Le Cheval Recontre L'ours [15]
Title: Le Cheval Recontre L'ours
Author: the_demiurges
Rating: R for nasty language!
Pairing: Ryden [Ryan/Brendon]
POV: Third, Ryan's.
Summary: When quiet, shy, misfortunate Ryan visits his favorite shop late one night, he expects his spirits to be lifted at least a little. Little does he know, this is the day that will change his life forever.
“I’m a hell of a lot better than you."
Beta: lord_323monkey, thank joo!
Disclaimer: For those of you who still NEED a disclaimer, stay far away lest I slice your finger off with Ryry's pizza cutter!
Author Notes: This is another nasty chapter, ftw. I'd just like to say the language used in this would never pass my lips in reality and it sickens me that I had to write it. .__. [more inside]
Chapters 1-14
Ryan fingered the plain, white envelope addressed to a “Mr. George Ross”. He didn’t even have to look at the return address to know who it was from; the ridiculous smiley-face stamp told it all.
Tossing the other bills on the table, he ripped the envelope open, pulling out several folded forms inside. There was an extra piece of paper, an extra dead tree included this time. His eyebrows furrowed as he read it with curiosity.
Dear Mr. George Ross,
We regret to inform you that Ms. Kassia Jones has not seemed to make any improvement. She is quieter than before now, and has more frequent bouts of lucidity, but her insane episodes have grown worse.
However, we request your routine presence at our facilities in hopes that some change will occur because of it.
Sincerely,
Heywhire Clinic
He set the letter aside, grumbling, and picked up the bills enclosed with the letter. More money he had to take out of his pocket, his own hard work, to pay for this. At least it kept her away from him.
Carefully sticking money in an empty envelope, he thought about declining the request to go. However, something deep inside of him wouldn’t let him say no. He picked up the phone and dialed Jon’s number, letting him know he needed a day off again.
“What for now?!” Jon whined from the other line. Ryan sighed.
“I gotta take care of some stuff, okay?” John mumbled something under his breath.
“Fine. Whatever.” Ryan hung up and peered at the slightly dusty apartment. Figuring now was as good a time as any, he grabbed the envelope to bring with him and headed out the door.
At least he wouldn’t have to pay for postage.
---------
The Greyhound bus hit a large rut in the road, bouncing Ryan’s skull off of the window like a basketball. Rubbing the spot irritably, he checked his watch. Five more minutes of this hell on wheels; halla-freaking-jewya.
When the bus screeched to a stop, Ryan pried the old woman he was sitting next to’s head off of his shoulder, and wandered off the bus. He cracked his neck, trying to get rid of kinks, and set off down the sidewalk towards the Heywhire Clinic.
Clinic Ryan’s ass.
When he finally entered the too white, too clean lobby, he was really starting to wish he’d just stayed home. The nurse behind the desk gave him a too-friendly smile, and asked him who he was there to see.
“Kassia Jones,” he muttered under his breath, shuffling his feet. The girl’s smile faded quickly, and she just pointed at a white hallway. Mumbling a thank-you, he hurried in the direction she pointed. The white walls seemed to press in on him from all sides, suffocating. He reached a white door towards the end of the hall, with a black number five painted on. The nurse standing outside smiled at him nervously, before poking her head inside the room.
“Kassia,” she said softly, “you have a visitor.”
Kassia grunted, and the nurse beckoned for Ryan to follow her in. He obeyed, and Kassia shrieked the moment she saw him.
What little color had once been in her face was long gone, and she was very thin. Her thin was not a healthy one, however, like Ryan’s. She looked gaunt; emaciated. She was swimming in the simple, white nightgown she wore.
Her limp, wavy, dirty-blonde hair swung like a pendulum as she launched at him. Ryan took an automatic step back, though her wrists were secured to the bed. He knew-he’d gotten the letter when they’d done it; after she lunged at a nurse. Apparently, the poor girl had just asked if Kassia had any family.
“You!” Kassia shrieked, turning wildly to her nurse. “Why do you keep letting him come here? Make him leave! Make the bastard leave!” Ryan winced.
The nurse shushed Kassia, trying to calm her down, but she wouldn’t have it.
“Why don’t they have you locked up, faggot? You’re the reason I’m here! It’s all your fault, George! All your fault!” He tried to pretend the words didn’t hurt anymore, but it was all a lie too keep a straight face as he stood there and corrected her. Same as always, like déjà vu. Same false hope, same childish wishes.
“Its Ryan, mom,” he said quietly, “Not George. Ryan.”
He watched her face soften as it had a dozen times before. Somehow, he managed to fall for it each and every time; and he fell hard. He smiled warmly.
