OC Fic : Fork In The Road (4/9)
Well, I was going to wait until tomorrow, but
brandywine421 started an awsome new fic and updated Spin, which put me in a good mood, and then you all asked so nicely...
So...
Chapter 4
Los Angeles, 2010
"I'm telling you, man, she's definitely into you!"
The bar is smoky, even though this is L.A., and cigarettes are basically outlawed in California. Ryan has always found the Californian attitude toward smoking baffling. There's the smog, and it sometimes feels like there are more cars in California than anywhere else on the planet, and yet people are still concerned about tobacco smoke -- which Ryan doubts is more harmful than the vapors of burned fuel.
Of course, he's not really objective; he has smoked a few cigarettes a day since his thirteenth birthday -- the only drug he allows himself to take, but one he can't imagine giving up.
"Well, aren't you going to do something about it?" Josh insists.
Ryan shoots him a dubious look, which causes Josh to grin over the rim of his glass, and wink in a conspiratorial way.
Ryan shrugs, looks over his shoulder, and spots the woman, perched on a stool at the bar. She is, indeed, studying him with interest. As soon as they make eye contact, however, she blushes and ducks her head.
"Nah," Ryan tells Josh. "A little too shy for me."
Josh snorts indelicately. "But you can't deny she's looking at you."
Ryan smiles cheekily, mostly because Josh expects him to. "Perhaps," he says. He doesn't have to try hard to look blasé. He has always been popular with the ladies, and he's certainly not complaining about it.
At this point, Sean, the third man at their table, snickers. "We don't stand a chance when you're with us," he says, half-joking, half-bemoaning a real fact. "You look like a fucking movie star and they only have eyes for you."
Ryan looks down critically at his blue shirt, his faded jeans, his worn shoes. His hair is flattened by the hard hat he has worn all day and he hasn't shaved in two days. He has "construction worker" written all over him, and he couldn't feel further from a movie star if he tried.
He has always found himself ordinary looking, and he has decided years ago that women are just attracted to him because he doesn't try too hard to get them.
"Well, perhaps she was looking at one of us," Josh allows. He elbows Sean in the ribs. "Watcha think?"
Sean looks affronted. "I think you're way past your limit," he replies, gesturing to Josh's mostly empty beer. "And I think Ryan hasn't had nearly enough to drink."
Ryan self-consciously looks at his full glass. "Who'll make sure you guys get home in one piece if I don't stay sober?" he asks. The question is purely rhetorical at this point -- they've had this discussion a few dozen times already. Ryan has never loved drinking. Life has taught him that people lose control when they're drunk, and Ryan has always been a bit of a control freak.
So, when they go drink a few on Friday night, Ryan is always the designated driver. He doesn't mind, and the others have accepted this as one of Ryan's many quirks.
Sean glances at him; as usual, he looks like he has all the answers in the world, like he knows everything about Ryan -- a frightful notion. "Sean is like Yoda, except less green. Most times," Josh once said. Ryan laughed at that, but couldn't help agreeing.
Sean is frighteningly perceptive, and it's one of the reasons why Ryan has always resisted forming a friendship with the guy.
Sean is a wonderful man. He's married, he has two kids, he allows himself exactly one cigarette a day, goes to church every Sunday and pays his taxes without complaining. Ryan dearly hopes he'll be as laid back and as "together" than Sean is when he reaches forty, but Sean is also intuitive and good at picking up on clues, and Ryan is always afraid he'll let something slip when he's with him.
He doesn't care that he's being paranoid for no good reason. It has been years since he left Chino, and while Ryan still stiffens whenever he passes by a cop, he knows that no one must be looking for him anymore -- if anyone ever looked in the first place.
But the need to remain hidden is still there -- funny how easily Ryan got used to being on the run, and how hard it is to feel at ease anywhere, even now, years later.
"Ah!" Josh says. "I'm perfectly able to get home all by myself."
"Sure," Ryan says, his tone neutral. Josh is notoriously easy to rile up when he's drunk, and Ryan doesn't want him to get aggressive. He's too beat to deal with that today.
Sean finishes his beer in two long swallows before rising to his feet. "Well, I, for one, am more than ready to call it a night."
Ryan makes to follow him but Sean gestures him back. "I'll call a cab," he says. "You two just… enjoy yourselves." The last part is directed at Ryan, who smiles slightly.
