July 17, 2004
Hope I don't give anyone a heart attack with my rapid update! :)
This one's not so heavy on the angst, even though it is the psych eval. Hope I don't disappoint!
I have to apologize for the language in this one. I don't swear in my own life, but apparently the characters in my head do. Sigh. I tried to make them watch their language, but "shoot, darn, and fudge" just don't do justice to the situations.
Sorry if I offend anyone.
Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing related in any way to Fox's show, "The O.C." I don't even own a poster or a picture. Nothing. I'm certainly not making any money off of this fiction. I apologize for any copyright infringement. Please don't sue. I have nothing to give.
Back in the Hole
Chapter 8
Anger Management
Ryan really wasn't ready for this, but he did want to just get it over with. He knew that he would have to be careful when answering Dr. Townsend's questions, and that every aspect of his body language would be evaluated as well. He made a conscious effort to relax, and he forced himself to make eye contact with the doctor.
"So," the doctor began, "how are you doing, Ryan?"
Ryan wanted to answer with his customary, "Fine," but he knew that that wouldn't get him very far. He sighed, and remembered that honesty--to a degree--was the best choice here.
"Actually, I'm in a lot of pain. We just finished cleaning my chin, and it was a really painful process. Plus, I've got a lot of other injuries, and they're all hurting, too."
Already writing notes, the psych resident looked at Ryan over his glasses. "I hear that you were combative at the scene, and that the police had to restrain you. Care to tell me what was going on?"
"Yeah. Um, I guess I was a little confused."
"Confused? Couldn't you tell that the police were there to help you?"
"See, I haven't been in Newport very long. I'm really from Chino. In Chino, cops don't usually help."
"Hmm," Dr. Townsend replied, waiting for Ryan to continue.
Sighing, Ryan continued to force himself to look at the doctor. "So, anyway, when the cops showed up, I was still a little shaken up from being mugged, and I started backing away. They pulled their guns, and I held up my hands. I think that I had a pain spasm, because I remember doubling over, and they must've thought I was reaching for a weapon or something, because the next thing I knew, they'd tackled me, and I was on the ground. I've got broken ribs, so that really hurt. I probably tried to fight them off, because I was still in a lot of pain, but I don't really remember anything else, until I woke up here in the hospital."
Ryan was exhausted. He didn't usually talk this much at one time, and he didn't feel comfortable doing it, but a psych eval is best conducted in as straightforward manner as possible. Shrinks like to hear you talk, and they're satisfied when you fulfill their expectations.
"Ryan, why do you think that you continued to fight the police officers, if you cannot remember doing it?"
"I guess because that's what I do. I fight." Boy, do I fight. I promised Sandy and Kirsten that I wouldn't anymore, because it'll endanger my probation, but I just may have to fight again, before this A.J. mess is over with. How am I going to get out of this?
"Ryan?"
Dr. Townsend's tone told Ryan that he'd missed something. He realized that he hadn't been listening.
Damn it. That's not the way to convince a shrink that you're rational. Pay attention!
"I'm sorry. What was that?"
"Are you all right?" the doctor asked.
"Yeah, sorry. My ribs were just hurting, that's all. What did I miss?"
Not looking too convinced, Dr. Townsend repeated, "I asked you if you remembered your attack."
Being careful of his ribs, Ryan took as deep a breath as he could, and he stepped into the mine field that A.J. had created for them.
"Yeah, I do. I was walking out of work, at the Crab Shack, and some guy came up behind me, slammed me into the wall a few times, punched me in the kidney, took my tips, and then kicked and punched me a few more times. When I opened my eyes, he was gone."
There. Facts, details, all present. Just left out a few reasons and the conversation. Not too hard. Should work. I hope.
"Mm-hmm. Did the man say anything?" asked the psychiatrist.
"I think he said something about keeping quiet, and he also said something about taking my money."
See? It can be done.
"Why didn't you fight back against your mugger, Ryan?"
Whoops. Didn't see that coming. Kinda contradicted myself there. Damn it.
"I promised the Cohens I wouldn't fight anymore. I'm a fighter, but I'm trying not to be."
Whew. Dodged that one.
"Okay. Makes sense. What are you afraid of, Ryan?"
