Left Behind: Ryan's POV
MacKynzie
PG
I don't own.
A/N: The story Left Behind started out as 1st person and I was pretty far into it before I changed my mind. This is essentially the first draft. The 3rd person version of this story, which will hopefully be updated soon, has a little more added to it. I figure, since I wrote half the story, I might as well post it and see what you all think. I don't really think it's necessary to continue this 1st person, but if enough people want this companion to go on, I'll think about it. It's the same story, but with more character thoughts. So, enjoy, and let me know what you think!
****
Have you ever wished you were dead? I mean really, truly, dead and gone? I have. And not just once. Many, many, times. Right now is one of those times. No one would miss me, that's the one thing I'm certain of in this world. Why does it hurt so much? Dieing shouldn't be this painful. But I'm not, dieing that is. At least I'm pretty sure I'm not. That would be too much to ask for.
Something's on my face. I crack my eyelids just barely, expecting a beam of light to penetrate my brain. But there's nothing, just darkness. I open my eyes and see more nothingness, more darkness. It's raining. The drops of moisture are attacking me, hitting my face. My mother used to say that it was angels crying. Angels. To believe in angels would be to believe in God. If there is a God, I'd certainly like to know what I did to deserve this life. Maybe I was a tax collector or something in my past life. But that's silly. There are no past lives, just this miserable God-forsaken one. No, the only crime I committed was in being born.
And suddenly the sounds of the street invades my ears. I'm not as alone right now as I would like to be. A horn blares across the way, shooting through me, waking me up. I moan and try to get up and once again wish that I was dead. No luck, however. Everything hurts. My head, my arms, my legs, my chest, my stomach. But most of all my head. It feels like a timber spike is sticking out of it. I reach up and touch my forehead. No spike, but I feel what might be encrusted blood. The motion sends a dart of pain through my arm. I look down. Had my arm always had that funny angle to it? I hope so, cause there is nothing to do about it right now.
A couple passes by and I realize I'm in an alley next to what appears to be a party store. There's a gas station across the street. Hopefully they'd have a bathroom where I can clean up.
I start across the street and vaguely wonder what day it is. When had I been dumped there? Monday? Tuesday? I reach the gas station and go around the side, searching for a bathroom. There. I knock on the door, no answer. I turn the knob and open the door. Immediately the stench of urine and vomit assails me. Wrinkling my nose, I flip the light switch, praying that it works. It does, just barely.
The mirror is grimy and I can barely make out my face. I wipe the glass off with my sleeve. The mirror is cracked, but even that can't hide how scary my face looks. I reach up and touch my cheek, looking at the huge black and blue bruise that seems to dominate the whole side of my face. I move my hair off my forehead, there's a gash that's crusty with blood and dirt.
Slowly, I take off my jacket and note the dark hand print bruise that encircles my left wrist. There's a strange hue to my forearm. I'm don't think it's broken, maybe just a hairline fracture. I lift my shirt up and clinically examine my torso. It's covered in bruises, they all appear to be new, but at least a day or two old.
I don't think there is anything wrong with my legs and I'm too tired to check. There's a dirty towel laying near the sink. I suppose it's better than nothing. I put my jacket back on and wet the towel, trying to rinse the grim off of it. I carefully wipe my face. The dirt and blood comes off, but the bruises stay. They always do, even when they're gone.
I drink from the faucet, grateful for the cool water on my parched throat. I look in the mirror again, my distorted and cracked image staring back at me. And laughing. That seems to sum up the whole of my life. Distorted and cracked.
I sigh.
****
The party store is open. They're always open. I have no money in my pockets, it was liberated when they dumped me. However, I see a man coming towards me. He has a suit on and I briefly wonder what he's doing in this neighborhood. Suits usually put their wallets in their breast pockets, mostly on the left side. The trench coat he's wearing won't be a problem, not for me anyways. He's closer now and I step onto the sidewalk walking towards him. I put my head down, he's talking on the phone, making my job much easier. We're only a few feet apart and I move into his side of the walkway. And then we're upon each other. I bump into him just slightly, my hand darting into his pocket with lightning speed.
"Hey, watch it!" He says loudly, turning.
I mumble a barely audible apology and keep on walking. I hear no more shouts. He didn't notice. They rarely do.
