Some people are just born,
With tragedy in their blood.

.\.|./.

Crystal Monroe

| in which she calls her a bitch |

I turn when he tells me to turn, my stomach doing somersaults the closer we get to the battlefield. I don't know what I'm scared of, since I've never met Ryan's mom. From what I've gotten to know about her, though, I have to admit ... I hate her freaking guts.

Ryan is anxious, but he seems to be clear that he wants to do this. This was not a plan of his before today, and he never mentioned wanting to see his mom. But if he wants to do this, I'm standing by him no matter what.

We have sandwiches on the way, devouring all our stock of water within the hour.

"I need to get some of my projects done or we won't even have money for gas," Ryan mumbles to himself.

"I could become a stripper," I suggest playfully, an innocent expression on my face.

Ryan snorts. "No thanks, Crystal."

I shrug. "Your call."

"Maybe I can become a stripper," he says.

"Shut it, Adonis Do you want to be a homewrecker?"

"Homewrecker?" He raises his eyebrows playfully.

"Yeah," I say without looking at him. "When the entire women population of the world falls in love with you and men decide they want you dead ... I don't think I can handle that drama."

Ryan laughs, taking my hand in his.

The neighborhood we turn into is quieter than most of the LA I have seen in the past eighteen hours or so. Ryan indicates for me to stop in front of a white-painted house. I park along the side of the road, wishing I hadn't had so much water to drink. The way my stomach keeps twisting, I feel I'm going to spill everything out.

I hope that if I puke, it's on Ryan's mom.

"Ready?" I ask when he makes no attempt to move.

The sun is beginning to decline and I'm afraid we'll be on the road again after nightfall. Ryan doesn't seem like he wants to face his mom, but wasting time here would land us on the road in the dark. Either that or we'll have to rent a motel for the night again, and the last thing I want is to spend another night in Los-freaking-Angeles.

Ryan inhales deeply and nods, before opening the door to get out of the car.

"Will you come with me?" he asks hopefully.

"Do you even need to ask?" I say, following him without wasting a single moment.

I don't know what the hell has happened to me, but having Ryan beside me makes me kind of fearless. After the way he handles me shooting Jeremy and somehow turned the tables on him and got him charged and me free of any charges, I think I can do anything and nothing bad will happen. He won't let anything bad happen.

As soon as I'm next to Ryan, he takes my hand and walks towards the looming front door of the house that looks unlike anything I imagined. It makes no sense, but when I heard about Ryan's past, I imagined him to come from a run-down slum where the houses were broken, doors hanging off their hinges and windowpanes cracked. I imagined stray dogs barking at passersby and piles of garbage cluttered everywhere.

I don't know why I had imagined it that way, but somehow, an educated, well-off family with standards and prosperity didn't seem to me like the kind of people who would sit back and allow their child to be abused by a stranger.

I have to admit, though, even I want to meet Ryan's mom. Maybe I would understand her better if I get to know her. Maybe she's crazy. Why else would she have put her own son through everything he went through?

Ryan rings the doorbell and we stand on the small rug that says 'home' on it. His hand is clammy in mine, and we wait for the person I know has hurt Ryan more than he will ever admit.

The door swings open after a few minutes, revealing a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a face that has definitely gone through some surgeries. Real lips cannot be that big, and I know it.

She doesn't speak, her gaze fixed on Ryan as she takes him in from top to bottom, saying nothing. I expected some kind of a hug or perhaps some welcoming words. My mom was definitely too dramatic with all her crying and yelling, but Ryan's mom is unnaturally quiet.

"Mom --" Ryan begins.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, surprising me. 

I had expected her to be strict, given as everything she put Ryan through. What I had not expected was for her to be a total prude.

Ryan looks taken aback, his hand growing cold in mine. "I heard ... you had a heart attack?" he says, and I automatically feel bad for him. Ryan sounds so self-conscious, and I don't know if it's because of his mom or simply my presence. He probably doesn't want to be rejected by his own mother, and that too, while I'm watching.

"I did, but I'm fine now," his mother says. There is a dismissal in her tone and I kind of want to spit at her face because of it.

I'm definitely going crazy.

What normal person imagines spitting on someone's face and laughing her head off when the woman yells?

"Well ... I just wanted to come see how you are," Ryan mumbles, not looking up at his mother.

"I'm fine," the woman answers. "You can go now."

She attempts to close the door in our face, and that's something I can't allow. Overcome by an urge to get this over with, I stuff my foot into the open space and place my free hand on the door to prevent her from locking us out.

The woman looks at me as if noticing me for the first time. Her gaze drops to mine and Ryan's intertwined hands and I cling tighter, refusing to show her I care what she thinks. The truth is, I don't give a fuck what she thinks.

"Hey, Mrs. Falls or ex-Mrs. Falls, if that's what you preferred to be called," I begin, flashing a bright smile. I feel so much hate for the woman I'm surprised it doesn't show in my tone, which is as sweet as honey.

"Bree," she says coolly.

"Whatever," I say. "What I'm saying is that I wouldn't usually intrude. This is private family business between Ryan and you. But since your son and I are kind of together now, I think I should let you know that you're kind of being a bitch right now."