Ryan jumped a little at that question. He hadn't been expecting the guy to ask him that. He should've been, but he hadn't.
"Um, I'm sorry, what?"
"You're obviously afraid of something. You're shaking, and you're incredibly tense. You freaked out when the cops showed up, and the paramedics said that you blacked out in the ambulance, even though there was no physical reason for it. The nurses here said that you seemed terrified when you woke up, and that you fought the restraints. What are you afraid of?"
Take another breath. Ow. Not so big next time. This guy's better than the last one was. Be careful.
"I--I was confused. I was in a lot of pain, I'd just been attacked, and I didn't fight back. That kinda messed me up a little. I'm not used to just taking it."
" 'Just taking it,' Ryan? What do you mean by that? How often do you get beaten up?" Dr. Townsend asked.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit. How'd I let that slip out? Damn it! I said to be careful, not stupid!
"Fights, man, I'm talking about fights. I got in a lot of fights in Chino. It's a rough neighborhood, and you can't grow up without getting in fights. Your first real one's at ten, and they don't slow down. It's just part of the streets and the playgrounds. If you don't fight back, you get beat. That's all I meant."
"Ryan," Dr. Townsend said smugly. "You're a liar."
Ryan, whose eyes had wandered around the room, snapped back to look at Dr. Townsend.
"Excuse me?" he asked, shocked.
"You're a liar. There's something more behind all of this, you know it, I know it, the cops and paramedics know it, and the ER staff knows it. I don't know if your foster parents know it, but they should. You're a liar," he finished angrily.
Ryan, although trying not to, was becoming a little angry. All right, so I am a liar, but this guy's an ass!
"What the Hell are you talking about?" Ryan replied, glaring at the psychology resident.
Smugly, Dr. Townsend leaned in a little closer, noticing that Ryan couldn't help but shift away a bit. He noted that that in his little file, as well. "You don't know what you said, do you? When you were fighting the cops and the paramedics?"
Aw, fuck! How much did I say? Shit. How do I handle this now?
"No," Ryan replied quietly. "I guess I didn't know that I was saying anything. What did I say?"
Checking his notes, Dr. Townsend replied, "I believe the paramedics said that your exact words were, 'Please don't, not again. I'll do whatever you want. I can take anything as long as you don't tie me down.' Does any of that ring a bell?"
Not as having said it recently, but yeah, it sounds like me. Shit. What the Hell is wrong with me? You'd think I
wanted someone to know all of my crap. I have no idea what to say. Say something. Say something! Jeez, I'm totally floundering here. I've got nothing. Pain. Fake some pain.Groaning, Ryan closed his eyes and clenched his fists.
Heh. Didn't have to fake it much.
Dr. Townsend sat back, looking at the little faker in the bed. He had to admit that Ryan was good. He'd obviously dealt with these kinds of questions before. While Dr. Townsend didn't doubt that Ryan was probably in pain, he also knew that the kid was using his pain as a stall tactic. Townsend had asked a question that Ryan didn't want to or didn't know how to answer, and now he was stalling.
"Ryan, that's not going to work with me. I'm not leaving until I get some answers."
Sighing, Ryan opened his eyes again, and turned to look at Townsend, still unsure of what to say.
At that moment, Sandy and Kirsten came to his rescue, yet again.
Without knocking, they both swept into the room, as sure of their rights as any parents could be. With a big lawyerly grin, Sandy called out, "So, how's our boy doing?" as he and Kirsten headed over to the bed.
Completely ignoring the shrink, Kirsten sat down on the bed next to Ryan, took his hand, and looked him deeply in the eyes, trying to see if she could read how her son was feeling. Well, I may feel that he's my son, but I sure don't know how to read him that well yet. Seth's always been like an open book. He doesn't even need to talk, and I can tell everything that he's thinking. I'm nowhere near there with Ryan, yet, but I can tell one thing; he's glad we came in when we did. He's even smiling a little. Yes, I think that's relief. I'll have to remember that. This is his relieved look.
Filing that away in her memory, Kirsten looked up at the doctor and said, "Ryan needs to rest now. Dr. Kostanza is on his way in, to stitch up Ryan's chin."
