A/N: Woo Ronald. Ahem. Chapter 1 of this can be found here.
Love always.
Saint.
P.S. Notice the pattern? It's intentional, darlings.
2: Ronald
A hand is the perfect girlfriend, Ronald Lynch thought as he stormed into the room he and his mother shared, slamming the door behind him. He knew the folks who ran the shelter wouldn't be happy about that, but he didn't really care. My hand would never nag, never annoy me, never drag me to a stupid date movie, and would always give me what I want when I want it.
He threw his schoolbag on the floor and flopped on his bed -- or rather, his cot -- with anger coursing through his veins. It wasn't his fault. He had fought tooth and nail to stay, but his mother thought it best to put as much distance between them and Ronald's father as she could. He touched his face gingerly.
"First that, now Amanda hates my guts," he said to the ceiling, which was always an intent listener. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He would have screamed if he could have mustered the energy, but everything going horribly wrong was old news by then. Ronald had long since forgotten to care.
He rolled back onto his side and sat up. His blue eyes scanned the dingy room the domestic abuse shelter had given them.
Roach Motel, six weeks of free rates, Ronald had said when his mother first brought him home from hospital to it. It was no different now, a week later. He wanted to get out of the wretched place, but not like this.
Tomorrow, Saturday, was moving day. There wasn't much to move, since most of Ronald's possessions had been abandoned in the hasty retreat from his father's house. But it was a long drive; half of New Mexico to cover, straight through Arizona, and on to the coast of Southern California. The aunt that he'd met twice in his fifteen years of life was going to be sheltering him.
Ronald was not looking forward to it.
He stood up, kicked the nearest solid object in anger, and strode to the bathroom. He had managed to silence the curious stares and the rumormongering at school, but they had known him for years. Elsewhere would be different. Elsewhere, he would be shunned.
He took special care not to look at himself in the mirror as he closed the bathroom door.
***
"This is the longest fucking drive ever," Ronald complained for the millionth time, adding in a splash of profanity to see the reaction from his mother. The compact sedan hit another bump -- number six hundred eighty-one since Ronald had started counting roundabout the New Mexico - Arizona border.
"Ronald David Lynch, you cease your incessant complaining immediately and watch your language around your mother," she snapped for the millionth time. Ronald bit back a vicious retort and turned to stare out the window into the Arizonan desert. The landscape was monotonous and boring -- saguaro cactus, mountain, patch of dirt, large rock -- but at the very least it was something to watch. And the saguaro cacti were interesting at the least. They didn't grow in New Mexico -- too high and too cold -- and they were majestic kings of the otherwise unscrupulous desert, rising above and stretching their proud and massive arms out over the desert floor.
Ronald suddenly felt very poetic.
He would never admit it to his mother (who constantly complained about the drab desert scenery), but he loved the landscape. The plants that grew in the harsh and dry environment only proved to him that life could thrive even under some of the worst conditions possible. Granted, it wasn't aesthetically pleasing like Niagra Falls or the Scottish Highlands, but it was magical indeed.
He wished his life could be that way.
Ronald turned from the window, failing to notice the tiny, beautiful saguaro blossom lose its magic and fall from its perch to the ground below.
