’t mind so much feeding
fucking AJ with it. Although he still didn’t like it.
As he cycled back from the store with a full backpack, he caught sight of a
familiar figure trudging up the street. He debated whether to cycle past
without saying anything, because he was pretty sure she’d snub him anyway, but
it was probably bad policy. Theresa did not take kindly to being ignored.
He overtook her and braked sharply.
“Hey.”
She looked up at him with a frown, her brown eyes serious. She would get lost
in thought when she walked along, and more than once, Ryan had met her in the
street and tapped her on the shoulder only to be greeted with a blank look as
her mind was stuck somewhere miles away. Ryan felt a pang of longing. This was
Theresa, his oldest friend, the one positive constant in his fucked-up life.
How had he managed to mess up so badly with her?
As she recognized him, he saw the ghost of a smile forming on her lips, and
then abruptly her face closed down.
“Fuck off, Atwood. I’m not talking to you.”
“Theresa, come on,” he pleaded, but she pushed past him and continued up the
road. Ryan sucked his upper lip between his teeth and stood watching her long-
legged silhouette walk away until she turned a corner and the spell was broken.
Once again, he felt like a complete jackass. He was beginning to get used to
it, though. Wearily, he got back on his bike and cycled the last few hundred
yards, the weight of his backpack digging into his shoulders.
When he dismounted in front of the house, AJ’s truck was there.
The evening was looking ever more promising.
------------- -- -- --- ------------------- - --- --------
After the tense, unpleasant experience that had been Monday evening – even
though, miraculously, he and AJ had spent most of the time alone under the same
roof without resorting to fisticuffs – Ryan was determined to be out on
Tuesday. The luck wouldn’t hold two days in a row.
Which meant, rightly or wrongly, that he’d agreed to go with Trey for his
latest lesson in crime. Apparently, the lesson started at the pool hall near
his old place, and Ryan braced himself in case Eddie was there – which he
wasn’t, thankfully, probably because it was a weekday night and he took his job
seriously. They ended up with a couple of Trey’s more disreputable friends,
guys Ryan had met a couple of times but didn’t particularly like or trust.
One of them, Manuel, a shaven-headed Latino guy with a snake tattooed on the
back of his neck, kept jostling Ryan when he was trying to line up a shot.
The third time, Ryan snapped.
“Will you quit fucking shoving me, man? I’m trying to play here.”
Manuel snarled at him and Ryan felt the adrenaline flooding through his veins.
He was wound up tight as a spring after all the fucking hassle of the past
couple of days, moving home, tiptoeing around AJ and having to put up with all
the loud sex from his mom. Besides, he was still really angry with Trey for
losing the apartment in the first place
Yeah, he was game for a fight if that dickhead wanted to take it outside. He
rested his pool cue against the side of the table and looked Manuel straight in
the eye, his jaw clenched.
“You got a fucking problem, man,” he growled, and despite the fact that Manuel
had a couple of inches on him, Ryan was convinced he could have him in a
straight one-on-one fight.
Somehow, the message must have got through pretty clearly because he caught a
flicker of hesitation in the other guy’s face. Ryan saw an opening and stepped
forward, his eyes still locked on Manuel’s.
He could feel Trey’s presence at his back, and he knew that if things really
got ugly Trey would step in, but he wasn’t sure whether Trey would intervene if
they came to blows or let them duke it out. You could never tell with Trey.
“Okay, okay,” the other guy said, backing off. “Chill out, dude.”
Ryan felt slightly disappointed – part of him had been looking forward to
letting rip and evacuating some of the pent-up anger and frustration. But he
wasn’t stupid enough to chase a fight when there was no need for one. He nodded
and picked up his cue again.
A couple of games later – and forty dollars richer – Ryan was starting to feel
relaxed. He’d drunk a couple of beers, and had almost forgotten that the
evening had an ulterior purpose. When Trey signaled for him to follow him out
of the bar, the reality of what they were about to do hit him anew. He noticed
Trey had picked up a crowbar along the way – and there no longer was any doubt
about what they were up to.
He fell in step with his brother outside the bar as they walked up the deserted
streets. Trey wasn’t saying anything, and Ryan wasn’t asking, but he could see
him scanning the cars they passed for an easy, or an inviting, target. After
ten minutes of silent car stalking, Ryan was beginning to feel conspicuous, and
wondered whether Trey would let him bail on him.
“Now that’s what I call a car,” Trey murmured as they turned a corner.
The gold Camaro was parked under a streetlight, by a graffiti-strewn wall, and
was a little too exposed for Ryan’s taste. But Trey was clearly sold. He
approached the car with an intent expression on his face, and then turned to
Ryan with a grin.