“Oh, George…Ryan. Ryan. Remember when we used to sit and eat Oreos together and you would tell me about how you spent your time when I was gone? Remember when you would play your guitar and sing for me?”
Lost in memories, Ryan nodded. He remembered, almost too well. Kassia’s eyes darkened suddenly.
“Then you were never home when I came back. Always at Spencer’s, always with friends, always busy,” she spat. “Never had time for mom anymore, did you George?”
The same thing happened every single time Ryan came to visit, and the poor nurse never knew quite what to do. She could only watch as Kassia brought her only son to tears over and over again, could only keep her from causing him any bodily harm.
She just hoped it wouldn’t be Ryan she would be caring for soon.
It was always, always the same. Ryan begged, pleaded with his mother, but she only saw things through her twisted eyes.
“It was high school, mom, I had clubs to be at! You never told me when you were going to come home, and I always got there a few minutes after you did!”
“Lies!” she hissed, and Ryan’s misery quickly transformed to rage.
“At least Spencer’s family was kind to me, at least they took care of me when you wouldn’t! Sleeping with a different man every night, I didn’t want to hear that!”
“I fed you!” she shrieked, “I clothed you and I paid for the house you lived in! I bought you that guitar and you sold it!”
“Someone had to pay for college!” he screamed back at her. She grinned crazily.
“And what good will that do you, fag? Reduced to doing the same thing I was, aren’t you? It’s all you’ll ever be.” Ryan growled, and Kassia laughed.
“You say I wasn’t there for you,” he growled, trying to ignore her words. “But where were you when I needed you, mom?”
“Needed me?” she screamed, “you had Spencer and his perfect family!”
“Leave Spencer’s family out of thi-“
“We could have had one too!” Kassia wailed on, oblivious to Ryan speaking. “We would have, if it hadn’t been for you. He wouldn’t have left me if you never came!”
“You’re just a whore,” Ryan snapped, unable to stop himself. “What makes you think he would have stayed?”
“What does that make you, George? Huh? If mommy’s a whore, what does that make you?” Ryan’s whole body shook with anger.
“I’m better than you,” he said quietly, but there was no confidence in his words. “I’m a hell of a lot better than you.” Not hearing him, Kassia continued on with her play-by-play of Ryan’s childhood: her version. As if someone was listening, as if someone actually cared.
“The one day of his life I come home and he’s already there, what do I find when I go up to his room?” She glared viciously at Ryan. “George, and some other fruitcake swapping spit in my house! And he calls me the whore?”
“That was my boyfriend, not some guy I picked up on a street corner!” Ryan shot back. He didn’t understand why he always had to be on the defensive around his mother. She was the one in the nut hut-not him!
Ryan got up, clueless as to why he still bothered coming. Why he bothered to stay; every single time.
“I don’t have to deal with you,” he said nervously, more to convince himself than her. “I’m twenty-one, and I don’t need you.”
He walked out the door, ignoring Kassia’s final cries as he left, heading for the bus stop.
Sitting on a bench, waiting for the stupid bus to come pick up his sorry ass, Ryan recalled everything he knew about how he had come to be.
His mother, Kassia, had been a whore, a prostitute, for Ryan’s whole life. Probably far longer than that. As far as he was aware, she met his father at a bar somewhere. From what he could gather from his mother’s crazed ramblings, his father wanted nothing to do with her, with them, after she became pregnant.
Ryan was stuck with the bastard’s name-first and last. George Ross. At least Kassia had been kind enough to give him a decent middle name.
The funny thing about it all, is that Ryan harbored naught but pleasant memories of his mother from his early childhood. He remembered her being loving and gentle and kind. He remembered late nights watching cartoons together; he remembered strawberry sundaes and Oreo cookies.
Perhaps that was before she started to go wacky.
---------
Ryan let himself back into his apartment, his mother’s words still coursing through his veins. He never let them go-could never let them go.
He wrote in his green notepad words that made no sense. They didn’t fit together, didn’t flow. Angry, he closed the book and stared at his dusty pink phone.
He found himself dialing Spencer’s number; the only person who had ever listened when he cried.
---------
A/N: Okay, yes, shoot me now. This broke my own heart, so!
By nasty language I really meant "fag" and stuff more than anything because I hate hate hate when people use it as an insult 'cause they think its cool asjifgauskfgkajfa!!!!111!!onebbqpants
/soapbox
More tomorrow, god willing.
Trivia Tidbit #4...I think: I hate italicising my stuff. Its so easy in word and then I get here and I'm like...great. Time for a billion italic tags asjfhajkfkj. But I do it anyway oho. XD
Author: the_demiurges
Rating: R for nasty language!