Now, if I was crazy, I'd burst out laughing when the woman's composed face transforms into one of sheer shock. I don't laugh, though, maintaining my perfectly sweet smile and loving the taste of my words on my tongue. As for Ryan, he seems to have frozen solid, standing beside me and staring at me like he's never seen me before.

"What kind of a woman does that?" I ask the woman, ignoring Ryan and his befuddled stare. "You're supposed to be a mother, right? Is this what mothers do?"

"Excuse me?" the woman spits, her eyeballs almost rolling out.

"Oh, I won't," I say. "You know what? I was sixteen when I left my family for a guy who was the biggest jackass in the world. My mom warned me but I didn't care. After three freaking years, I went back, and you know what she did? She cried in joy and embraced me with open arms. Even my dad -- who's ... you know, a dad -- took me right back. I left them, and it was because I was an idiot. Ryan left you, not even a year ago, because you're an idiot --"

"How dare you?" the woman squeals.

"How dare you?" I counter, aware of Ryan's eyes on me. "How dare you do to Ryan everything you have done? How dare you put him through all of that pain? How dare you see what he was going through and close your eyes and play dumb? How dare you try to shut the door in his face now, when he's trying to be a good son and give your fake ass another chance. How dare you do that to your own son --"

"He's not my son!" she cries out.

I freeze, not having expected this response at all. By the stiffness in Ryan's form, he hadn't expected this either. The two of us stand side by side, staring at the woman who appears to be panting, unable to look at Ryan but glaring at me.

"He's not my son," she repeats, slower and more calmly this time. "He was the child his father had with some slut who didn't want him. I'm not his mother. I'm only the woman who was asked to take care of my husband's illegitimate child."

My heart seems to have stopped, but my mind has gone into overdrive. I turn my wide eyes onto Ryan, who looks like he's made of stone rather than flesh and bone. His eyes are fixed on the woman who just said she isn't his mother, and his hand in mine is limp.

"You want someone to answer your question, go find your father," the woman says without looking at Ryan, her voice full of venom. "He just came home one day with you in his arms and told me you were going to be our son. That's all he wanted. He didn't care how it would break my heart that I should be asked to raise another's child when I can't have my own. He didn't even ask. He just said you'll be our son. And then he left? He just left, found another woman and left me as the nanny to watch over you. All I got was a measly amount he sent for you every month. How could he expect me to love you? How can you expect me to love you when every time I look at you I see the woman he ..."

Her voice trails off, still echoing in my head and numbing my senses. I can't seem to give meaning to anything she's saying, and all I know is the impact her words must be having on Ryan. Suddenly, I wish I had never spoken at all. Maybe it would have been better for me to keep my mouth shut. The woman would have closed the door and we would have walked away without knowing this harsh reality.

"I kept you," she says, her voice half-angry, half-pained. "I kept you hoping he'd come back for you. I hoped ... I hoped he'd remember everything he put me through and that ..." She closes her eyes, wiping the first tear that ripped free of her lashes. "He didn't come back. And when you left, I said good riddance."

My eyes stay on Ryan, who is staring unblinkingly at the woman he thought was his mother for the nineteen years of his life. He looks like a mannequin, and I can't even begin to imagine the pain he's experiencing.

"I can't do it anymore, Ryan," the woman says, at last, looking up at Ryan. Her eyes are wet, but not from sympathy. She's crying, not for Ryan, but for herself. "I'm sorry, but ... I can't."

Ryan nods, and I watch his Adam's apple bob when he swallows. He lowers his gaze, inhaling a deep breath. "Good bye ... Bree."

The words tear into my heart and the fact that he refuses to call her mom this time hurts worse. The woman probably notices too, but she shows no reaction as she takes a step back and closes the door behind her, slowly this time. Neither Ryan nor I stop her, standing still in the aftermath of the revelation.

I turn towards him, still holding his limp hand in mine.

I don't know what to say, lost for words and drowning in my own guilt. I regret bringing him here and I regret trying to fix things. I didn't fix anything.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry," I say, meaning it with all my heart.

I wish I could take back the past few minutes, go back in time and somehow convince Ryan to not come here at all. I wish I had done something to prevent what just happened.

"We shouldn't have come here ..."

Ryan, however, shakes his head, sighing. "I'm glad we came," he says, meeting my gaze. I'm taken aback when I see that his eyes are dry and face set. "Finding out she isn't my mother is better than living with the realization that my own mother hates me."

He feigns a smile, and though I see through it, I admire his attempt at bravery. I see it in his eyes, a thousand questions swirling around in the silvery grey on his beautiful heart. His mother didn't want him, his father left him, the women he called mother only held on to him as a compulsion. How did Ryan still turn out to be such a beautiful human being ... it awes me.

Leaning up on my toes, I kiss Ryan, softer than ever before. Ryan kisses me back, but only briefly.

It hurts me, but the hurt vanishes when I see his gaze fixed on something behind me. Something, or someone. And when I turn around to see the man staring at Ryan, I know ...

I know it isn't over yet.

.\.|./.

A/N: Did you expect this? Not everything is as clear-cut as it seems, and I believe even the worst people have their reasons. The reason might not be sufficient justification, but it definitely makes them human.