“I’m your big brother,” he said. “If I don’t teach you this, who will?” And he
swung the crowbar, smashing the driver’s side window while Ryan jumped back in
shock. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It was a terrible idea.
Trey popped the lock and got in the car, checking the glove box and the sun
visor for a spare set of keys. Apparently, some people in Chino still trusted
the locals not to break into their cars, because Ryan saw Trey fitting a key to
the ignition.
“I don’t know, Trey,” he muttered, feeling very stupid and very afraid. He felt
in way over his head – this was a different kind of thing altogether, something
he’d been avoiding his whole life. This was following into Dad’s footsteps in
the dumbest way. What the fuck was he doing here?
“Quit being a little bitch! Get in!” Trey shouted, and Ryan started walking
towards the passenger side. The engine rumbled.
“Yeah let’s go!” Trey urged him. “Get in””
As Ryan stood by the passenger door, paralyzed with fear and indecision, a
police car drove by in the main road behind them.
Trey’s voice took on an edge of panic.
“C’mon let’s go Ryan!” And then the police car reversed back towards them, and
the siren went, and Ryan found himself running alongside the car and hopping
in, terrified and utterly convinced he was making the worst mistake of his
short life.
Trey was in full manic mode, laughing uproariously and apparently enjoying the
whole chase. He gunned the engine down an empty road, tires screeching. He was
completely getting off on the whole thing, and Ryan realized he was a lot
drunker – or more stoned, whatever – than he had given him credit for earlier.
Great.
“You should see your face, man!” he cackled at Ryan.
And then another police car appeared in front of them, cutting them off, and
suddenly they were being shunted down a side street with a sound of crumpling
metal as the police car rammed them, and Ryan could hear his voice shouting “No
no no no no!” as the car spun and crashed.
He raised his hands above his shoulders and looked at Trey in the glow of the
police lights. The manic laughter had gone and all that was left was a defeated
look. Their ride was over all right.
Shit, he hoped Trey wasn’t carrying drugs. Or worse, his fucking piece. And as
they got out of the car, spread their legs and leant against the side of the
car for a quick search, Ryan saw the gun being pulled out of Trey’s waistband
and handed to another officer, and his heart sank further. There was no way
Trey could avoid doing time now, not with this, not with his priors.
The ride back to the police station was a blur – he was too scared and hyped to
think straight, his hands hurt behind his back, he could feel Trey breathing
shallowly next to him, and he knew then Trey too was scared, and that made the
fear ten times worse. When they got to the station, they were sat
unceremoniously on a bench in the booking area, and told to shut up. Ryan
rolled his shoulders to ease the knots – it was damn uncomfortable to ride in a
car with hands cuffed behind your back. He could feel his wrists chafing
against the metal of the cuffs and wondered how long it took to be used to
being cuffed. Not that he wanted to find out. Ever.
When Trey was called in for his booking, he turned back and gave Ryan a long
look in which Ryan could read fear, despair, and above all, guilt. Immense,
soul-destroying guilt, because Trey had always been his big brother and, in his
misguided way, had always looked out for him. And now, he’d sent him to jail.
That was the last he saw of Trey in a while.
A police officer called his mother when the time came for Ryan to be booked –
and judging by the look on the man’s face, Dawn was pretty hopping mad. She was
probably blind drunk, too, Ryan reflected, which was unlikely to play in his
favor. At any rate, she point blank refused to talk to him.
By the time they took him through to the juvenile detention center, he was
exhausted, depressed, still terrified and feeling completely bereft.
He was truly on his own.
---------- - - - ------------------------- - - -- ------------------
Ryan looked around the cell, furnished with a couple of bunk beds, a toilet,
and a sink. He was alone, which had to be a blessing, because he’d been
psyching himself all the way down the corridor to look as mean as he could in
case he was sharing with some evil-ass teenage gangbanger with a grudge against
short white boys.
He was glad it was night, too, and he had some time to pull together before he
got to mix with the other inmates, because what he’d heard from Trey about
lockup didn’t inspire him with much confidence. He knew he was going to be a
prime target – he was fresh meat with no experience of juvie, no friends
inside, no connections. He was a blonde, blue-eyed white boy in a penal system
filled with Latino and black kids from the ghetto. All he had in his favor was
his capacity to keep his head down, lie low and shut the fuck up. That and a
willingness to get into a fight with bigger guys, even if he ended up getting
his ass kicked.
He sat on the bottom bed and rested his back against the tiled wall. He had a
few hours to figure out how badly he’d fucked up, and it didn’t look good. If
Ryan was honest with himself, he was in more trouble than he had ever been. And
Trey – fuck, Trey had to be headed for jail time. Trey was really up shit
creek.