"Yeah," he says. Then his eyes fall on Josh, who is starting to slump in his chair. "Sure."
***
It's almost two in the morning when Ryan finally makes it home. He has driven Josh back to his place, where a furious girlfriend made Ryan carry Josh to the bed before escorting him out.
Ryan flops on the couch, smiling inwardly as he remembers the woman's furious look. Poor Josh won't be able to nurse his hangover in peace in the morning, if she has anything to say about it.
He's tired, achy and sweaty, but he lacks the energy to do anything about it, or even to drag himself to the bedroom, so he just stares at the blank TV screen instead.
The last few days have thoroughly kicked his ass into the ground. Of course, working construction is never exactly a restful job, but the heat has been particularly stifling, and several of the guys have called in sick at the beginning of the week, forcing all the others to pick up the slack.
On the bright side, Ryan's boss may be a task maker, but when he's happy with the job, he's fairly generous with the bonuses, and Ryan needs the money.
Sometimes, Ryan feels like his life is an endless series of nights and days spent worrying about the bills, worrying about the rent, worrying about whether or not he'll still be employed the next day, or the next week.
At least, back in Chino, he had Trey, and sometimes Dawn, to worry with him, and to come up with new ways to get money.
Now, he's alone -- Michael would help him if he asked, but Ryan doesn't want to ask, because Michael is raising a kid, and is having trouble every end of the month too.
And of course, being alone means that he has no one else to worry about -- if Ryan screws up, he'll be the only one paying the price. Unfortunately, it also means that he doesn't have anyone to share his fears with, and worrying alone is exhausting.
Ryan sighs and stops this train of thought.
Sure, he's starting over again, but he has been here for six months now, and hasn't been doing too bad so far.
As far as everyone is concerned, he's Ryan Spender.
He is now, according to his ID, twenty-five years old.
Michael knew a few people and managed to get him papers proving his existence, so he could open a bank account, get a driver's license and insurance.
Ryan Atwood has never been found, and as far as Ryan knows, very few people noticed.
He hasn't seen his mother since he left, he doesn't even know whether or not she's still alive. He tells himself that he doesn't care, and mostly, he manages to believe it.
He did meet Trey, about two months ago -- a chance encounter in a city where several million people live.
They literally bumped into each other on a street corner.
Trey hugged him impulsively. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, his eyes were bloodshot, and the only reason Ryan wasn't scared of him was because Trey's his brother and would never hurt him.
"Ma thinks you're dead!" Trey told Ryan. "She flipped."
Ryan shrugged. "So?" he asked, thinking, I *am* dead, for all intents and purposes.
Trey gaped at him for a moment, obviously taking stock of the man his little brother had become. When he spoke again, it was in a sad, weary voice. "Yeah. So…"
For a brief while, Ryan missed the kids they used to be -- the ones who were brothers, who would have done anything for each other, who had each other's backs.
But these kids, too, were dead -- had fallen victim to Dawn's lifestyle and of a series of bad choices.
"Take care, man," Trey said.
"You too."
Ryan hasn't seen Trey again. As far as he knows, his brother has never told anyone he met him.
If Trey's shaking hands were any indication, he's shooting up again.
Ryan doesn't think his brother will live to reach thirty, and the thought always hurts. Ryan still remembers the kid Trey was, eager and smart and witty, before their father's indifference and Dawn's boyfriends kicked innocence out of him, and taught him that he was nothing, that violence was the answer, that having money was more important than being a good man.
Sometimes, he thinks he would like to go see Dawn, to force her to see what she has done by choosing other people over her sons.
She wouldn't see, though, and it would only reopen Ryan's wounds and make him even angrier.
Ryan lives a solitary life, and for the most part, he's happy with it. He doesn't have friends, per se, but he has friendly acquaintances.
He doesn't have a regular girlfriend but he has no problem fucking regularly -- an endless stream of one-night-stands that satisfy his physical needs.
He doesn't have a family, nor does he want one. It's too much pain, too much trouble, too many complications to deal with.
Sometimes, Ryan wonders if that means that Dawn has won.
He knows that normal people create bonds, look for ways to make their lives more meaningful, want commitment, want to be recognized for who they are.
Ryan wants none of these things -- he wants peace, he doesn't want to take risks anymore, he doesn't dare trusting anyone, really.
The only person Ryan has kept in touch with for any length of time is Michael and, in some way, the rest of his family.
