sentence challenge
Jul. 6th, 2006 11:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arualmsSo, I actually got it done. My fic for the Third Annual OC Sentence Challenge. Thanks to ctoan, both for organizing this and for betaing most awesomely.
My prompts were:
- Summer calls it quits with Seth, because Marissa's death was enough to deal with.
- Ryan lost his love, Summer lost her best friend, Seth must stay strong for the two people he cares about most.
- Marissa's ghost haunts Summer in her dreams.
An: This one is for emmyniem. Hope you are ok with the way I used the prompts. I have to warn you that I have never written Summer before, so she might be out of character. I hope at least part of that can be explained away by the fact that she is in a very extreme situation. LJ is being extra stupid and insists I post this in five parts. Link for the following is always at the end.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's sad, really.
Now / Then
Welcome, Miss Roberts. Since your father is still talking to the director, how about we use the time until you say good- bye in a useful way? Would you like me to show you around, explain to you where everything is and what you need to keep in mind?”
“I guess I’ll have to hear it eventually anyway, so sure, why not now.”
“Okay then. Well, you’ve already seen the lobby. If you follow this corridor, you reach the dining area. Everyone has breakfast, lunch and dinner there. You can learn the exact times from the table that’s put up in your room. A weekly menu will be there as well. The first and second floors are all single bedrooms. Yours is number 213. The third floor houses the offices. You’re welcome to spend time in the garden or the indoor pool in the basement if you want…Miss Roberts? Miss Roberts?”
“What? Sorry, I guess I was distracted for a minute.”
“Are you alright? You look rather pale.”
“I’m…Yes, everything’s ok. Can you show me my room now?”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Marissa’s ghost haunts Summer in her dreams.
The first time it happens is the night after the funeral, and Summer wakes up wanting to scream but finding there is no breath left in her lungs. Taking in huge gulps of air, she realizes that she is covered in cold sweat, her limbs heavy with an exhaustion that she has no explanation for. It takes almost an hour for her breathing to go back to normal, and even then she is still shivering. She wishes she could remember what she dreamed, but the only part of her nightmare that stayed with her into consciousness is the feel of long hair between her fingertips and the echo of her best friend’s laughter.
(don’t think about never hearing it again)
She spends the next day trying not to break down and cry every five minutes, and it keeps her too busy to really think about the night before. It isn’t until she stumbles into bed that evening, exhausted from a whole day lived with the knowledge that Marissa is dead, that she remembers. Summer doesn’t believe she can take any more, certainly not trying to keep it together after yet another restless night, so she quickly makes her way into the bathroom and takes out the container of sleeping pills that is still there, even though the stepmonster is long gone.
(don’t think about someone else who once took the stepmonster’s pills)
She swallows them dry, even the effort of getting a glass of water seeming too much to handle when her bones are filled with lead, and goes back to bed.
Summer actually sleeps through the night, but later she isn’t sure if that is a good thing. It makes it impossible to escape the dreams by waking up.
Summer and Marissa are sitting on Summer's bed, comfortable in short sweats and T-shirts. Sleep-over outfits. The Valley is on, but neither one of them is really watching. Summer leans back a little, allowing her friend more room to maneuver the brush around before once more bringing it down on her head, carefully pulling it through the dark tresses.
“I missed this. Just you and me.” Marissa sounds calm, but there is an underlying edge that Summer can’t quite place. She isn’t sure she wants to know where it comes from, so she simply nods. She missed it too.
The brush gets stuck in her hair, and she yelps in pain, sitting up quickly.
“My turn” she says to avoid further hair-loss, taking the wooden handle out of Marissa’s hand and turning around to face her.
The brush falls from her hand as her fingers go limp, her body suddenly rigid and she can hear someone scream. It takes a while before she realizes that she is the one making the noise, but even then it doesn’t really register.
Nothing does, other than the sight of Marissa sitting there, smiling at her as if there is nothing weird about the blood running down the side of her face, dripping onto the pink bed spread, slowly pooling around Marissa’s body.
“It’s nice that we finally have time for each other again” Marissa says, and how can she just sit there as if everything is normal? Doesn’t she see? Can’t she hear Summer scream?
Summer pushes herself off from the bed and stumbles away from the other girl.
