When Happily Ever After Fails

Hey there, Ricky.

Brad promised me that he would send you this letter. I know that I'm probably the very last person that you want to hear from judging by the fact that you've been ignoring my emails, but you're still my baby and I have to make sure that you're okay. He tells me that you're in New York; is that true? Did you really feel that you needed to get so far away from everyone?

Richard and I just want to know that you're happy, healthy and safe... wherever you feel the need to be. You can come home anytime that you want and I promise that we won't ask you to explain a thing. We both love you and only want you to come home. Please, if you won't do that, at least reply to this. We miss you so much and are so sorry for making you feel like you had to leave. I've sobered up, and Richard is in the process. I would do absolutely anything to get you back here.

Hugs and kisses,
Mommy.

For a moment, Ricky was unsure of how to react. Two main emotions swept through his entire circulatory system at the same time: anger and confusion. He couldn't help but be angry that Brad had sent this letter and had also told his mother where he had went, but at the same time he couldn't understand half the content of the words. They missed him? She was sober? As far back as he could remember, his mother had never had a sober day. It was hard to imagine that changing for any purpose other than to play the grieving mother.

The anger overtook him. With him missing, and with who is father was, it was impossible for the camera crews to not practically be living in his home. His mother's sobriety had been caused by his leaving, but not by guilt. The only reason that that bitch had decided to stop knocking back tequila was because she was once again in the public eye.

He pulled himself off of his bed and started to pace around the room. Outrage started to swell from the pit of his stomach and grew until he was fuming. First he threw the letter against the wall, and then other miscellaneous objects followed suit. Ricky kicked the other letters that were still scattered across the floor and caused them to fall into further disarray. At this point, Ricky tried to calm himself down. Leanne constantly told him how his hot temper would wind him up in trouble one day, and she had even gone so far as to get him into an anger management course.

Before he did anything, he forced himself to sit down on the floor and sit on his hands. This would give him an opportunity to think in a way that promised the safety of the surrounding area and it's content.

“Why am I angry? Because my mother sent me a letter. Why does that make me angry?” Ricky continued to mutter questions and answer them. His anger management leader had always taught him that this was a horrible technique because it perpetuates the anger, but he had no way else to get to the root cause. “Not only do I fucking hate her, but the bitch had the audacity to deliberately seek me out when I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to see her by fucking leaving.”

“Anger usually stems from hurt or the feeling that what you're saying is not being received by who you're talking to.” Ricky looked up to see Tucker watching him from the doorway. With an aggravated facial expression, Ricky handed Tucker the letter his mother had written him and gave a final enraged glance at the way she had signed before crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. After reading the letter, even Tucker had to struggle to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Sitting on the floor pissed off isn't going to do much to improve your mood. We both know you need fast, loud music, and the opportunity to get in at least a half dozen fights.”

“Please don't tell me that you're thinking what I think you're thinking...”

“I think we need to go to Schmidt's. It's karaoke night!”

“Fuck... I said please!”

By the time that Tucker had managed to convince Ricky to leave the apartment, it was already bordering eleven at night. In the end, Tucker managed to win the argument simply because Ricky ran out of reasons why they shouldn't. The resentment growing in his stomach had completely wiped out the fact that he had been tired, and they both had the next day off. Even by the logic that he hated leaving the house; if there was a night to go out, tonight was it.

As they muddled their way down the sidewalks, Tucker laughed as Ricky muttered violent curses; many of them regarding Tucker's life and Ricky's wish to end it. He had never quite gotten used to the biting night air here seeing as he was born and raised in California. Tucker's hometown seemed as cold as the ninth circle of hell as far as he was concerned, and Ricky wasn't bound to forgive Tucker soon for dragging him through the streets in the frigid air.

When they finally arrived at Schmidt's, Ricky had given up on threatening Tucker's life. Apparently, the threats were nothing more than humorous considering that Ricky wouldn't take his hands out of his pockets to press the button to change the streetlight sign, never mind strangle him. Ricky tossed Tucker a contemptuous glance when the first song hit his ear drums.

There are only two types of people in the world
The ones that entertain and the ones that observe
Well baby, I'm a put-on-a-show kind of girl
Don't like the backseat, gotta be first.