The man offers advice, good-natured teasing, and avoids dropping too many expectations on Ryan. Perhaps he has understood that it would be the surest way to drive Ryan away.
Besides, he's the only person's who has ever tried to help Ryan -- or, at least, the only person who wasn't paid to do so.
No one else ever bothered.
Ryan still can't believe Michael helped him. After all, he had all the reasons in the world to tell Ryan he couldn't do anything, all the reasons in the world to not even try. But Michael found a place for Ryan in his life, and for that, Ryan is grateful and tries not to take advantage of it.
Ryan yawns as the baby living in the apartment above starts crying. He spends a moment debating before finally deciding to go sleep in his bed. Sleeping on the couch after five days of manual work is just asking for trouble.
Stretching, he makes his way to the bedroom.
***
Los Angeles, 2010
"I'm telling you, man, that girl totally noticed me."
Seth nods distractedly, trying to find a polite way to redirect the discussion. Tact has never been his forte, but he has at least learned to shut up sometimes.
"I guess I could go ask her out," Christian adds, his tone already less certain.
Seth bites his tongue. Well of course, his sarcastic inner self whispers, if you're *so* sure she's into you, you should. But we both know she's not, don't we? And even if she was, buddy, we're both geeks and we're pathologically unable to walk up to a beautiful girl and ask her out. Let's face it, we're losers, we'll die single.
Aloud, he just says, "Sure."
Definitely more tactful than when he was a teenager.
Once upon a time, Seth dreamed of having a friend to whom he would impart his witty yet self-demeaning ramblings. And that friend would have smiled, nodded and/or rolled his eyes, and told him affectionately to get a life. And, perhaps, Seth would have listened.
But he never found that friend, certainly not in high school, and not even in college, and now he has stopped looking, stopped waiting for it.
"Or," Christian adds, "I could wait."
Seth cuts him off. "Wait for what? Carpe diem, dude. You like her? Go tell her!"
So much easier said than done…
Seth knows that perfectly well. After all, *he* never approached Summer to ask her out. And she married the son of a senator in Newport, and the Cohen family was invited to the wedding but Seth begged out and spent that day moping around his apartment. He sees her on TV sometimes, beautiful and beaming, going places while Seth lives in his bachelor apartment and eats take-out six days of the week.
Seth knows all about missed opportunities, and very little about taking chances.
Christian is nodding, clearly unconvinced.
For a moment, Seth wishes he could tell Christian how lonely life is for cowards. But they're not close enough for that kind of soul-bearing and Seth is very much aware of the distinction between being a friend to someone, and being friendly with someone.
"You should," he just says neutrally, because he can't resist taking another shot.
Perhaps, if he convinces Christian to go ask the girl out, he'll feel less miserable about Summer.
Christian smiles and finishes his coffee before heading back to his office, leaving Seth alone in the break room.
***
Seth arrives home relatively early, and goes through the usual, automatic routine -- jacket on the chair, keys on the counter, wallet on the table, turn on the TV to the cartoon channel and check his messages.
As he notices the blinking light on his answering machine, he sighs. His mother has been on a mission lately -- yet another campaign to make Seth participate more in Newport's social life.
They've had that argument too many times to count over the years. His mom seems unable to grasp this simple concept : Seth fiercely loathes all these snobbish people who don't do anything but drink and gossip, whose children bullied him for years without retaliation, and who are always so condescending to him.
He deliberately went to College on the East Coast to escape this hell, just as his own dad crossed the country to escape the Nana.
A therapist would probably say that Seth unconsciously repeated a pattern he had seen in his family. And Seth would laugh and say, "Oh, it wasn't unconscious."
After all, College wasn't his first try at escaping Newport. After Ryan's disappearance, Seth had taken his beloved boat, bent on sailing to Tahiti. Four days later, the Coast Guards had accosted him and sent him back to Newport, seething and resentful.
"Didn't you realize how worried we'd be?" his mother had all but screamed at him.
Seth had snarked, "So worried that it took you thirty-six hours to find out I was gone? So worried that you're sending me back to that fucking school I hate, because our status won't allow me to go elsewhere?"
She'd slapped him -- the only time she had ever raised her hand on him.
They'd talked about it a lot during their family therapy sessions.
Seth had cooperated with the shrink, had gone back to Harbor, had withstood the humiliations and the indifference of the one girl he loved and would never have, and had bided his time.
