This Isn't Happening
Title: This isn’t Happening
Rating: PG-13/R?
Disclaimer: I own nothing, etc.
Summary: The O.C. (Yes, you read that right!) Summer/Ryan Second person POV Post Finale stuff. Approx. 378
__________
The music hurts your ears. You can feel it in your chest, feel it pulsing and pounding where your heart’s supposed to be. It’s too loud or maybe it isn’t and you can’t tell the difference. You can’t remember what anything is supposed to feel like these days.
She’s crawling up your body like a fucking cat in heat.
There’s something sad about it.
Maybe it’s the tears in her eyes and the way her knees are scrapped and her wrist is bandaged.
The black eyeliner and dark make-up she’s started to sport is running just a little and it makes her look like she’s already been fucked, but you know she hasn’t. You know that’s why she’s here now.
She got her tongue pierced. She tells you this then flicks it like a serpent of desire. Like the snake that led Eve to sin.
Sinning is the least of your worries. You’ve given up in believing in all that God stuff. If you’re honest, you knew even when you were a little boy that God wasn’t going to save you or anyone you loved. Somehow he always missed your prayers.
This is wrong, but you don’t stop it. What she needs is food and a hug. Because you haven’t seen her eat in days and her ribs are beginning to poke out and the bones in her hips feel rigid and sharp under your palms. And no one has stopped long enough to hold her. Even you haven’t held her. At least, not the way she needs to be held.
You forget, sometimes, that she lost Marissa, too. You forget you’re not the only one that gave a shit.
Smooth skin and smoother words, circling around your tongue like absolution. But this can’t make it better.
It makes it tolerable.
“Make it be okay,” she whispers.
And you do.
The only way you know how.
She tastes like broken dreams. Like survival. She winds herself around your mouth so you’re filled with her essence. So you’re not so alone.
And when you touch her the way she likes, she moans your name and her tears spill onto your chest.
And maybe you cry a little, too.
Because you can’t remember what this is supposed to feel like.
End.
Rating: PG-13/R?
Disclaimer: I own nothing, etc.
Summary: The O.C. (Yes, you read that right!) Summer/Ryan Second person POV Post Finale stuff. Approx. 378
__________
The music hurts your ears. You can feel it in your chest, feel it pulsing and pounding where your heart’s supposed to be. It’s too loud or maybe it isn’t and you can’t tell the difference. You can’t remember what anything is supposed to feel like these days.
She’s crawling up your body like a fucking cat in heat.
There’s something sad about it.
Maybe it’s the tears in her eyes and the way her knees are scrapped and her wrist is bandaged.
The black eyeliner and dark make-up she’s started to sport is running just a little and it makes her look like she’s already been fucked, but you know she hasn’t. You know that’s why she’s here now.
She got her tongue pierced. She tells you this then flicks it like a serpent of desire. Like the snake that led Eve to sin.
Sinning is the least of your worries. You’ve given up in believing in all that God stuff. If you’re honest, you knew even when you were a little boy that God wasn’t going to save you or anyone you loved. Somehow he always missed your prayers.
This is wrong, but you don’t stop it. What she needs is food and a hug. Because you haven’t seen her eat in days and her ribs are beginning to poke out and the bones in her hips feel rigid and sharp under your palms. And no one has stopped long enough to hold her. Even you haven’t held her. At least, not the way she needs to be held.
You forget, sometimes, that she lost Marissa, too. You forget you’re not the only one that gave a shit.
Smooth skin and smoother words, circling around your tongue like absolution. But this can’t make it better.
It makes it tolerable.
“Make it be okay,” she whispers.
And you do.
The only way you know how.
She tastes like broken dreams. Like survival. She winds herself around your mouth so you’re filled with her essence. So you’re not so alone.
And when you touch her the way she likes, she moans your name and her tears spill onto your chest.
And maybe you cry a little, too.
Because you can’t remember what this is supposed to feel like.
End.