"Now, wait just a moment," began Dr. Townsend, annoyed at the interruption. "We're not done here, and my say-so will determine when this boy receives any further treatment, and whether or not he--"
Sandy interrupted him, his fatherly anger breaking through his lawyerly calm. "Look! I am this boy's father, and--"
Angry himself, Dr. Townsend interrupted Sandy. "Actually, sir, no you are not this boy's father. You are simply a foster parent, and you--"
At Sandy's abrupt movement toward the doctor, Kirsten called out, "Sandy!"
Instantly responding to his wife's tone, he turned and looked at her and Ryan. Kirsten, while calm, was determined. Ryan had again tensed every muscle, and he looked about ready to bolt from the bed at the next harsh word. Fantastic. Great job. Lose your temper and scare the kid. Way to go, father-of-the-year.
Seeing that her husband had calmed down, Kirsten squeezed Ryan's hand before letting go and standing up. She put on her corporate charm and began to schmooze the spluttering doctor towards the door.
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Once outside, the angry doctor turned around and said, "I just might call security and have him removed! He has no right to threaten me! I have a job to do, and this is the way I am treated?!"
Before he could rant any further, Kirsten spoke softly. "I'm sure you can understand that this has been a difficult day for us. As Ryan's foster mother," (she couldn't resist that little dig), "would you please tell me what you have decided from your interview with my son?"
"It's not finished yet!"
"Yes, I understand that, but please, just tell me what you've discovered so far. I know that he had a panic attack, but were his reactions really all that different from those of a normal panic attack.?"
"Well, Mrs. Cohen, panic attacks aren't exactly 'normal.'"
Kirsten simply stared at this man for a moment. Must resist. Urge to wrap hands around neck overwhelming. Resist. Hands must remain at my sides.
Forcing a smile, Kirsten spoke between clenched teeth. "I understand that. However, when compared to other panic attacks, were Ryan's reactions within the scope of normalcy?"
Each word was clear and distinct, and the doctor, for the first time, sensed the anger that this woman was barely holding back. Suddenly a little nervous, he cleared his throat, shifted his feet, and stammered, "Well, I--I suppose, in terms of panic attacks, his reaction might be within the normal range, but there--"
Seizing this, Kirsten broke in. "Good. So we'll be able to take him home, as soon as the medical doctors give us the say-so, correct?" She couldn't resist using his term from earlier.
"I have yet to finish my interview!" Townsend yelled, frustrated beyond his better judgment. He knew who this woman was, or--more importantly--who her father was, and this was not the best way to climb up the promotion ladder.
"Fine," Kirsten said sweetly, with a wide grin spreading across her face. "Why don't I call my father, Caleb Nichol, and he'll arrange to have Dr. Scott, the head of your department, come down and finish your interview for you? I'm sure that he'd love to get to know Caleb's new grandson. Then you and Doug can have a little chat about your bedside manner. We won't be needing your services any longer. Thank you." With that, Kirsten turned and walked back into Ryan's little room, leaving a stunned, and suddenly worried, Doctor Townsend behind.
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When Kirsten led Dr. Townsend from the hospital room, Sandy and Ryan were left in an awkward silence.
Ryan knew that he'd reacted involuntarily to the raised voices and implied violence in Sandy's movement toward the doctor, and he was ashamed that Sandy'd seen his response. It revealed more about him than he actually wanted anyone to know. Unsure of what to say to bridge the silence, Ryan resorted to his normal state of being, which is one of a closed-mouthed patience.
Sandy knew that he'd frightened Ryan. It didn't take a genius to notice that Ryan was uncomfortable around anger. At home, whenever he and Kirsten argued, Ryan always grew very tense.
The first time that the two adult Cohens had argued in front of Ryan, the teen had unwittingly revealed a lot about himself.
Sandy couldn't even remember what he and Kirsten had been fighting about. It had been stupid; that much he could remember. The boys had been sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee, reading the paper, and picking at breakfast before heading off to school. Kirsten and Sandy had begun arguing while in their room, and they continued it on their way downstairs. Neither really thought anything of it. Seth had heard them argue plenty of times, and they were never vicious with each other. They loved each other, and that always shined through.