Upon graduation, he gratefully accepted his grandfather's gift -- two months in Europe.
When he flew back in September, he didn't even bother to go back to California, he just got settled in New York immediately.
For four years, he stayed as far away from Newport as he possibly could.
His parents went back to drowning themselves into their work, as they had always done.
After he was done with College, Seth moved to L.A., trying to launch his career as a comic designer. Somehow, his mother seemed to mistake this as Seth's way of being closer to home.
Fat chance.
Seth sighs as he listens to his messages.
Of course, his grandfather will attend the party… and convey, once again, what a failure Seth is -- still not married, still not a millionaire, still not willing to step into the family business. "It was built for you," Caleb Asshole Nichol keeps saying.
Seth can't bring himself to be grateful for that, mostly because he suspects that it's not true -- Caleb Nichol built his empire for himself, and to keep his family wealthy, sure, but he's too much of a control freak to allow anyone to take the reins of the Group.
Besides, Seth has always been convinced that Caleb Nichol loves the idea of a grandson a lot more than his actual grandson.
Seth resents his family -- his rich, powerful, influential family, that never stepped in when he needed it, that never helped him in ways that counted, that never considered helping him in any other way than by signing a check.
He still loves them, though -- of course, he does. It's his family, he can't help it.
Now that his parents don't rule his life anymore, he can even move on past the hurt, past the disappointment.
He can't imagine his life without them, and he would go see them more often, if only they didn't live in Newport -- the place that represents everything he hates in the world, the place that holds so many bad memories for him.
As it is, he settles for only going back every once in a while, when he truly can't justify missing yet another of these events.
The life Seth lives now is lonely -- the few friends he has are comic nerds who, like Seth, are not gifted at making friends, and prefer talking about the latest adventures of the X-Men than talking about the fact that their life sucks and doesn't show any sign of improving, and that they don't know what to do about it.
He has had a few loveless affairs with other geeks, of both genders, in college.
He didn't feel changed after these experiences, as if nothing meaningful had happened, nothing bringing him a better understanding of himself or others.
He tries to keep things as emotionally uninvolved as possible.
It's far better for all concerned, he thinks, as he drops onto his bed.
That way, no one builds up expectations, and no one ends up hurt or disappointed.
Status quo also has good sides.
Chapter 5
brandywine421 started an awsome new fic and updated Spin, which put me in a good mood, and then you all asked so nicely...
So...
Chapter 4
Los Angeles, 2010
"I'm telling you, man, she's definitely into you!"
The bar is smoky, even though this is L.A., and cigarettes are basically outlawed in California. Ryan has always found the Californian attitude toward smoking baffling. There's the smog, and it sometimes feels like there are more cars in California than anywhere else on the planet, and yet people are still concerned about tobacco smoke -- which Ryan doubts is more harmful than the vapors of burned fuel.
Of course, he's not really objective; he has smoked a few cigarettes a day since his thirteenth birthday -- the only drug he allows himself to take, but one he can't imagine giving up.
"Well, aren't you going to do something about it?" Josh insists.
Ryan shoots him a dubious look, which causes Josh to grin over the rim of his glass, and wink in a conspiratorial way.
Ryan shrugs, looks over his shoulder, and spots the woman, perched on a stool at the bar. She is, indeed, studying him with interest. As soon as they make eye contact, however, she blushes and ducks her head.
"Nah," Ryan tells Josh. "A little too shy for me."
Josh snorts indelicately. "But you can't deny she's looking at you."
Ryan smiles cheekily, mostly because Josh expects him to. "Perhaps," he says. He doesn't have to try hard to look blasé. He has always been popular with the ladies, and he's certainly not complaining about it.
At this point, Sean, the third man at their table, snickers. "We don't stand a chance when you're with us," he says, half-joking, half-bemoaning a real fact. "You look like a fucking movie star and they only have eyes for you."
Ryan looks down critically at his blue shirt, his faded jeans, his worn shoes. His hair is flattened by the hard hat he has worn all day and he hasn't shaved in two days. He has "construction worker" written all over him, and he couldn't feel further from a movie star if he tried.
He has always found himself ordinary looking, and he has decided years ago that women are just attracted to him because he doesn't try too hard to get them.
"Well, perhaps she was looking at one of us," Josh allows. He elbows Sean in the ribs. "Watcha think?"
Sean looks affronted. "I think you're way past your limit," he replies, gesturing to Josh's mostly empty beer. "And I think Ryan hasn't had nearly enough to drink."
