Disclaimer:  The characters don't belong to me, but to Fox's OC.

This is my first OC Fan Fiction.  I hope you enjoy.  Read and Review.

            He could have said anything to A.J. it wouldn't have made a difference.  A.J. was liquored up and spoiling for a fight.  He took his belt and wrapped it around his hand before hitting Ryan with it.  First on his arms, then on his back, and eventually his face.  Ryan tried to fight at first, but then he simply tried to ward off the blows and get away from them.

            He was flat on his back, with A.J.'s unshaven face and tattooed arms loomed over Ryan.  His hand, the one with leather strap wrapped around it, the buckle placed on the knuckles hung over Ryan, as he was about to punch Ryan in the face.  Then A.J.'s face faded away and was replaced by face of the thug with a shaved head from the Juvenile Detention center.  He held a fork to Ryan's neck, pushing harder and harder, deeper and deeper.

            Ryan sat up in bed, disoriented.  He had kicked the covers off the bed and the sheets were tied up in knots.  Perspiration fell down his head.  Wiping the sweat from his brow, Ryan looked around and realized he was safe in the Cohen's pool house.  He took a few deep breaths before getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom to wash his face.

            He couldn't go back to sleep.  Every time he shut his eyes, the image of A.J or the thug from his nightmares returned.  The faces of different boyfriends his mom had had over the years haunted his dreams each night, but each time the images grew more vivid.  Ryan found it was easier to stay up than to go back to sleep.

            He stuffed his feet into his sneakers and slipped on a sweatshirt over his head, because it was cool out and he headed into the Cohen's kitchen.  He rummaged around the pantry found the ding-dongs that Kirsten kept hidden way in the back, so she could eat them when no one was looking.  He grabbed the sports section from yesterday's paper and read it.  When he got bored of the paper, he went into the living room and put on the television, sticking on a pair of headphones, so that he wouldn't wake anyone in the house.

            He wasn't aware of falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, Kirsten was shaking him awake.  "Ryan honey, wake up."

            Groggily, Ryan sat up on the couch.  He rubbed his arm, which was sore from sleeping on his side.  He felt stiff all over.  The headphones were under him, tangled in the cushions.  "I fell asleep," he said.

            "You're bed not comfortable enough?"

            "No!  No.  It's great.  I just couldn't sleep and was watching some TV," he explained in earnest.  "I must have fallen asleep."

            "You don't have to explain," Kirsten said with a smile.  "But you better get up and shower or you'll be late for school."  She patted Ryan's hand and was surprised that he recoiled from her touch. 

            Kirsten and Sandy had a rare moment alone that morning while Seth was still upstairs getting dressed and Ryan was showering.  "He was sleeping on the couch again, Sandy.  He said he couldn't sleep and came in to watch TV."

            Sandy raised his coffee mug to his lips and took a sip.  "What do you think that's all about?"

            "I don't know.  But he doesn't belong in that pool house anymore.  I want him to take one of the bedrooms upstairs."

            Sandy shrugged.  "It's fine with me.  You want to tell him?"

            "Tell him what?" asked Seth coming into the kitchen.  He was wearing his usual uniform, a short-sleeved t-shirt this one saying "Cereal Killer." 

            "We're not talking about you," Sandy said.

            "Yeah, but I want to know."

            "You always need to be in the know," Kirsten said.  She tied her silk robe tighter and set out a bowl and spoon before her son.  "Eat up quickly.  You're running late."

            "I am?" Seth asked.

            "Listen to your mother," Sandy said, putting his mug down.  "I've got to get off to work."  He kissed Kirsten on the cheek, patted Seth on the head and said good-bye.  "Tell Ryan I said have a good one."

            Five minutes later, Ryan reentered the kitchen, his hair wet, wearing a fresh tank top and an open button down shirt with his jeans.  He was holding his book bag, which he put on the back of his chair.  Kirsten surveyed the two teenage boys and smiled.  "In my days at Harbor we had uniforms.'

            "It was also an all girls school, Mom."

            "True."

            She put a bowl in front of Ryan and watched as he chose a sugar cereal.  Kirsten poured them both a cup of O.J.  "You need some vitamins," she insisted.  "Are you ready for your calculus exam?" She asked Ryan.

            "Mmmhhm."  He shoveled a loaded spoonful of Captain Crunch in his mouth.

            "Listen, Ryan," Kirsten said.  "Sandy and I discussed it and we decided you can't stay in the pool house anymore."