Unfortunately for the suits of the world, I'm very good at borrowing wallets. I cross the street, intent on going back to the party store. I need tobacco so badly right now, I'm almost drooling.
I check the wallet. Thank God. I was afraid he wouldn't have any cash, considering where he's at. But he does. 50 bucks. Not bad, if I crunched I could stretch it for a week, maybe two. I pick out the cash and toss the wallet near the steps of an apartment building. When I first started, I used to turn the wallets in, sans the cash. That became too much of a bother though. I swear I'm going to hell in a hand basket.
I finally come to the party store and go in. It's empty except for the cashier and a guy who looks like he lives in a dumpster that's filling out a lotto sheet. The sign reads there's a $50 million dollar jackpot there for the taking. My eyes settle below that. Today is Wednesday. The sign proclaims the jackpot will go up tomorrow. God, Wednesday. It's been almost two weeks since my mom ripped out of the Cohen household. Two weeks, it felt like two years.
The old Indian at the counter gives me the eye, but I just ignore it and ask for a pack of smokes. I get the cheapest ones they have, I am trying to conserve after all. If the guy thinks I'm under 18, he doesn't care, he just gets them and rings them up.
"2.98."
I pull out my new wad and hand him a twenty. A thought occurs to me. I feel in my pockets. Sure enough, the comforting weight of my lighter is gone. Is nothing sacred? I pick one out of a display and set it on the counter. He hands me my change. $45.02 left to spend.
I walk out. Impatiently, I rip the packaging off. I pull one out and promptly light it. Ahhh. The poison fills my lungs and I don't think I've ever taste anything sweeter.
Two weeks. How could it only have been two weeks? I'd promises Seth I would call him. He said a week at the latest. I wonder if he cares, or if he's worried that it's been two. He probably is. I smile slightly at the thought.
The clock in the store had read 11:36 p.m. It probably isn't too late to call. Seth rarely goes to bed before 1:00 a.m. I spy a pay phone down the street.
I go back into the party store and ask for some quarters. The clerk barely acknowledges me. He hands them to me and go out, the homeless guy is still filling out his sheet.
I head in the direction of the payphone, smoking the much needed cigarette. It's still raining, but it's more of a drizzle. I zip up my jacket, trying to ward off the chill. I reach the phone, it's dirty, but it'll work.
I dial the number from memory and fervently hope that Seth answers.
"Hello." He does.
"Hey, man. It's Ryan."
"I know who it is. So, what's up? It's been like, what, two weeks now? Where you been? My parents have been worried."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I just…there wasn't really time before." I say rather lamely. I don't think he buys it.
"No time, huh?" He lets it go. "So, where you at? How's it going?"
"Uh, well, it's going. I'm staying around." I bite my tongue, hoping he won't pick up on my little slip.
"You're staying around? Where's your -- ?" Of course, he does.
"We're staying around." I break in quickly, and again, he doesn't buy it. I know I should just hang up and cut off all contact. But I can't seem to just let go. I don't why I even bothered calling in the first place. I knew he would be asking me all these questions that I wouldn't be able to answer.
"Where's your mom, Ryan?" He asks, seriously.
"She's here…she's just sleeping." I hit my hand on my forehead at the idiot thing I had just blurted. Of course he's going to know that I'm calling from a payphone. I mentally curse myself and take another drag from my cigarette.
"Sleeping? Ryan, I know you're calling from a payphone. It's called the miracle of Caller ID. Where is she, really? Are you okay?" The concern in his voice is unmistakable and for a second it's comforting to know someone does care. I shake myself out of it and shove aside his concern.
"Seth, really, I'm okay. Everything's peachy." Now I was laying it on a little thick, but I just wanted this conversation over.
He must have sensed my unease and eagerness to get off the phone.
"Ryan, wait. Are you nearby? Maybe I could meet you, we could go out to lunch, or something."
"I don't know, Seth." I really didn't think this is was a good idea. The chances were way too high that I would slip and admit that she was gone and I really had no idea what I was going to do. But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to say no. Maybe it's this sick need I have to punish myself.
"Come on, it'll be fun. We'll go buy the pier again, it'll be great."
I sigh and light another cigarette. "I guess. But not the pier. There's a Coney Island on Gertie and Jamison in Chino. If you don't mind slumming it, that is."
"What? No, that'd be great. I'll be there. How about 11:00?" He sounds so terribly happy and it's hard for me to believe I caused it.