Ryan self-consciously looks at his full glass. "Who'll make sure you guys get home in one piece if I don't stay sober?" he asks. The question is purely rhetorical at this point -- they've had this discussion a few dozen times already. Ryan has never loved drinking. Life has taught him that people lose control when they're drunk, and Ryan has always been a bit of a control freak.
So, when they go drink a few on Friday night, Ryan is always the designated driver. He doesn't mind, and the others have accepted this as one of Ryan's many quirks.
Sean glances at him; as usual, he looks like he has all the answers in the world, like he knows everything about Ryan -- a frightful notion. "Sean is like Yoda, except less green. Most times," Josh once said. Ryan laughed at that, but couldn't help agreeing.
Sean is frighteningly perceptive, and it's one of the reasons why Ryan has always resisted forming a friendship with the guy.
Sean is a wonderful man. He's married, he has two kids, he allows himself exactly one cigarette a day, goes to church every Sunday and pays his taxes without complaining. Ryan dearly hopes he'll be as laid back and as "together" than Sean is when he reaches forty, but Sean is also intuitive and good at picking up on clues, and Ryan is always afraid he'll let something slip when he's with him.
He doesn't care that he's being paranoid for no good reason. It has been years since he left Chino, and while Ryan still stiffens whenever he passes by a cop, he knows that no one must be looking for him anymore -- if anyone ever looked in the first place.
But the need to remain hidden is still there -- funny how easily Ryan got used to being on the run, and how hard it is to feel at ease anywhere, even now, years later.
"Ah!" Josh says. "I'm perfectly able to get home all by myself."
"Sure," Ryan says, his tone neutral. Josh is notoriously easy to rile up when he's drunk, and Ryan doesn't want him to get aggressive. He's too beat to deal with that today.
Sean finishes his beer in two long swallows before rising to his feet. "Well, I, for one, am more than ready to call it a night."
Ryan makes to follow him but Sean gestures him back. "I'll call a cab," he says. "You two just… enjoy yourselves." The last part is directed at Ryan, who smiles slightly.
"Yeah," he says. Then his eyes fall on Josh, who is starting to slump in his chair. "Sure."
***
It's almost two in the morning when Ryan finally makes it home. He has driven Josh back to his place, where a furious girlfriend made Ryan carry Josh to the bed before escorting him out.
Ryan flops on the couch, smiling inwardly as he remembers the woman's furious look. Poor Josh won't be able to nurse his hangover in peace in the morning, if she has anything to say about it.
He's tired, achy and sweaty, but he lacks the energy to do anything about it, or even to drag himself to the bedroom, so he just stares at the blank TV screen instead.
The last few days have thoroughly kicked his ass into the ground. Of course, working construction is never exactly a restful job, but the heat has been particularly stifling, and several of the guys have called in sick at the beginning of the week, forcing all the others to pick up the slack.
On the bright side, Ryan's boss may be a task maker, but when he's happy with the job, he's fairly generous with the bonuses, and Ryan needs the money.
Sometimes, Ryan feels like his life is an endless series of nights and days spent worrying about the bills, worrying about the rent, worrying about whether or not he'll still be employed the next day, or the next week.
At least, back in Chino, he had Trey, and sometimes Dawn, to worry with him, and to come up with new ways to get money.
Now, he's alone -- Michael would help him if he asked, but Ryan doesn't want to ask, because Michael is raising a kid, and is having trouble every end of the month too.
And of course, being alone means that he has no one else to worry about -- if Ryan screws up, he'll be the only one paying the price. Unfortunately, it also means that he doesn't have anyone to share his fears with, and worrying alone is exhausting.
Ryan sighs and stops this train of thought.
Sure, he's starting over again, but he has been here for six months now, and hasn't been doing too bad so far.
As far as everyone is concerned, he's Ryan Spender.
He is now, according to his ID, twenty-five years old.
Michael knew a few people and managed to get him papers proving his existence, so he could open a bank account, get a driver's license and insurance.
Ryan Atwood has never been found, and as far as Ryan knows, very few people noticed.
He hasn't seen his mother since he left, he doesn't even know whether or not she's still alive. He tells himself that he doesn't care, and mostly, he manages to believe it.
He did meet Trey, about two months ago -- a chance encounter in a city where several million people live.
They literally bumped into each other on a street corner.