(don’t think about why your hand is suddenly sticky)
She is still screaming, even though there can’t possibly be any air left.
She watches, can’t look away, as Marissa bends over to pick up the discarded brush, stares as the girl pulls it through her hair, coating every single hair in red.
Summer stays there, pressed against the wall, unable to do anything but stare and scream while the blood continues to drip, first onto the bed cover and then, when Marissa is surrounded by red, onto the floor. There is so much of it- so much- and Summer can do nothing but keep as far away as possible, hoping against hope that the red lake that is being created on the ground won’t reach her.
When she finally does wake up, she can still feel the texture of the wallpaper against her bare arms, and her throat is dry. She rushes into the bathroom and spends the next forty minutes in the shower, rubbing her skin to get rid of blood stains she knows aren’t really there. When she finally gets out, her skin is raw, but she still doesn’t feel clean.
Her dad looks at her with worry in his eyes when she finally comes down for breakfast, asking if there is anything he can do.
(don’t think about how a year ago, he wouldn’t have had to ask, because he would have been with her 24/7, instead of driving Julie to an emergency meeting with some shrink friend of his)
She tells him she is ok, not good but managing, and she has to go if she doesn’t want to be late for her appointment. He nods, relief evident in his face at the fact that she can take care of herself. Summer is out of the house five minutes later, on her way to her own emergency meeting.
An hour and a half later, when she comes back, he is nowhere to be found, so she doesn’t have to handle any questions about her new hair cut.
The day is still far from being over and since staying in her room is pretty much out of the question for Summer at the moment, she reluctantly makes her way over to the Cohens.
She doesn’t want to be there, not really, because while Seth is surprisingly good at being the shoulder to cry on, Seth is also Ryan’s best friend/ pseudo brother, and Summer still has no idea how to deal with the boy from
When she arrives at the Cohens’ place, the relief at seeing the Rover gone is almost overwhelming. She remembers Seth telling her the night before that his parents were planning to both come with Ryan somewhere, a doctor, a shrink or maybe the police station. Summer doesn’t really care, not right now, as long as it means she doesn’t have to look at him. It’s not as if she blames him;, she just can’t stand looking at him.
She enters the building ( these people really never close their door, and she allows herself a moment to ponder the significance of that fact, other than an increased risk of burglary) and wants to head for the stairs when Cohen comes into the living room from the other direction. He simply pulls her onto the couch and into his arms, and she thinks that maybe there actually are one or two good reasons why she loves him.
When she wakes up later to the smell of fresh hot chocolate, she amends it to three. His eyes telling her that he knows it doesn’t really help are the best part. She’s not used to Cohen employing non-verbal means of communication, but she thinks she might learn to like it.
Seth drives her home before his parents and Ryan come back from wherever they went, hugging her good- bye with a hushed “Call me whenever you need to”. She doesn’t answer, because honestly she knows that, if she felt like she could actually talk (to him, to anyone), she wouldn’t need permission. Still, she appreciates the gesture and hugs him a little tighter, the muffled “See you tomorrow” lost somewhere between his hideous sweater and the lump lodged firmly in her throat.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
“Hello, Miss Roberts. I am Dr. Lisa Harisson. During your stay here, I will be your therapist.”
“Hi. I would say ‘nice to meet you‘, but since I really don’t want to be here, that would be kind of a lie.”
“How are you feeling today?”
“If I say great, are going to let me go home?”
“Miss Roberts, you came here because you wanted to. I realize that you are not feeling comfortable yet, but I am sure you understand that you are here…”
“For my own good? Yeah, I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to be, like, happy about it.”
“Is there anything that could be done to make you feel more comfortable?”
“Now that you mention it, the lobby could really use some home improvement. I mean, grey and red? Really not very stylish.”
“Miss Roberts…”
“I know. Sorry, I guess I really have to get used to this. I never thought I would turn into a nutjob.”
“Is that what you are?”
“You talked to my dad for hours. I’m sure he explained exactly why I’m here. There’s no need to pretend that I’m not crazy.”
“I am not pretending anything…You don’t believe me, do you?”
“You’re doing your job. I’m sure you’re not allowed to tell your patients that they are nuts.”