"How about Marissa? I know she'd love to come and see you."
Ah, Marissa. That's still a bit of a sore spot. I'd never said goodbye to her. My mom and I came back from shopping, she'd said it was high time that we got out of there. Mrs. Cohen had invited us to some casino party, but Mom refused and then we left. Just like that. She had looked sad and worried, Mrs. Cohen, that is. Like she really wanted us to stay. Mr. Cohen had too, insisting we would still see each other. Seth was the hardest to say goodbye too. We had gotten kinda close in the short time we knew each other. I never really let myself get close to anyone, but Seth was a welcome exception. Marissa, too, in some respects. And that brings me back to Marissa. I'm not sure it's a good idea. I doubt she'd even want to talk to me. We ended things kind of badly. Or, I had ended things badly. But yet again, I can't bring myself to say no to Seth.
"Whatever. I'll see ya' tomorrow." And I hang up, strangely relieved and depressed at the same time.
I shake it off, not entirely successful. But now I've got to think about tonight. Laying in an alley for two days had been okay when I was unconscious, but it's not going to cut it tonight.
****
Seth's POV
I listen to the dial tone for a few seconds before I finally hang up. He hadn't sounded good, not good at all. There was something in his tone. Like, defeat or something. He sounded like he had when I went to see him in juvie.
I flip the phone over and look at the Caller ID again. It read Unavailable. I had heard the sound of rain and cars passing by and made a guess. I was right. I'm not sure if his mother is still with him or not. She obviously wasn't sleeping in the next room like he'd wanted me to believe, but that doesn't mean she had ditched him again. But it probably does.
I can't believe I'd gotten him to agree to lunch tomorrow. I was sure he'd say no. He almost had. Gertie and Jamison? I had no idea where that was. My dad was right. We do live in a bubble.
I could probably ask him. He'd been to Chino lots of time for cases. I leave the sanctuary of my room and head downstairs, hoping he was up.
I heard voices.
"Kirsten, it's been two weeks! He said he'd call in a week. I'm really worried. Maybe I should start checking at shelters tomorrow."
"Sandy, he'll call. This has probably been a little hectic for him."
"Do you really think he'll call?"
"Really?" A pause "No, not really."
Well, speak of the devil. I push the door open and break in.
"You're both wrong. That was him."
"What'd I tell you, Sandy? I knew he would call." Mom says, looking somewhat pleased with herself.
"Well, what'd he say? Is he okay? Where's he at?" Dad asks impatiently.
"Uh, well, I don't know exactly." I answer, unsure of what to tell them.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Moms says, obviously worried.
"Well, he said he was okay. Which I take with a grain of salt and I don't know where he's at. Somewhere in Chino, I think."
"How did he sound?" This from Dad.
"Not good. He insisted everything was fine, but…"
"Where's his mom?"
"He said she was there, but I don't really think so." I answer.
"Oh, Sandy, what are we going to do? What if he's just living on the streets?" My mom sounds frantic now.
"I don't know." He answers, clearly thinking.
"If it's true, if his mother is gone…. I want him here." My mom says with finality.
"Here as in…?" I ask, not wanting to get my hopes up.
"Here as in living here, in this house, a part of our family." Dad looked over at her.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Great!" I say, excited.
Mom looks worried again. "How are we going to tell him? Did he give you a number?"
"Uh, no, but I got something even better."
"What?" They explode together.
"We're meeting for lunch tomorrow. In Chino, a Coney Island."
"That's great! We'll all go." Mom says, looking excited.
"No." Me and Dad say at the same time. I look at him in surprise.
"I don't think that a good idea. Honey, you know how Ryan is. I think right now he trusts Seth more than us. He might not like it if we show up."
Sometimes my dad is pretty smart.
"You're probably right." Mom replies thoughtfully.
"Yes, he is." I answer. "Are you guys sure about this?"
"Why, of course, Seth. Why do you ask?" My dad looks surprised.
"Well, I just…If something happens or you change your minds…"
"Seth, we're very sure about this. We're not going to kick Ryan out, even if 'something' happens." My dad says resolutely, looking at Mom for support.
"That's absolutely right." Mom answers.
"Okay, then. Let's do this."
****
And that's it. Like I said, if there's any interest, I may consider finishing. Please Read and Review!!
