Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX, Josh Shwartz, etc. No infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

Characters: Alex POV, Marissa/Ryan.

Rating: PG-13

Yet another post-breakup fic.

One step forward, another step back.
Got your eyes on tomorrow, but tomorrow just left.

It's one of those days. No matter what you so, it's not quite right. You wake up in a bad mood and the day only gets progressively more frustrating.

At least tonight you can relax on the other side of the bar. You probably wouldn't have any patience for other people's sob stories today, especially when most of them seem so trivial in comparison to your own. Although when you think about it, most of your problems originate somewhere in the mess that you call a love life. Yours is not exactly a life or death situation either.

But now isn't the time to dwell on that. You sit at the table, friends on all sides, while you gulp down your fourth rum and coke in an hour. It's the most basic of drinks but right now you don't feel much like being complicated. Rum gets you drunk pretty fast since you don't drink it regularly. It conflicts with your other bad habits.

You can feel the warmth slowly infusing you cheeks. You move a little too quickly and your vision blurs for a moment. But the food tastes great and the band sounds amazing. It's some old guy with long hair but damn, is he rockin' out. They are midway through a set of cover songs. The greatest part is the alcohol is gradually helping you forget about what a shitty day it's been. In truth, it's been a succession of bad days, then bad weeks, and then bad months. You can't pretend they haven't happened but you can damnwell forget temporarily. Your friends are carrying on a conversation about sex with cousins. It's an odd but essentially amusing topic, mostly due to the dryly-humorous approach. You missed them when you were in Newport.

There was something about the people there that didn't allow this kind of humour. It's not that they were too polite or proper; they were (and you regretfully think this) just dull. They didn't share your interests, at least not as passionately as you. Marissa tried. But she's a very bad liar, most of the time. She can only lie when it really matters.

You know she hated surfing but she said she loved it. She hated chores but claimed it was no big deal. She loved Ryan but whispered those sentiments to you late at night. When you really think about it, most of what she said to you seems like a lie. The final realization of that strikes a nerve and you quickly knock back the rest of your drink.

Your friends look amused as you slam your empty glass down and glance around for the server. She knows you by name and you like the way she smiles and looks you over every so often. You wonder how easy she is. That could make for a fun night. You grin to yourself as she strides over and takes your order with that teasing smile. Your friend looks at you curiously as she walks away and he nudges you with his elbow. You attempt to slap his arm away but your co-ordination is slightly off.

You laugh with him at your ineptitude. It feels good. Things may be looking up today.

The band is nearing the end of their set and you've forgotten how long it's been since you lost count of the drinks you've had. It now seems as if the glasses are just appearing in your hands. You don't remembering even mentioning what you wanted. You're thumping your foot to the beat and singing along enthusiastically. You could swear the server is giving you doubles although it's hard to tell since you can't taste the alcohol anymore anyway.

There's a breeze as more people enter. You glance casually at the strangers and then back at the band. But something clicks in your brain and you look back at the couple. Your vision is slightly off but it's good enough. Your breath catches and a whole wave of conflicting emotions grabs hold of your lungs. You struggle to draw in the shakiest of breaths.

Your friends think you're just being stupid. They don't even bother to look where you're staring. They know it's just some girl.
She doesn't look comfortable here. And she hasn't even seen you yet. She looks out of place, confused why she's at this strange bar. For a brief moment you feel sorry for her.

You regain your breathing but can't tear your eyes away from the sight. You take another drink to calm yourself but it has no effect. Your mind swirls with visions of her. Your gaze rakes greedily up her bare legs, remembering the nights those thighs would wrap so tightly around you, smooth and warm. The thought does nothing but increase your breathing rate as your eyes skim over the flare of her hips in that tight dress to the dip of her waist and climb over the gentle curves of her breasts. You can't even get to her lips before being overwhelmed. You're no longer sure if you're imagining things since your memories and the present overlap quite convincingly as if time has split and now you're in both places at once. She's over at the bar, hunched uncomfortably as she waits for a drink. But she's also underneath you, writhing with pleasure, moaning as you nip at the sensitive skin under her jaw. You can feel her nails digging into your back as she comes around you, panting and clenching. Somehow both of these images tumble around at the same time, the present one sparking a different range of emotions than the memory. Suddenly your brain is dealing with love, hate, lust, regret, excitement and anger at once.

Somehow this mess of feelings makes your mind reel and you unexpectedly feel nauseated. It's frustrating since the worst part is that you have no idea how you're supposed to feel.

And she looks in your direction. Her eyes meet yours for a brief second. A flicker of panic passes over the blue gaze. It forces her eyes wider and she turns away quickly. You watch her whisper urgently to Ryan. He tries to stealthy glance in your direction but you catch him. You momentarily wonder what the proper etiquette is for this kind of situation. You'd guess it's a friendly smile but you can't muster that much pretence. Neither can he. Like Marissa, he quickly dodges his gaze away and looks at her. He nods. Tossing a ten on the bar, they move quickly through the crowd towards the exit.

This hurts deep inside. You gasp as if someone has stabbed you several times in the chest. Maybe it's just an over-reaction brought on by lowered inhibitions and encouraged by the substances flowing through your veins.

She is scared of you. She doesn't want to know you anymore. Salty tears sting the corners of your eyes but you don't allow them to escape. That would be too gratifying.

There was part of you that hated her and hated him. But there was a larger part of you that held onto hope that she would eventually come around. That exchange was all you needed to realize that will never happen. The knowledge tears you apart.

Pushing roughly away from the table, much to the surprise of your friends, you run to the washroom. Leaning over the toilet, sour bile rushes upwards and your chest heaves with the effort. You're not sure anymore what pain is caused by what. You spit a few times, feeling slightly better, and wash your face and mouth. Pulling a stick of gum out of your pocket, you quickly devour it. The minty taste relaxes you for a moment. Chewing furiously, you make your way back to the bar.

Maybe it's because you're drunk or maybe it's because you have nothing left to lose but you decide to seize the opportunity. Pushing through the crowd, you too head for the door, catching a glimpse of her just as she leaves.

The rain hits you the moment you step outside. Instantaneously it soaks your clothes, droplets racing down your blonde strands. It takes a lot of effort to squint through the pouring water. Your brain zooms back to the memory of her showing up at your door, soaking wet, and kissing you freely. There's a lump in your throat and you can't see her anymore.

"Marissa!" Even to your own ears your voice sounds foreign. It's strained and desperate. You're not sure if you've ever sounded like this before and you're sure you've never felt like this.

"Marissa!" This time you cry it out instead. No one responds. There is no one around to even look at you strangely.

The tears are camouflaged in the rain and you let them flow, finally realizing she's gone. Taking a glance behind you, you walk back into the warm bar, angrily wiping an already wet sleeve over your eyes. Looking around you see unfamiliar faces.
Suddenly you wonder if she was even there at all. The waitress glides her eyes over your body again but you don't enjoy the attention. You are still preoccupied with your vision.

Maybe it was just a hallucination. She was never there. Taking a seat back beside your friends, it finally sinks in: you are not meant to be happy. You are meant to remain alone, haunted and screaming her name into the broken sky.

You wonder if it's even worth it anymore and close your eyes.

End.