Card Pyramid, the Second

 

 

Author's Notes

 

Art Cover

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seth drives and drives. He drives then he drives. He drives and then he contemplates how weird it sounds if you repeat drives often enough, and then Seth drives.

 

He drives and tries not to think.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seth decides to bypass Chino completely. But then, Seth has always been fickle, so it came as no surprise, least of all to him, that he was checking himself into the Chino Paradise Motel at 3.00am.

 

His parents wouldn’t have been surprised either, but then, they’re not here, are they?

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

He often seriously considers going back, simply because for some reason sleeping on this urine-stained bed provokes dreams. Nightmares, actually.

 

They’re flashes of images and sound, as dreams often are. It’s pressured and thick and vaguely arousing, and he can’t figure out why because his fathers face are etched into his eyes, such as with a dark 2B pencil that crumbles when you press it to hard, or just rips through the paper.

 

When he wakes up, his cheeks warmed by tears, he commends himself on the analogy.

 

After he runs to the bathroom to throw up, of course.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seth wished he had the commitment to find a job (like those kids he sees on TV that run away and end up working in a sleazy diner, where they find their soulmates or their home away from home or whatever) for two reasons.

 

One: his parents cancelled his card.

 

Two: They would have paid him in cash, had he expressly demanded it. Then, while he was buying some groceries, it wouldn’t have mattered if his card didn’t work, and the new cashier wouldn’t have made a fuss, so it wouldn’t have made Seth take that little bit longer to get out of the store so he would be standing there, prepared to just say ‘screw this’ and walk out , while Teresa walked in, intent to pick up some milk (one litre of full cream for her, and one litre of lite for Ryan, who thought full cream tasted like butter. Teresa agreed, but she had to drink full cream. It was good for the baby).

 

“Seth!” she gasps.

 

She’s still hot, despite the slightly rounded tummy, and she glows against the drabness of the grocery store.

 

And yeah, Seth still hates her.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seeing Ryan wasn’t epiphany Seth had hoped for.

 

He looked the same. He had a bit of a beard and was even tanner, and he sat on the floor eating cherry ripe ice-cream straight from its container. Something was there, though, something Seth could learn to hate in time, so much so that he almost runs straight back out the door. But then Ryan looks up.

 

He stares at Seth.

 

Seth stares back.

 

“Want some?” he asks, offering the spoon.

 

He nods and takes the spoon.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

When Seth dreams, he dreams of warmth and all things associated with it.

 

His mother’s hugs, his fathers humour, Summer’s hair, Anna’s laughter, Luke’s fists, his grandfather’s handshake, Ryan.

 

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.

 

He wakes up burning.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

“So, how are Sandy and Kirsten?”

 

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, “Fine.”

 

He pours milk over his weet-a-bix before shaking about half a cup of sugar in the bowl. He really needs to talk to Ryan about the value of a cereal that is 50% artificial. Turns out he needs no such advice.

 

“It’s for Teresa. She needs to stay healthy. For the baby.”

 

Well, yeah. Obviously.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

“So, Seth… what are your plans?” Teresa asks, going for subtlety.

 

“Dunno,” he lies.

 

He leaves that night while they sleep.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seth’s sitting alone in his motel room when there’s a knock at the door.

 

He has a map spread out in front of him and deliberating over whether to take route 71 along Grand Avenue, or Route 60 along Walnut Avenue. His destination is Corona, and they both lead there.

 

He is on the verge of choosing Grand Avenue, simply because it sounds manlier, when the knock came.

 

He goes against his better judgment and opens it.

 

It’s Sandy.

 

Seth bursts out laughing.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

He needs no persuasion. He follows his father without complaint.

 

That’ll be the name of his biography; Seth Cohen: He follows.

 

He doesn’t know who will write it, though. Maybe a jock who grows a conscience in his adult life, and wonders what exactly happened to that kid he used to torture on a daily basis. Or maybe Summer will, using that cleverly disguised brain of hers when she’s bored. Maybe Ryan, when he realises the perfect nuclear family isn’t really what he needs and his discontent explodes in a tidal wave of creative bliss.

 

Or maybe, nobody will.

 

When the heat of his father’s hand burns him through his 501’s, Seth’s pretty sure he wants it that way.

 

 

 *~*~*

 

 

His mom is holding a bottle full of wine two days after his return, and it collides with the side of his face like her punches do, only harder.

 

Seth feels drunk as he lays paralysed on the floor, getting up only as the sun makes his eyes sting.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Summer finally finds him and practically tackles him in the hallway with two mochas laced with foam and cocoa.

 

“Why haven’t you called me, doofus? It’s been like a zillion years,” she says, handing him one.

 

“I broke up with you.”

 

“Puh-lease, I broke up with you,” she fibs, “Anyway, it doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”

 

Her eyes have been dancing around the lump on his forehead before they land on it and widen. It feels like she just poked it, and he winces.

 

“No more avoiding me,” she adds, tearing her eyes away. “Come over to mine today.”

 

He nods.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Summer’s step mom reminds Seth of his own mom. How she is now, that is. Except she makes a lot less sense. To be fair, Kirsten only makes sense because she doesn’t bother opening her mouth.

 

“Hello kiddies!” she says jubilantly, a coloured drink in one of her fists, “Would you like some sandwiches?”

 

Summer grabs his arm and he realises it’s because he’s pressed himself against the wall. Then he realises it’s not a drink in her hand, but a bottle of pills. They rattle as she sways.

 

“No thanks, Vera!” Summer snarls, dragging Seth behind her upstairs.

 

“Cheerio!” she says from behind them.

 

“She’s such a bitch!” Summer exclaims when the door is safely closed behind her, “She’s got no clue like, at all!”

 

Seth nods and stretches himself face down over her bright pink bed, the corner of ‘the Valley’ box set poking him slightly in the cheek. Summer moves it away and lies next to him on the bed.

 

Her hand rests on his spine and he shivers.

 

“Want to sleep over?”

 

He does, which he regrets, because Summer’s dad comes in. He doesn’t really buy that it’s all innocent, even though she’s wearing her Tweetie bird pyjamas and he’s still in his jeans and they’re on opposite sides of the bed.

 

His fists collide hard. More like Luke’s than like his mother’s.

 

Bam.

 

“Teach you to…”

 

Bam.

 

“You stay away from…”

 

“Dad, stop!” someone shrieks, and he realises it’s him.

 

Bam.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Seth wakes up in hospital with Ryan staring at him from the foot of the bed.

 

Of course, it’s not real. Ryan disappears the minute his dad walks in.

 

“Don’t worry, son,” he says, “We’ll get him. He won’t get away with this.”

 

“Will you?” he wants to ask, but it sticks in his throat like so many things.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

He makes sure the case is dropped. The injuries were only minor, and he only passed out because Summer’s dad had aggravated the head wound his mother already gave him.

 

Summer’s step-mom keeps sending brownies that rot on the doorstep until Seth finds them and throws them in the bin. Summer keeps coming over, and he watches her walk dejectedly away from his house through the window of his bedroom.

 

The phone rings a few times but he doesn’t pick it up.

 

Sandy makes him face downwards and gets on top of him, stroking him and rubbing him and saying ‘shhh’ like it makes a difference. Like he’s providing Seth comfort.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

His mom tries to stab him with a broken glass, and he backhands her to the floor.

 

“Get the fuck away from me!” he screams.

 

It’s not real, and the glass buries only half an inch into his arm, but it’s enough to make him bleed.

 

Make him bleed and wonder, wonder, wonder…

 

 

 

Fin.

 

 

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