MacKynzie
MacKynzie
PG
I don't own.
A/N: The story Left Behind started out as 1st person and I was pretty far into it before I changed my mind. This is essentially the first draft. The 3rd person version of this story, which will hopefully be updated soon, has a little more added to it. I figure, since I wrote half the story, I might as well post it and see what you all think. I don't really think it's necessary to continue this 1st person, but if enough people want this companion to go on, I'll think about it. It's the same story, but with more character thoughts. So, enjoy, and let me know what you think!
****
Have you ever wished you were dead? I mean really, truly, dead and gone? I have. And not just once. Many, many, times. Right now is one of those times. No one would miss me, that's the one thing I'm certain of in this world. Why does it hurt so much? Dieing shouldn't be this painful. But I'm not, dieing that is. At least I'm pretty sure I'm not. That would be too much to ask for.
Something's on my face. I crack my eyelids just barely, expecting a beam of light to penetrate my brain. But there's nothing, just darkness. I open my eyes and see more nothingness, more darkness. It's raining. The drops of moisture are attacking me, hitting my face. My mother used to say that it was angels crying. Angels. To believe in angels would be to believe in God. If there is a God, I'd certainly like to know what I did to deserve this life. Maybe I was a tax collector or something in my past life. But that's silly. There are no past lives, just this miserable God-forsaken one. No, the only crime I committed was in being born.
And suddenly the sounds of the street invades my ears. I'm not as alone right now as I would like to be. A horn blares across the way, shooting through me, waking me up. I moan and try to get up and once again wish that I was dead. No luck, however. Everything hurts. My head, my arms, my legs, my chest, my stomach. But most of all my head. It feels like a timber spike is sticking out of it. I reach up and touch my forehead. No spike, but I feel what might be encrusted blood. The motion sends a dart of pain through my arm. I look down. Had my arm always had that funny angle to it? I hope so, cause there is nothing to do about it right now.
A couple passes by and I realize I'm in an alley next to what appears to be a party store. There's a gas station across the street. Hopefully they'd have a bathroom where I can clean up.
I start across the street and vaguely wonder what day it is. When had I been dumped there? Monday? Tuesday? I reach the gas station and go around the side, searching for a bathroom. There. I knock on the door, no answer. I turn the knob and open the door. Immediately the stench of urine and vomit assails me. Wrinkling my nose, I flip the light switch, praying that it works. It does, just barely.
The mirror is grimy and I can barely make out my face. I wipe the glass off with my sleeve. The mirror is cracked, but even that can't hide how scary my face looks. I reach up and touch my cheek, looking at the huge black and blue bruise that seems to dominate the whole side of my face. I move my hair off my forehead, there's a gash that's crusty with blood and dirt.
Slowly, I take off my jacket and note the dark hand print bruise that encircles my left wrist. There's a strange hue to my forearm. I'm don't think it's broken, maybe just a hairline fracture. I lift my shirt up and clinically examine my torso. It's covered in bruises, they all appear to be new, but at least a day or two old.
I don't think there is anything wrong with my legs and I'm too tired to check. There's a dirty towel laying near the sink. I suppose it's better than nothing. I put my jacket back on and wet the towel, trying to rinse the grim off of it. I carefully wipe my face. The dirt and blood comes off, but the bruises stay. They always do, even when they're gone.
I drink from the faucet, grateful for the cool water on my parched throat. I look in the mirror again, my distorted and cracked image staring back at me. And laughing. That seems to sum up the whole of my life. Distorted and cracked.
I sigh.
****
The party store is open. They're always open. I have no money in my pockets, it was liberated when they dumped me. However, I see a man coming towards me. He has a suit on and I briefly wonder what he's doing in this neighborhood. Suits usually put their wallets in their breast pockets, mostly on the left side. The trench coat he's wearing won't be a problem, not for me anyways. He's closer now and I step onto the sidewalk walking towards him. I put my head down, he's talking on the phone, making my job much easier. We're only a few feet apart and I move into his side of the walkway. And then we're upon each other. I bump into him just slightly, my hand darting into his pocket with lightning speed.
"Hey, watch it!" He says loudly, turning.
I mumble a barely audible apology and keep on walking. I hear no more shouts. He didn't notice. They rarely do.
