The OC Titles Challenge - 'Confessions' (#014: The Truth)
Title: Confessions
Author: Mara
Prompt: #018 - The Truth
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark Themes.
Summary: The truth was, Ryan was almost relieved when Marissa died. It meant he didn't have to be responsible for any future downfalls of hers.
Notes: Completely AU after the Season 3 Finale. Isabella is an original character of mine who I imagine being played by Kristin Kreuk.
Confessions
The truth was, Ryan was almost relieved when Marissa died. It meant he didn't have to be responsible for any future downfalls of hers. Sure, for the rest of his life, or at least as long as he lived in Newport, people would stare and whisper that he was the one, he'd let pretty, sweet, rich Marissa Cooper die on a road in the middle of nowhere. But if it meant he was free of having to deal with years, maybe even a lifetime, of Marissa related drama, he could handle the hatred they'd send his way.
Of course, no sooner did he think that, than Ryan felt beyond guilty, being relieved, happy that Marissa was dead. It wasn't that he didn't love her because he had, maybe more than he'd loved anyone else in the first 18 years of his life, but he was just so tired of trying to save her and ending up the villain in the eyes of others. And it was that guilt that led him to call around some old friends of Trey's in Chino and get ahold of a gun.
It was that guilt that made him shoot Volchak in the head while the other man begged for his life.
It was that guilt, and the self loathing over what he had done, what he had become, that made him leave Newport, going the route that his mother did 3 years before and leaving a single sheet of paper with two words on it laying on the counter in the poolhouse.
I'm sorry.
~~~
He went to San Francisco, and found work as a waiter in a restaurant, keeping to himself even as the other waiters and waitresses tried to draw him out of his shell. He moved into a tiny one room apartment that had peeling wallpaper on three walls and bare brick on the fourth, and he spent all his non-working hours drinking until he could almost forget what he'd seen, what he'd done. It didn't really work that well, though, because after he fell into a drunken sleep, he'd dream of the accident and how Marissa died still trusting and believing in him. He wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol or the images from his own mind that would send him stumbling into the tiny bathroom to double over in front of the toilet, vomiting until there was nothing left by bile and occasionally a slight tinge of blood.
He never drank when he had to work, and he never went out drinking with his coworkers, never really talked to them except about work. But then... then he met Isabella. Her uncle was the owner, and she was the new hostess. She had a smile that lit up the room, and for some reason she decided that Ryan was her project, she wouldn't let him rest until he relaxed and laughed with her and the rest of the staff. Ryan fell for it because she was pretty, and fierce, and stubborn, and everything Marissa hadn't been. Isabella didn't need anyone to rescue her because if she needed to, she'd rescue herself.
He stayed late one night when the restaurant was going to be closed the next day, and he had a few beers, enough that Isabella worried about him getting home alone, so she drove him there, then walked him up to his apartment. When he flopped down on his bed, legs hanging over the edge and hands moving to cover his face, and lay down beside him, smiling when he peeked out from behind his hands at her. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Either you are the stupidest man ever, or you don't like girls, because I've been flirting with you for weeks."
"The last girl I cared about died in my arms the day after graduation," Ryan said, moving his hands so he could stare at the ceiling. "4 months later I tracked down the guy who killed her and I listened to him beg for his life, then I put a bullet in his head. Then I took off, I ran, and I haven't looked back because if I do, I'm gonna go to jail for murder." He expected her to pull away, to jump up and run from him, maybe to scream and say she was going to tell the cops.
He didn't expect to feel her hand slide into his. "Would you do it again?" she asked as she stared up at the ceiling with him.
Ryan shook his head. "I'd take it all back if I could."
Isabella nodded slowly then rolled over to kiss him softly on the cheek. "Don't be scared," she whispered in his ear before pulling away and getting up. "I'll come see you tomorrow, make sure you're not too hung over. You'll be here, right?"
"You gonna call the cops?"
"No."
"Then I'll be here."
"Good."
~~~
Ryan still expected, when there was a knock on his door the next morning, to find it was the cops coming to arrest him. Instead it was Isabella, who breezed in with bright eyes and some warm food. "Somehow I doubt you have anything worth eating here," she said as she moved around the apartment.
"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked, watching her.
"I have news for you," Isabella said, holding out a couple of pieces of paper.
Ryan slowly took them, reading over the computer print outs with wide eyes. "What?"