They didn't think about Ryan. About the fact that Ryan didn't know that.
As they walked into the kitchen, their argument continued. Sandy noticed that Ryan and Seth were staring at the parents, but he didn't really think much of it. They were, after all, being a little loud. Kirsten headed to the cupboard, got a cup, and began to pour herself some coffee, making a snide remark in Sandy's direction as she did so. Sandy, at the refrigerator, had spun around to throw his own comment back in her direction, slamming the refrigerator door at the same time. As he spun, his eyes caught Ryan. Unable to stop his mouth from finishing whatever comment he was making to Kirsten, he focused on Ryan as he criticized his wife. However, Sandy was not actually thinking about Kirsten, anymore. Instead, he was watching Ryan.
Ryan had seemed to shrink. Every muscle appeared tensed, and Sandy thought that he saw a slight tremor course through the boy's body. Ryan's eyes never left Sandy's hands, although his head was bowed, peeking up through the shaggy blonde bangs.
Realizing that Ryan was scared, Sandy tried to catch Kirsten's eye. Read my mind, Honey, come on, he thought intently at her. Still angry, though, she didn't notice. Instead, she slammed her coffee mug down on the counter, and responded angrily to his last juvenile comment. At the impact of her mug, Sandy saw Ryan flinch, and he seemed to shrink back further into his stool. He's trying to be invisible, he thought sadly.
Realizing that Kirsten wasn't going to catch on, Sandy decided to take the direct route. "Ryan," he said quietly.
At the sound of his name, Ryan tensed even further, removed his hands from the counter, and slowly raised his head to look at Sandy. Oh, God, thought Sandy. Look at the fear. The boy's terrified. Softly, Sandy began, "Ryan, everything's okay. We're not really mad at each other. We're just being stupid."
Ryan's expression never changed, but he did stand up, taking one small step backwards, towards the door, towards escape.
Kirsten had been about to argue that, yes, they were too really mad at each other, when she saw the look on Ryan's face. Mouth hanging open, she turned back to Sandy, whose message was clear. He's terrified. We've gotta reassure him.
Although, at this point, Kirsten still saw Ryan as a guest in their pool house, and not as a son, she was still a mom. She couldn't stand knowing that a boy had become afraid, in her house, because of her and her husband. That was unacceptable.
She moved towards Sandy, who put his arm around her shoulders. The two of them smiled at Ryan, who had begun sidling towards the door, and Kirsten said, "Really, Ryan, we were just being childish. Everything's fine."
At Kirsten's words, he'd frozen again, head still down, eyes still locked on the two adults. "I know," he mumbled. "Gotta get to school."
With that, Ryan hurried out of the door.
Kirsten and Sandy had looked at each other, neither needing to speak in order to realize the other's thoughts.
Simultaneously, they both leaned in for a kiss, then settled into a comforting hug. Again, at the same time, each said, "Sorry," then just reveled in the other's comfort.
Sandy had finally broken the silence. "Well, I guess we won't be arguing in front of Ryan anymore, will we?"
Smiling slightly, Kirsten replied, "He's gonna be great for this house. We'll both be reminded to keep our arguments to the important stuff."
And they had. The arguments, never frequent before Ryan, had certainly become calmer and more mature. It never seemed to matter to Ryan, though. Although slightly more relaxed, Ryan still physically recoiled in the presence of anger, as he had during the argument between Dr. Townsend and Sandy. Sandy wondered if they'd ever be able to help Ryan. To make him see that he didn't have to be constantly vigilant, preparing to defend against an attack.
Sighing, Sandy sat down on the foot of Ryan's hospital bed, and he smiled at the boy. "Got a little angry, there, didn't I, Kiddo?"
Lips still glued together, Ryan simply nodded. But at least he was making eye contact, and his head wasn't even bowed. Sandy was learning to read Ryan's body language. This look meant that, while still tense, Ryan wasn't necessarily afraid of Sandy. If his head was still bowed, it would mean that he was afraid of Sandy. This was his way of remaining invisible, inconspicuous. Making the necessary eye contact, while providing the illusion of an obediently bowed head. Ready to break eye contact without having to move.