Unfortunately for the suits of the world, I'm very good at borrowing wallets. I cross the street, intent on going back to the party store. I need tobacco so badly right now, I'm almost drooling.
I check the wallet. Thank God. I was afraid he wouldn't have any cash, considering where he's at. But he does. 50 bucks. Not bad, if I crunched I could stretch it for a week, maybe two. I pick out the cash and toss the wallet near the steps of an apartment building. When I first started, I used to turn the wallets in, sans the cash. That became too much of a bother though. I swear I'm going to hell in a hand basket.
I finally come to the party store and go in. It's empty except for the cashier and a guy who looks like he lives in a dumpster that's filling out a lotto sheet. The sign reads there's a $50 million dollar jackpot there for the taking. My eyes settle below that. Today is Wednesday. The sign proclaims the jackpot will go up tomorrow. God, Wednesday. It's been almost two weeks since my mom ripped out of the Cohen household. Two weeks, it felt like two years.
The old Indian at the counter gives me the eye, but I just ignore it and ask for a pack of smokes. I get the cheapest ones they have, I am trying to conserve after all. If the guy thinks I'm under 18, he doesn't care, he just gets them and rings them up.
"2.98."
I pull out my new wad and hand him a twenty. A thought occurs to me. I feel in my pockets. Sure enough, the comforting weight of my lighter is gone. Is nothing sacred? I pick one out of a display and set it on the counter. He hands me my change. $45.02 left to spend.
I walk out. Impatiently, I rip the packaging off. I pull one out and promptly light it. Ahhh. The poison fills my lungs and I don't think I've ever taste anything sweeter.
Two weeks. How could it only have been two weeks? I'd promises Seth I would call him. He said a week at the latest. I wonder if he cares, or if he's worried that it's been two. He probably is. I smile slightly at the thought.
The clock in the store had read 11:36 p.m. It probably isn't too late to call. Seth rarely goes to bed before 1:00 a.m. I spy a pay phone down the street.
I go back into the party store and ask for some quarters. The clerk barely acknowledges me. He hands them to me and go out, the homeless guy is still filling out his sheet.
I head in the direction of the payphone, smoking the much needed cigarette. It's still raining, but it's more of a drizzle. I zip up my jacket, trying to ward off the chill. I reach the phone, it's dirty, but it'll work.
I dial the number from memory and fervently hope that Seth answers.
"Hello." He does.
"Hey, man. It's Ryan."
"I know who it is. So, what's up? It's been like, what, two weeks now? Where you been? My parents have been worried."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I just…there wasn't really time before." I say rather lamely. I don't think he buys it.
"No time, huh?" He lets it go. "So, where you at? How's it going?"
"Uh, well, it's going. I'm staying around." I bite my tongue, hoping he won't pick up on my little slip.
"You're staying around? Where's your -- ?" Of course, he does.
"We're staying around." I break in quickly, and again, he doesn't buy it. I know I should just hang up and cut off all contact. But I can't seem to just let go. I don't why I even bothered calling in the first place. I knew he would be asking me all these questions that I wouldn't be able to answer.
"Where's your mom, Ryan?" He asks, seriously.
"She's here…she's just sleeping." I hit my hand on my forehead at the idiot thing I had just blurted. Of course he's going to know that I'm calling from a payphone. I mentally curse myself and take another drag from my cigarette.
"Sleeping? Ryan, I know you're calling from a payphone. It's called the miracle of Caller ID. Where is she, really? Are you okay?" The concern in his voice is unmistakable and for a second it's comforting to know someone does care. I shake myself out of it and shove aside his concern.
"Seth, really, I'm okay. Everything's peachy." Now I was laying it on a little thick, but I just wanted this conversation over.
He must have sensed my unease and eagerness to get off the phone.
"Ryan, wait. Are you nearby? Maybe I could meet you, we could go out to lunch, or something."
"I don't know, Seth." I really didn't think this is was a good idea. The chances were way too high that I would slip and admit that she was gone and I really had no idea what I was going to do. But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to say no. Maybe it's this sick need I have to punish myself.
"Come on, it'll be fun. We'll go buy the pier again, it'll be great."
I sigh and light another cigarette. "I guess. But not the pier. There's a Coney Island on Gertie and Jamison in Chino. If you don't mind slumming it, that is."
"What? No, that'd be great. I'll be there. How about 11:00?" He sounds so terribly happy and it's hard for me to believe I caused it.