Ryan dropped his head into his hands. He felt like a shit for even thinking
about himself at this point, but hell, the thought of life without Trey was
just chilling. No matter how miserable and fucked-up and dead-end life with
Trey was, at least he represented an escape, an alternative to his soul-
destroying existence with Mom and AJ. Now – there was nowhere for Ryan to go.
Theresa would never forgive him for messing up with Eddie; Eddie – well, Eddie
probably still hated his guts for having tried to kiss Theresa at the party.
Eddie, who, it turned out, had been remarkably accurate in his predictions for
Trey and Ryan’s future. Except in the timeline he’d sketched out – because it
had barely taken a week, in the end.
He rubbed his face, feeling the nascent stubble under his fingers, and sighed,
a long, trembling sigh that left him on the verge of tears. The adrenaline rush
of the past few hours was finally subsiding, leaving in its place gut-rotting
fear and uncertainty. Ryan had no idea of the sentence he was likely to get,
but he knew jail was definitely a possibility. At best, he’d be released to
Dawn and he was – at the very least – going to get a serious beating from AJ.
It was too good an opportunity for him to let pass. At worst, he’d be wearing
somebody else’s fucking clothes for a while. He looked at the dark blue
jumpsuit he was wearing, the fabric stiff against his skin. It smelled of cheap
detergent with an undertone of old sweat, a thoroughly unappealing combination,
which he really didn’t want to have to endure for longer than was strictly
necessary.
He forced himself to lie down on the hard bunk. He could feel the unyielding
surface under the thin foam mattress, and the blanket he pulled over his body
was scratchy. Maybe it was tiredness, but his senses were revolting against the
drabness surrounding him. Everything felt wrong, smelled wrong, looked crap.
The thought of having to spend actual time in this sort of place made him want
to throw up – and that was before factoring in the other inmates, the thought
of whom was enough to scare the shit out of him. Ryan liked to think of himself
as a reasonably tough kid – and had had plenty of occasions to prove it – but
in jail, he was aware that he was just bait.
Despite the exhaustion he felt, sleep eluded him for much of the night, and
when it came it was rife with nightmares, staccato dreams of getting chased and
caught, again and again, of walls closing in on him, of nameless faces crowding
him into his cell. He woke several times, heart racing, only to realize he’d
just been dreaming. By the time his door was unlocked for breakfast in the
morning, he felt like he’d gone several rounds with Tyson.
Ryan splashed water on his face before walking out to line up with the other
inmates on his way to the cafeteria. He kept his head down, but his eyes kept
darting to the sides, looking at the boys either side of him. He was obviously
in with the older, rougher crowd, or maybe he was just unlucky. Either way, the
tattooed guys he could see out of the corner of his eye looked hard, and
fucking scary.
He picked up a metal tray and followed the line through the cafeteria,
selecting cereal, juice, milk and some unappetizing looking yellow mess that
looked like it might be scrambled eggs. He sat alone on the edge of a table and
ate quickly, avoiding other boys’ eyes. As long as he didn’t stare at anyone,
and eschewed any physical contact, he figured he might be able to make it
through the day unscathed. After he ate, he asked to return to his cell and was
escorted back.
By the time he was called to the visitors’ area later that morning for the
meeting with his court-appointed lawyer, Ryan had had a good couple of hours to
build up various scenarios of doom in his mind, and he had used them fully. He
expected his attorney to be incompetent, and the authorities to be merciless.
He suspected he could end up behind bars for vehicle theft, even though it was
a first offence. He had a father in jail, a brother who was headed for jail,
and a mother who wasn’t exactly the world’s most reliable character witness. He
was fucked.
When he stepped out of the door, the guard rattled the handcuffs at him and
motioned for him to place his hands behind his back. Ryan obeyed and clenched
his fists behind him. When the cuffs clicked shut, he felt a shiver go through
him. He couldn’t bear being chained like a wild animal.
The walk down the corridors with the guard seemed endless. After what seemed
like a dozen metal doors and grilles, each locked and equipped with buzzers and
cameras, he was finally pushed into a dingy room with a table and a few stools
bolted to the floor. A dark-haired middle-aged man in a suit was sat on one of
the stools with a pile of papers in front of him and looked up at Ryan as he
walked in, propelled forward by the guard’s none-too-gentle touch.
Ryan felt lightheaded, his stomach queasy with apprehension, and he could hear
his heart thudding in his chest. He was terrified, he realized, because now all
the stuff he’d been imagining was about to turn into reality. Or not. But
probably, yes.
And no matter how bad his life had been until now, he feared it was about to
get much, much worse.
The End (or perhaps, more accurately, the beginning).
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