Pairing: Ryden [Ryan/Brendon]
POV: Third, Ryan's.
Summary: When quiet, shy, misfortunate Ryan visits his favorite shop late one night, he expects his spirits to be lifted at least a little. Little does he know, this is the day that will change his life forever.
“I’m a hell of a lot better than you."
Beta: lord_323monkey, thank joo!
Disclaimer: For those of you who still NEED a disclaimer, stay far away lest I slice your finger off with Ryry's pizza cutter!
Author Notes: This is another nasty chapter, ftw. I'd just like to say the language used in this would never pass my lips in reality and it sickens me that I had to write it. .__. [more inside]
Chapters 1-14
Ryan fingered the plain, white envelope addressed to a “Mr. George Ross”. He didn’t even have to look at the return address to know who it was from; the ridiculous smiley-face stamp told it all.
Tossing the other bills on the table, he ripped the envelope open, pulling out several folded forms inside. There was an extra piece of paper, an extra dead tree included this time. His eyebrows furrowed as he read it with curiosity.
Dear Mr. George Ross,
We regret to inform you that Ms. Kassia Jones has not seemed to make any improvement. She is quieter than before now, and has more frequent bouts of lucidity, but her insane episodes have grown worse.
However, we request your routine presence at our facilities in hopes that some change will occur because of it.
Sincerely,
Heywhire Clinic
He set the letter aside, grumbling, and picked up the bills enclosed with the letter. More money he had to take out of his pocket, his own hard work, to pay for this. At least it kept her away from him.
Carefully sticking money in an empty envelope, he thought about declining the request to go. However, something deep inside of him wouldn’t let him say no. He picked up the phone and dialed Jon’s number, letting him know he needed a day off again.
“What for now?!” Jon whined from the other line. Ryan sighed.
“I gotta take care of some stuff, okay?” John mumbled something under his breath.
“Fine. Whatever.” Ryan hung up and peered at the slightly dusty apartment. Figuring now was as good a time as any, he grabbed the envelope to bring with him and headed out the door.
At least he wouldn’t have to pay for postage.
---------
The Greyhound bus hit a large rut in the road, bouncing Ryan’s skull off of the window like a basketball. Rubbing the spot irritably, he checked his watch. Five more minutes of this hell on wheels; halla-freaking-jewya.
When the bus screeched to a stop, Ryan pried the old woman he was sitting next to’s head off of his shoulder, and wandered off the bus. He cracked his neck, trying to get rid of kinks, and set off down the sidewalk towards the Heywhire Clinic.
Clinic Ryan’s ass.
When he finally entered the too white, too clean lobby, he was really starting to wish he’d just stayed home. The nurse behind the desk gave him a too-friendly smile, and asked him who he was there to see.
“Kassia Jones,” he muttered under his breath, shuffling his feet. The girl’s smile faded quickly, and she just pointed at a white hallway. Mumbling a thank-you, he hurried in the direction she pointed. The white walls seemed to press in on him from all sides, suffocating. He reached a white door towards the end of the hall, with a black number five painted on. The nurse standing outside smiled at him nervously, before poking her head inside the room.
“Kassia,” she said softly, “you have a visitor.”
Kassia grunted, and the nurse beckoned for Ryan to follow her in. He obeyed, and Kassia shrieked the moment she saw him.
What little color had once been in her face was long gone, and she was very thin. Her thin was not a healthy one, however, like Ryan’s. She looked gaunt; emaciated. She was swimming in the simple, white nightgown she wore.
Her limp, wavy, dirty-blonde hair swung like a pendulum as she launched at him. Ryan took an automatic step back, though her wrists were secured to the bed. He knew-he’d gotten the letter when they’d done it; after she lunged at a nurse. Apparently, the poor girl had just asked if Kassia had any family.
“You!” Kassia shrieked, turning wildly to her nurse. “Why do you keep letting him come here? Make him leave! Make the bastard leave!” Ryan winced.
The nurse shushed Kassia, trying to calm her down, but she wouldn’t have it.
“Why don’t they have you locked up, faggot? You’re the reason I’m here! It’s all your fault, George! All your fault!” He tried to pretend the words didn’t hurt anymore, but it was all a lie too keep a straight face as he stood there and corrected her. Same as always, like déjà vu. Same false hope, same childish wishes.
“Its Ryan, mom,” he said quietly, “Not George. Ryan.”
He watched her face soften as it had a dozen times before. Somehow, he managed to fall for it each and every time; and he fell hard. He smiled warmly.