“Miss Roberts, you are not nuts, or crazy. But from what I have learned so far, I know that you are in a great amount of pain, and that this pain is doing things to you that you don’t understand and can not control. And I think I might be able to help you with that. If you let me.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I can’t force you to accept my help. But, look at it this way: talking to me probably can’t make things worse, right?”
“You’ve never been to
“Really? Would you be willing to tell me something about that? About how things always get worse?”
“If I do, is it going to prove to you that I am pathologically pessimistic or something?”
“Miss Roberts, I’m not trying to trap or ambush you. That’s not what we are here for. But if I want to be able to help you, I need to know more about you. Telling me about your hometown and your life there might be a good start. You don’t seem ready to talk about the more recent events yet, so choosing a safer topic might allow you to get comfortable with being here and talking to me. So, why not tell me something about
“I’m sure they have a fancy website somewhere. Or at least something they would believe to be stylish. You could do some research.”
“You don’t want to talk about it? Why?”
“Does there have to be a reason? Maybe I just don’t want to.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you going to sit there, staring all creepy and not saying a damn thing all the time. Because I don’t think my dad would be happy, knowing he is paying a shitload of money to someone who doesn’t do anything.”
“Well, you said you didn’t want to talk about
“Somehow, I don’t think you read enough Vogue to keep up in a serious fashion debate. Do you watch The Valley?”
“My daughter does. She is kind of obsessed with the guy who plays the broody kid. Do you like him, too?”
“Not really. I mean, he’s hot, but I stopped the fangirl thing after I met Grady Bridges.”
“You actually met him? I bet that was exciting.”
“Well, at first it was. But then he turned out to be this egomaniacal idiot, and Cohen got all jealous and…”
“Why are you stopping?”
“I…I don’t really want to talk about Cohen.”
“Why not? Sounded like an interesting story. Though it would probably be even more interesting if I knew who this Cohen is.”
“My boyfriend. I mean, he was my boyfriend. He’s my ex now. Can we drop it? I’m not here to wallow in teenage post-break-up angst. That’s just so cliché.”
“Did you wallow after he broke up with you?”
“He? He didn’t break up with me.”
“You ended your relationship?”
“Yes. Why the hell did you think he dumped me?”
“Well, the expression on your face when you insisted you didn’t want to wallow…you looked as if thinking about him hurt you, and as if you missed him. In my experience, those are emotions usually expressed by the one who didn’t initiate the break up.”
“I don’t miss…I don’t need Cohen. My life is complicated enough without his constant screw ups.”
“Is that why you broke up with him? Because he screwed up too much?”
…..
“Miss Roberts?”
“Can you drop the formalities? Makes me feel like I am back in high…in class. I do have a first name, you know.”
“Very well. But Summer, you still haven’t answered my question. Did you break up with your ex-boyfriend because he screwed up too much? Or was there another reason? And when did you end the relationship?”
“It’s…complicated. There was just so much going on. I couldn’t deal with him on top of all that.”
“So, the break-up happened rather recently?”
“Yes. I mean honestly, how the hell was I supposed to handle Cohen? I couldn’t…I can’t even handle myself.”
“I see. But you are here to change that, right? Remember; I will do everything I can to help you regain control of your life - at least to the extent to which that is possible...Well, I’m afraid our time is actually up for today, so we will have to continue this tomorrow.”
“Great. I can’t wait.”
“Summer, I understand that you would rather be anywhere but here. I would probably feel the same way, were I in your position. But believe me, things can get better. Your coming here was the first step to make that happen.”
“I…I know that. In theory, at least. But it doesn’t change the fact that it just feels wrong. I guess I never pictured myself ending up in an asyl…psychiatry.”
“It may not feel that way right now, but it is actually a big step to know, at least in theory, that you need help. Admitting that doesn’t make you weak. And we will work on the “wrong” feeling later. I hope you’ll have a good first night here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-08 03:20 pm (UTC)This seems like a definite option for the way things could go between Summer and Ryan.
Intriguing beginning.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-08 06:22 pm (UTC)I didn't want her to blame Ryan, because God knows he will do enough of that on his own. And it would have added yet another conflict for her to deal with. She's already got more than enough. But I thought that even without her blaming him, it would still be very hard for her to look at him, sincer in her mind he will probably forever be defined as Marissa's boyfriend/ ex-boyfriend.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-08 07:48 pm (UTC)Yes, makes sense.