There's still so much to learn about you, Kiddo. And so much for you to learn about us. Like the fact that you're safe. You don't have to watch your eye contact, you don't have to remain invisible, and you don't have to tense up in the face of anger. You're safe with us.
Realizing that Ryan wouldn't be comprehending all of this right now, Sandy tried to make this moment better. "I sure don't like that guy. Implying you're not my son. What does he know?" he asked with a grin.
He was rewarded with a grin of Ryan's, along with an obvious relaxation of the boy's body, his fists slowly letting go. "Yeah. Me neither."
"How'd the inquisition go?"
"Fine," he replied, knowing that he'd get the usual groan and rolled eyes in response.
Sandy relaxed a little, himself, leaning back on the footboard of the bed, as he settled in to talk to Ryan. "What'd he say? Anything you wanna tell me?"
"Nah," Ryan answered. He knew that he could tell Sandy what had transpired, but he also knew that Sandy already knew, anyway. If Ryan had answered any of the doctor's questions with interesting comments, then the Cohens would already know. There would be no doctor/patient confidentiality in Ryan's particular situation. As a ward of the state, the foster parents would be notified of any and every pertinent piece of information about this boy and his behavior.
Instead of providing Sandy with any details, he asked the question that definitely needed answered. "How do you think it's gonna go?"
"You mean will you be put on a hold? I don't think so. You really seem fine. You weren't combative here, in the hospital; just terrified. I think that Kirsten's name-dropping will have you sprung from here in no time."
Dropping his head, Ryan felt familiar guilt return. "She doesn't have to go to any trouble for me."
Leaning forward to pat Ryan's knee, Sandy unsuccessfully sought out eye contact. "Hey. Kid. It's no trouble. You're family, remember? You heard her when she came in here. She called you her 'son.' She doesn't just do that for anyone, you know?" he finished with a grin.
Ryan looked up at Sandy, and grinned again, himself. "Yeah," he almost whispered, then looked away, embarrassed.
Just then, to save the guys from any further embarrassing mushy conversations, Kirsten came smilingly through the door.
"No more psych eval," she declared triumphantly. "I think I'm getting pretty good at using my name to get my way. You'd better watch out. I just may become an ego-bloated, self-centered rich bitch, any minute now!"
Sandy and Ryan both looked at Kirsten with pride, as she sat beside Ryan on the bed, and took his hand.
"So," Sandy began, "how'd it go with the good Dr. Townsend?"
"Remember Doug Scott, Dad's golfing buddy? He came to the house for dinner last month?" Kirsten asked her husband, the pride glinting in her eyes.
"Um, yeah, I think so," replied Sandy. "Wasn't he the one with the really bad comb-over?"
"Yeah," laughed Kirsten. "Well, he's the head of Townsend's department, and he really likes me, so I used his name to get Townsend to back off." Grinning at Ryan, she squeezed his hand.
Shyly, Ryan met her eyes. "Thanks, Kirsten. I really appreciate it."
"No problem, kid. I was actually glad to do it! Although, Doug may need to come and talk to you before we go home, but if he does, it won't be a problem. It'll just be to legally cover their rears."
"Cool," Ryan muttered. He wasn't really paying attention, anymore, When Kirsten had mentioned home, his mind again drifted to the plan that A.J. had for him. What in the Hell am I supposed to do now?
Just then, Dr. Kostanza entered the room, bringing with him two nurses and a tray full of painful-looking items.
"Okay, Ryan, we're going to get this stitched up, and then you can go on home," Dr. Kostanza said kindly.
Sighing, Ryan tightened his grip on Kirsten's hand, not taking his eyes from the medical tools that were being set up all around him.
When Sandy and Kirsten saw Ryan tense up, they each snapped back into protective parent mode, and Sandy asked, "We can stay, right Dr. Kostanza?"
"Absolutely," he replied. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
The reviews that I've gotten have been incredible. Thank you, to everyone, for being so kind.
Thanks to whoever nominated my story for the Citrus Awards. big, huge, grin Neat to know that people think my writing is worth recognizing. Especially since it really is the first that I've ever shown anyone (except school assignments, of course).
The best part, though, is that someone nominated me for Best Feedbacker! That's really special. I'm glad that my comments meant something to someone.