“Oh, George…Ryan. Ryan. Remember when we used to sit and eat Oreos together and you would tell me about how you spent your time when I was gone? Remember when you would play your guitar and sing for me?”
Lost in memories, Ryan nodded. He remembered, almost too well. Kassia’s eyes darkened suddenly.
“Then you were never home when I came back. Always at Spencer’s, always with friends, always busy,” she spat. “Never had time for mom anymore, did you George?”
The same thing happened every single time Ryan came to visit, and the poor nurse never knew quite what to do. She could only watch as Kassia brought her only son to tears over and over again, could only keep her from causing him any bodily harm.
She just hoped it wouldn’t be Ryan she would be caring for soon.
It was always, always the same. Ryan begged, pleaded with his mother, but she only saw things through her twisted eyes.
“It was high school, mom, I had clubs to be at! You never told me when you were going to come home, and I always got there a few minutes after you did!”
“Lies!” she hissed, and Ryan’s misery quickly transformed to rage.
“At least Spencer’s family was kind to me, at least they took care of me when you wouldn’t! Sleeping with a different man every night, I didn’t want to hear that!”
“I fed you!” she shrieked, “I clothed you and I paid for the house you lived in! I bought you that guitar and you sold it!”
“Someone had to pay for college!” he screamed back at her. She grinned crazily.
“And what good will that do you, fag? Reduced to doing the same thing I was, aren’t you? It’s all you’ll ever be.” Ryan growled, and Kassia laughed.
“You say I wasn’t there for you,” he growled, trying to ignore her words. “But where were you when I needed you, mom?”
“Needed me?” she screamed, “you had Spencer and his perfect family!”
“Leave Spencer’s family out of thi-“
“We could have had one too!” Kassia wailed on, oblivious to Ryan speaking. “We would have, if it hadn’t been for you. He wouldn’t have left me if you never came!”
“You’re just a whore,” Ryan snapped, unable to stop himself. “What makes you think he would have stayed?”
“What does that make you, George? Huh? If mommy’s a whore, what does that make you?” Ryan’s whole body shook with anger.
“I’m better than you,” he said quietly, but there was no confidence in his words. “I’m a hell of a lot better than you.” Not hearing him, Kassia continued on with her play-by-play of Ryan’s childhood: her version. As if someone was listening, as if someone actually cared.
“The one day of his life I come home and he’s already there, what do I find when I go up to his room?” She glared viciously at Ryan. “George, and some other fruitcake swapping spit in my house! And he calls me the whore?”
“That was my boyfriend, not some guy I picked up on a street corner!” Ryan shot back. He didn’t understand why he always had to be on the defensive around his mother. She was the one in the nut hut-not him!
Ryan got up, clueless as to why he still bothered coming. Why he bothered to stay; every single time.
“I don’t have to deal with you,” he said nervously, more to convince himself than her. “I’m twenty-one, and I don’t need you.”
He walked out the door, ignoring Kassia’s final cries as he left, heading for the bus stop.
Sitting on a bench, waiting for the stupid bus to come pick up his sorry ass, Ryan recalled everything he knew about how he had come to be.
His mother, Kassia, had been a whore, a prostitute, for Ryan’s whole life. Probably far longer than that. As far as he was aware, she met his father at a bar somewhere. From what he could gather from his mother’s crazed ramblings, his father wanted nothing to do with her, with them, after she became pregnant.
Ryan was stuck with the bastard’s name-first and last. George Ross. At least Kassia had been kind enough to give him a decent middle name.
The funny thing about it all, is that Ryan harbored naught but pleasant memories of his mother from his early childhood. He remembered her being loving and gentle and kind. He remembered late nights watching cartoons together; he remembered strawberry sundaes and Oreo cookies.
Perhaps that was before she started to go wacky.
---------
Ryan let himself back into his apartment, his mother’s words still coursing through his veins. He never let them go-could never let them go.
He wrote in his green notepad words that made no sense. They didn’t fit together, didn’t flow. Angry, he closed the book and stared at his dusty pink phone.
He found himself dialing Spencer’s number; the only person who had ever listened when he cried.
---------
A/N: Okay, yes, shoot me now. This broke my own heart, so!
By nasty language I really meant "fag" and stuff more than anything because I hate hate hate when people use it as an insult 'cause they think its cool asjifgauskfgkajfa!!!!111!!onebbqpants
/soapbox
More tomorrow, god willing.
Trivia Tidbit #4...I think: I hate italicising my stuff. Its so easy in word and then I get here and I'm like...great. Time for a billion italic tags asjfhajkfkj. But I do it anyway oho. XD