"I did some research last night after I left here," Isabella said. "You didn't tell me much, but you told me enough. You said you were from southern California, and I know you're 20, so it must have been your high school graduation that she died right after, so I did the math, and I put in a couple searches. I found out your real name, and her name, and even his name when I found the article about him turning himself in to the cops because he was scared of what you would do to him if he didn't."
"I shot him," Ryan said, staring down at the article that talked about Volchak's upcoming trial.
"Look at the next one, it's a leaked copy of his statement to the cops," Isabella said, turning the page for Ryan, who was frozen. "You shot the wall next to his head. You didn't shoot him."
"But..."
"You're not wanted for any crimes, you're not a killer. You just scared the shit out of a real murderer."
"I didn't kill him," Ryan repeated, sitting down heavily.
"You didn't kill him," Isabella confirmed, sitting down beside him and lightly touching his back, holding him as he turned into her arms and started crying, sobbing, his entire body shaking. "You didn't kill him," she repeated.
~~~
It was a couple weeks before Isabella convinced Ryan to call the Cohens, tell them he was okay and even then, after he dialed each digit, he wanted to hang up. It was Isabella's grip on his hand and her thumb rubbing over the back of it that kept him from doing so. When the phone was answered, Ryan closed his eyes and smiled sadly at the familiar voice that answered.
"Hello?" Sandy said, sounding tired and impossibly old for only two years to have passed.
"Hey," Ryan replied.
"Ryan?" Sandy asked, hope... relief... life edging into his voice. "Is that you?"
"I'm sorry," Ryan whispered.
"It doesn't matter," Sandy replied, his voice only a little louder than Ryan's. "You hear me, kid? It doesn't matter. All I care about is that you called."
"I thought... I thought I shot him, I thought I... I though I killed him. That's why I ran... I thought I shot him..."
"Volchak's alive," Sandy said. "He's in jail awaiting trial."
"I'm sorry," Ryan repeated.
"Just tell me where you are," Sandy asked.
Ryan hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Can I come home?"
The truth, the real deep truth that he didn't really want to admit, was that he hadn't even known how much he missed the Cohens until he heard Sandy's voice.
The End
Now I gotta go, bad thunderstorms coming in...
Author: Mara
Prompt: #018 - The Truth
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark Themes.
Summary: The truth was, Ryan was almost relieved when Marissa died. It meant he didn't have to be responsible for any future downfalls of hers.
Notes: Completely AU after the Season 3 Finale. Isabella is an original character of mine who I imagine being played by Kristin Kreuk.
Confessions
The truth was, Ryan was almost relieved when Marissa died. It meant he didn't have to be responsible for any future downfalls of hers. Sure, for the rest of his life, or at least as long as he lived in Newport, people would stare and whisper that he was the one, he'd let pretty, sweet, rich Marissa Cooper die on a road in the middle of nowhere. But if it meant he was free of having to deal with years, maybe even a lifetime, of Marissa related drama, he could handle the hatred they'd send his way.
Of course, no sooner did he think that, than Ryan felt beyond guilty, being relieved, happy that Marissa was dead. It wasn't that he didn't love her because he had, maybe more than he'd loved anyone else in the first 18 years of his life, but he was just so tired of trying to save her and ending up the villain in the eyes of others. And it was that guilt that led him to call around some old friends of Trey's in Chino and get ahold of a gun.
It was that guilt that made him shoot Volchak in the head while the other man begged for his life.
It was that guilt, and the self loathing over what he had done, what he had become, that made him leave Newport, going the route that his mother did 3 years before and leaving a single sheet of paper with two words on it laying on the counter in the poolhouse.
I'm sorry.
~~~
He went to San Francisco, and found work as a waiter in a restaurant, keeping to himself even as the other waiters and waitresses tried to draw him out of his shell. He moved into a tiny one room apartment that had peeling wallpaper on three walls and bare brick on the fourth, and he spent all his non-working hours drinking until he could almost forget what he'd seen, what he'd done. It didn't really work that well, though, because after he fell into a drunken sleep, he'd dream of the accident and how Marissa died still trusting and believing in him. He wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol or the images from his own mind that would send him stumbling into the tiny bathroom to double over in front of the toilet, vomiting until there was nothing left by bile and occasionally a slight tinge of blood.