"How about Marissa? I know she'd love to come and see you."
Ah, Marissa. That's still a bit of a sore spot. I'd never said goodbye to her. My mom and I came back from shopping, she'd said it was high time that we got out of there. Mrs. Cohen had invited us to some casino party, but Mom refused and then we left. Just like that. She had looked sad and worried, Mrs. Cohen, that is. Like she really wanted us to stay. Mr. Cohen had too, insisting we would still see each other. Seth was the hardest to say goodbye too. We had gotten kinda close in the short time we knew each other. I never really let myself get close to anyone, but Seth was a welcome exception. Marissa, too, in some respects. And that brings me back to Marissa. I'm not sure it's a good idea. I doubt she'd even want to talk to me. We ended things kind of badly. Or, I had ended things badly. But yet again, I can't bring myself to say no to Seth.
"Whatever. I'll see ya' tomorrow." And I hang up, strangely relieved and depressed at the same time.
I shake it off, not entirely successful. But now I've got to think about tonight. Laying in an alley for two days had been okay when I was unconscious, but it's not going to cut it tonight.
****
Seth's POV
I listen to the dial tone for a few seconds before I finally hang up. He hadn't sounded good, not good at all. There was something in his tone. Like, defeat or something. He sounded like he had when I went to see him in juvie.
I flip the phone over and look at the Caller ID again. It read Unavailable. I had heard the sound of rain and cars passing by and made a guess. I was right. I'm not sure if his mother is still with him or not. She obviously wasn't sleeping in the next room like he'd wanted me to believe, but that doesn't mean she had ditched him again. But it probably does.
I can't believe I'd gotten him to agree to lunch tomorrow. I was sure he'd say no. He almost had. Gertie and Jamison? I had no idea where that was. My dad was right. We do live in a bubble.
I could probably ask him. He'd been to Chino lots of time for cases. I leave the sanctuary of my room and head downstairs, hoping he was up.
I heard voices.
"Kirsten, it's been two weeks! He said he'd call in a week. I'm really worried. Maybe I should start checking at shelters tomorrow."
"Sandy, he'll call. This has probably been a little hectic for him."
"Do you really think he'll call?"
"Really?" A pause "No, not really."
Well, speak of the devil. I push the door open and break in.
"You're both wrong. That was him."
"What'd I tell you, Sandy? I knew he would call." Mom says, looking somewhat pleased with herself.
"Well, what'd he say? Is he okay? Where's he at?" Dad asks impatiently.
"Uh, well, I don't know exactly." I answer, unsure of what to tell them.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Moms says, obviously worried.
"Well, he said he was okay. Which I take with a grain of salt and I don't know where he's at. Somewhere in Chino, I think."
"How did he sound?" This from Dad.
"Not good. He insisted everything was fine, but…"
"Where's his mom?"
"He said she was there, but I don't really think so." I answer.
"Oh, Sandy, what are we going to do? What if he's just living on the streets?" My mom sounds frantic now.
"I don't know." He answers, clearly thinking.
"If it's true, if his mother is gone…. I want him here." My mom says with finality.
"Here as in…?" I ask, not wanting to get my hopes up.
"Here as in living here, in this house, a part of our family." Dad looked over at her.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Great!" I say, excited.
Mom looks worried again. "How are we going to tell him? Did he give you a number?"
"Uh, no, but I got something even better."
"What?" They explode together.
"We're meeting for lunch tomorrow. In Chino, a Coney Island."
"That's great! We'll all go." Mom says, looking excited.
"No." Me and Dad say at the same time. I look at him in surprise.
"I don't think that a good idea. Honey, you know how Ryan is. I think right now he trusts Seth more than us. He might not like it if we show up."
Sometimes my dad is pretty smart.
"You're probably right." Mom replies thoughtfully.
"Yes, he is." I answer. "Are you guys sure about this?"
"Why, of course, Seth. Why do you ask?" My dad looks surprised.
"Well, I just…If something happens or you change your minds…"
"Seth, we're very sure about this. We're not going to kick Ryan out, even if 'something' happens." My dad says resolutely, looking at Mom for support.
"That's absolutely right." Mom answers.
"Okay, then. Let's do this."
****
And that's it. Like I said, if there's any interest, I may consider finishing. Please Read and Review!!
MacKynzie