“This is supposed to make me less angry?” Ricky tried to shout over the music, but his voice was drowned out by that of Britney Spears. Rolling his eyes, Tucker grabbed his elbow and led him through the crowd to the bar. This was one of the few clubs that didn't card their clients until at the bar so that they couldn't serve underage clients nonalcoholic beverages too. Tucker was rather displeased that their drink choices were limited in such a manner, but Ricky was quite content to order lemonade.

He had no intention of ending up like his mother.

With this notion running through his mind, Ricky started to regain that bitter feeling his stomach. He slammed down the empty glass on the counter before disappearing into the shifting bodies on the dance floor. Loud electronic music filled his ears and made it impossible to do anything but scream the lyrics right back at the speakers and move mindlessly with crowd. Ricky wasn't even positive that what he was doing was classified as dancing, but everyone else was doing the exact same thing so he figured that it must be.

A strong pair of hands grabbed his waist and spun him around. Ricky was disoriented to find that this man had the same face as the one who had stopped him earlier on the street; Alex. Gasping, Ricky stumbled backwards from him and ceased moving. The two stood out in the crowd because the others continued to sway around them. Ricky was terrified that people were all going to turn around and stare at them. When Alex took another step towards him, Ricky stepped backwards again and ended up tripping. Cursing his luck when Alex graciously pulled him to his feet with evident concern for his well being and he blushed, Ricky finally conceded and let Alex walk him over to a quieter spot.

“I thought that you weren't in the mood to head out tonight?” Alex asked with a twinge of hurt in is voice. Ricky smiled gently and then gave a weak laugh that more closely resembled a defeated sigh. He looked up into Alex's striking blue eyes and gave a faint smile.

“I thought you said you weren't heading to a club.”

“Well, I hadn't planned to, but my friend got bored and dragged me here.”

“I'm in the same boat, except my quiet place was home.”

At this, Alex let out a loud laugh and his smile widened, the hurt now gone from his voice as he continued to speak to Ricky about anything and everything that crossed his mind. Ricky had always thought himself to be fairly blunt, but some of the things that Alex dared say in public, and to an almost stranger, made him blush.

Alex didn't hesitate to bring up how his father had been an alcoholic who beat him and his mother had committed suicide when he was fifteen. Amazement and envy danced in Ricky's intrigued eyes as Alex started to go into greater detail. One day, he hoped to have as much courage as this brave man; enough to speak of such personal horrors without embarrassment or shame.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Ricky said, with a touch of a smile gracing his lips. Narrowing his eyes playfully, Alex didn't answer, only grinned. The moment Ricky realized what he had said, Ricky swore and turned crimson, only to cover his mouth and darken to a shade that could only be described as true red.

“Would you pretty please come into the back room with me? It is way too loud out here for me,” Alex begged without sincerity in his eyes. Nerves twitched in his stomach as Ricky stood up to follow Alex through a door further down a dark hallway. He wasn't sure why he was doing this. Ricky was positive of his sexuality and he was not gay, but Alex had such an honest nature that Ricky was sure that he could trust him.

The room was dimly lit and slightly colder than Ricky would have liked. All in all, it made the nerves that had only been twitching a few moments previous do somersaults that would have made any circus performer proud. Ricky could barely make out Alex's face as he sat down on one side of the table. He motioned for Ricky to sit in the chair opposite him, and Ricky did so warily.

The door banged open and closed behind him and Ricky whipped around to face a man in a suit and another in a long, dark jacket and dark hat to match. Ricky shrunk a few inches in his seat as he saw that these men were much more seasoned than Alex and himself; probably closer to forty than twenty. With wide eyes, Ricky turned back to Alex in fear, only to see that he had changed completely in demeanor.

“You see. Ricky, I've been helping the FBI track down a few missing persons in the area. We'd like to ask you some questions,” Alex said coldly. A sadistic smile twisted across his face and his eyes became dark and unreadable. The change in Alex's facial expression and tone would have been frightening enough under normal circumstances, but that wasn't what Ricky was most terrified of. What was most alarming, was Alex's sudden loss of his New York accent and it's replacement of a more familiar dialect.

Alex was from southern California, just like him.