Trey hugged him impulsively. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, his eyes were bloodshot, and the only reason Ryan wasn't scared of him was because Trey's his brother and would never hurt him.
"Ma thinks you're dead!" Trey told Ryan. "She flipped."
Ryan shrugged. "So?" he asked, thinking, I *am* dead, for all intents and purposes.
Trey gaped at him for a moment, obviously taking stock of the man his little brother had become. When he spoke again, it was in a sad, weary voice. "Yeah. So…"
For a brief while, Ryan missed the kids they used to be -- the ones who were brothers, who would have done anything for each other, who had each other's backs.
But these kids, too, were dead -- had fallen victim to Dawn's lifestyle and of a series of bad choices.
"Take care, man," Trey said.
"You too."
Ryan hasn't seen Trey again. As far as he knows, his brother has never told anyone he met him.
If Trey's shaking hands were any indication, he's shooting up again.
Ryan doesn't think his brother will live to reach thirty, and the thought always hurts. Ryan still remembers the kid Trey was, eager and smart and witty, before their father's indifference and Dawn's boyfriends kicked innocence out of him, and taught him that he was nothing, that violence was the answer, that having money was more important than being a good man.
Sometimes, he thinks he would like to go see Dawn, to force her to see what she has done by choosing other people over her sons.
She wouldn't see, though, and it would only reopen Ryan's wounds and make him even angrier.
Ryan lives a solitary life, and for the most part, he's happy with it. He doesn't have friends, per se, but he has friendly acquaintances.
He doesn't have a regular girlfriend but he has no problem fucking regularly -- an endless stream of one-night-stands that satisfy his physical needs.
He doesn't have a family, nor does he want one. It's too much pain, too much trouble, too many complications to deal with.
Sometimes, Ryan wonders if that means that Dawn has won.
He knows that normal people create bonds, look for ways to make their lives more meaningful, want commitment, want to be recognized for who they are.
Ryan wants none of these things -- he wants peace, he doesn't want to take risks anymore, he doesn't dare trusting anyone, really.
The only person Ryan has kept in touch with for any length of time is Michael and, in some way, the rest of his family.
The man offers advice, good-natured teasing, and avoids dropping too many expectations on Ryan. Perhaps he has understood that it would be the surest way to drive Ryan away.
Besides, he's the only person's who has ever tried to help Ryan -- or, at least, the only person who wasn't paid to do so.
No one else ever bothered.
Ryan still can't believe Michael helped him. After all, he had all the reasons in the world to tell Ryan he couldn't do anything, all the reasons in the world to not even try. But Michael found a place for Ryan in his life, and for that, Ryan is grateful and tries not to take advantage of it.
Ryan yawns as the baby living in the apartment above starts crying. He spends a moment debating before finally deciding to go sleep in his bed. Sleeping on the couch after five days of manual work is just asking for trouble.
Stretching, he makes his way to the bedroom.
***
Los Angeles, 2010
"I'm telling you, man, that girl totally noticed me."
Seth nods distractedly, trying to find a polite way to redirect the discussion. Tact has never been his forte, but he has at least learned to shut up sometimes.
"I guess I could go ask her out," Christian adds, his tone already less certain.
Seth bites his tongue. Well of course, his sarcastic inner self whispers, if you're *so* sure she's into you, you should. But we both know she's not, don't we? And even if she was, buddy, we're both geeks and we're pathologically unable to walk up to a beautiful girl and ask her out. Let's face it, we're losers, we'll die single.
Aloud, he just says, "Sure."
Definitely more tactful than when he was a teenager.
Once upon a time, Seth dreamed of having a friend to whom he would impart his witty yet self-demeaning ramblings. And that friend would have smiled, nodded and/or rolled his eyes, and told him affectionately to get a life. And, perhaps, Seth would have listened.
But he never found that friend, certainly not in high school, and not even in college, and now he has stopped looking, stopped waiting for it.
"Or," Christian adds, "I could wait."
Seth cuts him off. "Wait for what? Carpe diem, dude. You like her? Go tell her!"
So much easier said than done…
Seth knows that perfectly well. After all, *he* never approached Summer to ask her out. And she married the son of a senator in Newport, and the Cohen family was invited to the wedding but Seth begged out and spent that day moping around his apartment. He sees her on TV sometimes, beautiful and beaming, going places while Seth lives in his bachelor apartment and eats take-out six days of the week.
