Title:
The Babes of OC
Pairing: It's gen, baby.
Rating: R, for my coarse (helps if I spell it right -_-;;) language
Disclaimer: Fox. Not me.
It slowly is starting to dawn on Ryan as he flips through the internal index of
people and expressions and faces that he's come across in his time in Orange
County. From Seth's cutie-pie geek grin, to Marissa's slightly jaded ignorance
to Luke's macho instance that Ryan get the hell out of his sandbox. They're all
babies. The whole lot of them.
And when Seth starts to ask Ryan about Chino or his mother or his father, Ryan
swallows the words before they burn through. When Marissa asks about his father
and the fact that the bastard is in jail just slips out, he curses himself for
stating what's always been the obvious to him.
Because it's not to them, obviously, given their awkward silence.
Explaining his life and what it's been like up to this point to them is
like pulling aside a few toddlers to teach them about pornography. Despite all
these rich kids' posturing, despite their vices and the reckless stupidity they
engage in, he imagines that inside they're all as uncertain and as
uncomfortable as Seth.
Seth's just big enough to actually own up to it.
There aren't any faded bruises behind the eyes of these spoiled little brats.
There's unhappiness, and loneliness. He can pick that out as clear as day. But
as far as Ryan's concerned, that's what the entire world is made of, and any
one who tries to say otherwise has their head crammed squarely up their ass. He
bets that they've never gone down on someone with the expressed purpose of
getting them to stop beating the shit out of their sibling. And he wagers that
they've never had to give CPR to relatives who've overdosed on bad memories and
bad drugs.
He's in their world at the moment, playing pretend with them. Indulging them in
their quaint little fantasies. Living in a model home because, for some unknown
reason, they seem attached to him. They're sweet, in that completely innocent
way. Seth follows him like a lost puppy, longing for affection from someone,
anyone. And Ryan doesn't have the heart to tell him that the world doesn't give
a fuck. He's been Seth, and all it ever got him was a couple of busted ribs and
a concussion.
Marissa offers her body, supposedly for his comfort, but he's wise to that.
It's comfort that she wants, and she's naïve enough to think she's going
to find it with him. He's sick enough as it is with disillusionment. And he
refuses to be the one to take the stars out of her eyes and show her the
underbelly of humanity. Let some other poor fucker be responsible for her
misery.
And when Luke pulls up beside him to announce with a voice of mixed hostility
and relief that Ryan's breathing, he can see the fear shining in the bastard's
eyes. There's a little lost boy look in Luke's expression, too, that reminds
Ryan vaguely of Seth. He knows that Luke's jumped in deeper than he thought,
and that now the boy has no clue how to claw his way out. He knows because the
look reminds him of himself, years ago. Back in the days when he was still
trying to get out instead of owning up to the fact that it was just never going
to get better.
He thinks back to the party at the elusive Holly's house, and he smiles a sad
smile to himself. In some ways, he feels responsible for them all. Because
despite their jaded outlook, they're all still puppies playing in games they
don't yet understand.