            Ryan's eyes widened, his spoon stopping in mid-air.  He thought things were going well.  He was staying out of trouble.  He hadn't gotten into any fights, was keeping up his grades even though the work was way harder than he was used to.  Why would they ask him to leave now?

            "Oh God Ryan, that came out wrong," Kirsten said taking in Ryan's expression.  She stood opposite him and reached out to touch his arm.  "What I mean, was that we can't keep a proper eye on you when you're sleeping in the pool house.  For all Sandy and I knew, you could be sneaking out every night.  We don't even hear you coming in."

            "I'm not sneaking out," insisted Ryan, still unsure where this conversation was going.

            "I know.  But Sandy and I think it would be better if you take one of the rooms upstairs."

            Ryan concentrated on his cereal bowl. 

            "I want you and Seth to come straight home.  Choose any room you like.  We'll call a painter to paint it another color."

            "Kirsten—" Ryan started to say.

            "No arguments.  Now the two of you better get going."  She looked at her watch.  "And I better get dressed.  I have a yogalatics class in less than an hour."

            Ryan put his dirty dishes in the sink and grabbed his book bag from the chair.  He followed Seth, but waited until they were out the door to ask, "What was that all about?"

            "I don't know," said Seth.  "But I don't question Mom.  It's better to just do as she says."

            "I guess so."

            "Don't worry, it won't cramp your love life.  It's not like they've noticed when I had Anna up in my room or Summer for that matter.  They didn't notice when I snuck out while you were living in the model home."

            "Mmmhhm," said Ryan, distracted.  But Ryan was thinking of his nightmares and how he would start keeping the rest of the family up if he slept upstairs.

            Ryan tried not to let his eyes close during history, but the lids felt so heavy and the teacher's voice droned in such a monotone, much like the teacher in Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  The next thing he knew a heavy textbook slammed down on the table beside him with a loud thud.  Ryan jumped and opened his eyes only to see the angry face of his teacher.

            "See me after class Mr. Atwood," said the seething teacher.

            Twenty minutes later, when the bell signaled the end of the period, everyone filed out of the room while Ryan remained in his seat. 

            "I'm sorry Mr. Tolliver.  I didn't sleep well last night.  It won't happen again."

            "It takes a lot to annoy me, Mr. Atwood.  But this is one of my pet peeves.  If you can't stay awake during your classes, I'll have to contact your parents about your sleeping habits.  I know your seventeen, but perhaps you need a bedtime."

            "Please, don't call the Cohens."  The last thing he needed was for Sandy to have another excuse to ream him out because of school.  When Ryan's coach had called Sandy about how he unfairly tackled Luke during practice, he had hated facing Sandy's anger and disappointment.  He couldn't bear to face that again.

            "Ryan, you're seventeen-years-old, a junior in high school.  I expect that you get yourself to bed at a reasonable hour so that you stay awake during class.  I don't teach kindergarten. I don't relish calling parents about the sleep habits of their children.  So don't let this happen again."

            "Yes sir."

            "Good.  What class do you have next? I'll write you a pass."

            "So why were you late to class?" asked Marissa during lunch.  World Literature was the only class they shared.

            Ryan played with the food on his plate and said, "I fell asleep in history."

            Marissa laughed, splaying the gulp of soda she had just taken.  "Oh, he must have been mad."

            "Pissed," amended Ryan, trying to hide the smile that was forming on his lips.  Marissa was helping him find the humor in the situation.

            "Who was pissed?" asked Seth as he came over to their table.  He swung his long legs over the chair and sat down across from Ryan.

            "Tolliver," said Marissa.  "Ryan fell asleep in his class."

            "You didn't?"

            Ryan glared at Marissa, but then shrugged.

            "No way, man.  Tolliver.  He's like a monotonous sadist.  What did he do?"

            "Yell.  It's not a big deal, really."

            "He doesn't yell.  He threatens.  What'd he threaten you?  Did he say he'd call Mom and Dad?  That's his classic line.  For some reason that can get some seniors to pee their pants."

            "Glad to know he's so predictable," said Ryan.  Secretly, he was glad he hadn't peed in his pants, because he still had knots in his stomach every time he thought about teachers calling Sandy or Kirsten.  He wondered when he had become such a wuss.  In his old life, he had barely shown up in school, let alone thought about what his teachers thought about him.

            "So how come you fell asleep anyway?  You went to sleep pretty early," said Ryan, "And I heard Mom waking you up.  It was late."

            Ryan threw down his fork and stood abruptly, nearly toppling his chair.  "I was up in middle of the night," he said quickly.  "I'm going to calculus.  I have a test."