Seth knows all about missed opportunities, and very little about taking chances.
Christian is nodding, clearly unconvinced.
For a moment, Seth wishes he could tell Christian how lonely life is for cowards. But they're not close enough for that kind of soul-bearing and Seth is very much aware of the distinction between being a friend to someone, and being friendly with someone.
"You should," he just says neutrally, because he can't resist taking another shot.
Perhaps, if he convinces Christian to go ask the girl out, he'll feel less miserable about Summer.
Christian smiles and finishes his coffee before heading back to his office, leaving Seth alone in the break room.
***
Seth arrives home relatively early, and goes through the usual, automatic routine -- jacket on the chair, keys on the counter, wallet on the table, turn on the TV to the cartoon channel and check his messages.
As he notices the blinking light on his answering machine, he sighs. His mother has been on a mission lately -- yet another campaign to make Seth participate more in Newport's social life.
They've had that argument too many times to count over the years. His mom seems unable to grasp this simple concept : Seth fiercely loathes all these snobbish people who don't do anything but drink and gossip, whose children bullied him for years without retaliation, and who are always so condescending to him.
He deliberately went to College on the East Coast to escape this hell, just as his own dad crossed the country to escape the Nana.
A therapist would probably say that Seth unconsciously repeated a pattern he had seen in his family. And Seth would laugh and say, "Oh, it wasn't unconscious."
After all, College wasn't his first try at escaping Newport. After Ryan's disappearance, Seth had taken his beloved boat, bent on sailing to Tahiti. Four days later, the Coast Guards had accosted him and sent him back to Newport, seething and resentful.
"Didn't you realize how worried we'd be?" his mother had all but screamed at him.
Seth had snarked, "So worried that it took you thirty-six hours to find out I was gone? So worried that you're sending me back to that fucking school I hate, because our status won't allow me to go elsewhere?"
She'd slapped him -- the only time she had ever raised her hand on him.
They'd talked about it a lot during their family therapy sessions.
Seth had cooperated with the shrink, had gone back to Harbor, had withstood the humiliations and the indifference of the one girl he loved and would never have, and had bided his time.
Upon graduation, he gratefully accepted his grandfather's gift -- two months in Europe.
When he flew back in September, he didn't even bother to go back to California, he just got settled in New York immediately.
For four years, he stayed as far away from Newport as he possibly could.
His parents went back to drowning themselves into their work, as they had always done.
After he was done with College, Seth moved to L.A., trying to launch his career as a comic designer. Somehow, his mother seemed to mistake this as Seth's way of being closer to home.
Fat chance.
Seth sighs as he listens to his messages.
Of course, his grandfather will attend the party… and convey, once again, what a failure Seth is -- still not married, still not a millionaire, still not willing to step into the family business. "It was built for you," Caleb Asshole Nichol keeps saying.
Seth can't bring himself to be grateful for that, mostly because he suspects that it's not true -- Caleb Nichol built his empire for himself, and to keep his family wealthy, sure, but he's too much of a control freak to allow anyone to take the reins of the Group.
Besides, Seth has always been convinced that Caleb Nichol loves the idea of a grandson a lot more than his actual grandson.
Seth resents his family -- his rich, powerful, influential family, that never stepped in when he needed it, that never helped him in ways that counted, that never considered helping him in any other way than by signing a check.
He still loves them, though -- of course, he does. It's his family, he can't help it.
Now that his parents don't rule his life anymore, he can even move on past the hurt, past the disappointment.
He can't imagine his life without them, and he would go see them more often, if only they didn't live in Newport -- the place that represents everything he hates in the world, the place that holds so many bad memories for him.
As it is, he settles for only going back every once in a while, when he truly can't justify missing yet another of these events.
The life Seth lives now is lonely -- the few friends he has are comic nerds who, like Seth, are not gifted at making friends, and prefer talking about the latest adventures of the X-Men than talking about the fact that their life sucks and doesn't show any sign of improving, and that they don't know what to do about it.
He has had a few loveless affairs with other geeks, of both genders, in college.
He didn't feel changed after these experiences, as if nothing meaningful had happened, nothing bringing him a better understanding of himself or others.
He tries to keep things as emotionally uninvolved as possible.
It's far better for all concerned, he thinks, as he drops onto his bed.
That way, no one builds up expectations, and no one ends up hurt or disappointed.
Status quo also has good sides.
Chapter 5