Disclaimer: Go read the first chapter disclaimer for full, specific disowning of everything but to put it simply, I own nothing, so no one sue, it’s not mine. Thanks.

A/N: Wow, thanks to those who reviewed (The O.C.-oholic, orangecountygurl, Rainygal, transatlantisicm, Mr.Tre Cool) you’re reviews were very appreciated and I am glad that you liked the beginning. Here we go with Chapter 2!

XXX

I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't care
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't care
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't care
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't,
I don't care if you don't care

He didn’t care.

Or so he thought. But maybe that was just something he told himself; something to make him get through the days.

But it was all an act; all one big, fat, stupid, lie.

But the truth was--he didn’t care because they didn’t care either. No one stuck around, no one even called. What was there to care for? That question was simple to answer--nothing, absolutely nothing.

Everyone Is So Full Of Shit!
Born and raised by hypocrites,
Hearts recycled but never saved,
From the cradle to the grave,
We are the kids of war and peace,
From Anaheim to the middle east,

We are the stories and disciples of,
The Jesus Of Suburbia

He spat into the dirt thinking of all the hypocrites-everyone who was filled with so much crap and bullshit that it was basically oozing out of every opening in their body. First and foremost-- his father. That bastard never was around, even when he claimed that he would be. When Ryan was little and he got asked where his Dad was, he’d say he didn’t have one. Because reality was, he didn’t.

Next up: his mother. Sure, she tried. Or used to. And he used to give her credit for it. Until the one day that she had actually laid a hand on him herself. She had always let the “man” of the house hit him, but never had she done it herself. Until that one day. Of course she was stoned at the time. And afterward apologies came, like always. But, apologies meant nothing. Not at this point.

And of course, Trey. But that was no surprise or question about that. And, in a way, it was self explanatory.

Hypocrites were all around him. And he hated it.

Land of make believe,

And it don’t believe in me

Land of make believe

And I don’t believe

And I don’t care!

And ya know what he hated most? All those damn anti-drug campaigns who wanted you to “be someone.” But that was all crap. What did they want him to do-save the world? He couldn’t even get out of hell and save his own life. How was he supposed to save the damn world? He had his own problems. But that wasn’t anything a little Mary Jane couldn’t fix-or so Trey had always taught him so.

Trey…Trey…

His thought’s kept drifting back to him. And then to everything that he got himself in. And everything he got Ryan into as well. Drugs, stealing, jail…what was next? Ryan didn’t know.

Dearly beloved, are you listening?
I can't remember a word that you were saying,
Are we demented? Or am I disturbed?
The space that's in between insane and insecure

Oh therapy can you please fill the void?
Am I Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed?
Nobody's perfect and I stand accused,
For the lack of a better word, and that's my best excuse

No one in that fucking town was perfect. Nor would they ever be. Now, go down a little bit and you’d hit a town that was perfect. The O.C. Orange County, California, to be exact. He had never visited of course; what would a kid like him be doing down there anyway? All those perfect blondes with perfect clothes would probably run him out with pitchforks if they saw his condition. Well, they would if he went to the rich part of it. But what part wasn’t rich anyway? It was all mansions, mansions, and more mansions.

But, he had had enough. Picking himself off the hard cushion, Ryan Atwood made his way to what you would call his bedroom, although it was just the place that occupied his sleeping quarters, on some nights anyway. He fumbled through the messy piles on the floor and found an old, black backpack that was a bit torn. He stuffed sweats, some jeans, t-shirts, and a hoodie in there. Then, grabbing his leather jacket and putting it on swiftly, he made his way out the door and on to the dirty streets that he hated so much.

To live and not to breathe,
Is to die in tragedy,
To run, to run away,
To find what you believe,
And I leave behind,
This hurricane of fucking lies,
I lost my faith to this,
This town that don't exist

So I run,
I run away

To the light of masochists,
And I leave behind,
This hurricane of fucking lies,
And I walked this line,
A million and one fucking times,
But not this time

Ryan shivered as the cold air swept though his jacket lightly. He hugged his arms just a little bit tighter while trying to keep hold of the backpack at the same time. Then, he passed her house. Smiling slightly, but then frowning, he made his way on to his destination, even if it was unknown to him at the present moment.

I don't feel any shame,
I won't apologize

When there ain't nowhere you can go,
Running away from pain,
When you've been victimized,
Tales from another broken home

You're leaving...
You're leaving...
You're leaving...
Ah you're leaving home...

A/N: There ya have it! Chapter 2! How was it? Did it make sense and everything? Please tell me, I really need to know. So, review please and I hope ya enjoyed!