He never drank when he had to work, and he never went out drinking with his coworkers, never really talked to them except about work. But then... then he met Isabella. Her uncle was the owner, and she was the new hostess. She had a smile that lit up the room, and for some reason she decided that Ryan was her project, she wouldn't let him rest until he relaxed and laughed with her and the rest of the staff. Ryan fell for it because she was pretty, and fierce, and stubborn, and everything Marissa hadn't been. Isabella didn't need anyone to rescue her because if she needed to, she'd rescue herself.
He stayed late one night when the restaurant was going to be closed the next day, and he had a few beers, enough that Isabella worried about him getting home alone, so she drove him there, then walked him up to his apartment. When he flopped down on his bed, legs hanging over the edge and hands moving to cover his face, and lay down beside him, smiling when he peeked out from behind his hands at her. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Either you are the stupidest man ever, or you don't like girls, because I've been flirting with you for weeks."
"The last girl I cared about died in my arms the day after graduation," Ryan said, moving his hands so he could stare at the ceiling. "4 months later I tracked down the guy who killed her and I listened to him beg for his life, then I put a bullet in his head. Then I took off, I ran, and I haven't looked back because if I do, I'm gonna go to jail for murder." He expected her to pull away, to jump up and run from him, maybe to scream and say she was going to tell the cops.
He didn't expect to feel her hand slide into his. "Would you do it again?" she asked as she stared up at the ceiling with him.
Ryan shook his head. "I'd take it all back if I could."
Isabella nodded slowly then rolled over to kiss him softly on the cheek. "Don't be scared," she whispered in his ear before pulling away and getting up. "I'll come see you tomorrow, make sure you're not too hung over. You'll be here, right?"
"You gonna call the cops?"
"No."
"Then I'll be here."
"Good."
~~~
Ryan still expected, when there was a knock on his door the next morning, to find it was the cops coming to arrest him. Instead it was Isabella, who breezed in with bright eyes and some warm food. "Somehow I doubt you have anything worth eating here," she said as she moved around the apartment.
"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked, watching her.
"I have news for you," Isabella said, holding out a couple of pieces of paper.
Ryan slowly took them, reading over the computer print outs with wide eyes. "What?"
"I did some research last night after I left here," Isabella said. "You didn't tell me much, but you told me enough. You said you were from southern California, and I know you're 20, so it must have been your high school graduation that she died right after, so I did the math, and I put in a couple searches. I found out your real name, and her name, and even his name when I found the article about him turning himself in to the cops because he was scared of what you would do to him if he didn't."
"I shot him," Ryan said, staring down at the article that talked about Volchak's upcoming trial.
"Look at the next one, it's a leaked copy of his statement to the cops," Isabella said, turning the page for Ryan, who was frozen. "You shot the wall next to his head. You didn't shoot him."
"But..."
"You're not wanted for any crimes, you're not a killer. You just scared the shit out of a real murderer."
"I didn't kill him," Ryan repeated, sitting down heavily.
"You didn't kill him," Isabella confirmed, sitting down beside him and lightly touching his back, holding him as he turned into her arms and started crying, sobbing, his entire body shaking. "You didn't kill him," she repeated.
~~~
It was a couple weeks before Isabella convinced Ryan to call the Cohens, tell them he was okay and even then, after he dialed each digit, he wanted to hang up. It was Isabella's grip on his hand and her thumb rubbing over the back of it that kept him from doing so. When the phone was answered, Ryan closed his eyes and smiled sadly at the familiar voice that answered.
"Hello?" Sandy said, sounding tired and impossibly old for only two years to have passed.
"Hey," Ryan replied.
"Ryan?" Sandy asked, hope... relief... life edging into his voice. "Is that you?"
"I'm sorry," Ryan whispered.
"It doesn't matter," Sandy replied, his voice only a little louder than Ryan's. "You hear me, kid? It doesn't matter. All I care about is that you called."
"I thought... I thought I shot him, I thought I... I though I killed him. That's why I ran... I thought I shot him..."
"Volchak's alive," Sandy said. "He's in jail awaiting trial."
"I'm sorry," Ryan repeated.
"Just tell me where you are," Sandy asked.
Ryan hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Can I come home?"
The truth, the real deep truth that he didn't really want to admit, was that he hadn't even known how much he missed the Cohens until he heard Sandy's voice.
The End
Now I gotta go, bad thunderstorms coming in...