(no subject)
What am I doing? I should be updating my other unfinished fanfics, but noooo, I have to start a new one. Anyway, I have no idea where the hell this came from. Comments are always appreciated. Oh, and I didn't put this one through the spell checker, so I apologize for any errors.
Jay/Alex, set sometime after "Secrets"
R, mainly for cursing
"It's good to be bad if it's better than bored." - Eve6
Three weeks after she dumped him in a furious blaze of anger and tears, he showed up in her bedroom.
She was standing in front of her mirror, wearing her green cargo pants and her favorite black bra, and surveying the latest damage on her torso. She heard the door open, and he met her eyes in the reflection.
"Move back in with me."
"Go fuck yourself."
"Don't be a fucking idiot." Three weeks ago, two weeks ago, hell, even a week ago, the words would have been enough to make her spin around, armed and ready for battle. But it wasn't a week ago. It was here, it was now, and she was too damn tired. So she simply stood rooted to the spot, her fingertips lightly running over the multi-colored bruise near her abdomen. When she remained motionless for another minute, he took a step closer.
"You can't live here. You can't do this again. Stay at my place. You don't... you don't have to sleep with me or anything."
"How gracious of you."
"Shit, Alex. Don't do this."
She bit her lip, swallowing down several retorts about all the things she could do, or that he had done. Instead, she grabbed her tank top off of the dresser, and pulled it over her head, forcing herself to look away from the mirror.
They both knew she had conceded.
***************************************
She had insisted on sleeping on the couch, and he was smart enough to only protest once. They existed in some sort of unspoken truce; a bizzare limbo between partners and ex-lovers. Ellie did not approve.
"He's a jerk," she had said. Ellie and Alex had been sitting in what was technically still Sean's apartment; Alex slowly smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes, and Ellie playing with her ferret. The scratchy sounds of Nine Inch Nails reverberated from the tiny clock radio on the nightstand. Alex exhaled a puff of smoke and regarded Ellie with critical eyes.
"You're just a bit biased on the subject of men."
"That's because they're assholes." Ellie met Alex's eyes for a moment before returning her gaze to the small animal. "Don't let him do this, Alex. He's going to hurt you again."
"We're not back together. I'm just staying there. I'd think you'd fucking understand what it's like when home isn't the place you want to be."
Ellie sighed. "Yeah, I get it. Just don't..." She shrugged, and what Alex shoudln't do she never found out, as the conversation shifted to whether or not Bueller could develop a nicotine addiction.
****************************************
A month after she arrived at Jay's, he brought a keg into the living room. Alex was sprawled on the couch, watching reruns of Family Guy, and made no efforts to help him as he carried in several cases of beer.
"You mind that I'm having a party?"
"It's your place. Do whatever the hell you want."
Peter was a fat buffoon, Stewie was threatening to destroy the world, and she could feel his eyes on her, running along her body. She was very aware that the angle she was sitting at caused a few inches of her skin to escape, creating a bridge of flesh in between her black pants and white top. She knew that if he touched her, if he placed his hand on her hip and let his palm connect with her exposed skin, that his palm would be cool and her body would be hot.
The doorbell rang suddenly, three times in sucession, and it could only mean that Towerz had arrived. As Jay walked over to answer the door, Alex grabbed a beer from one of the twelve packs and gulped it down, almost choking as she drank half the can in one sip. She wanted to fall, and drift, and just let it all go -- and if beer was the only way to do that, so be it.
*****************************************
By three AM, she was back on the couch. The television was still on, but everything was too blurred for her to know what program was on. Actually -- that wasn't right. Alex knew, she knew, she knew the name, but the words -- was it words, because she was thinking it, and not saying it? -- the words, they eluded her.
Jay was drunk too. She could hear him yelling from across the room -- his voice always got louder as he got more intoxicated. She didn't know how many either of them had had, but several rounds of losing at Beer Pong hadn't helped. The music thudded, and the bass was vibrating through the floor, through the couch, and through her back as it rested on the cushions. It was rocking her, swaying her, and she wanted to feel surrounded. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, Jay was standing next to the couch.
*****************************************
The trip to the bedroom was a fuzzy memory. He had picked her up, she remembered that, and it had set off a feeling of deja-vu ("Mr. I can pick up a girl..."). He was stumbling as he carried her, and she had barely avoided smashing her head into a wall. As he dropped her onto the bed and collapsed on top of her, she thought she might vomit, and wouldn't that be a fucking marvelous metaphor for it all. But she hadn't. They had remained in almost perfect stillness for nearly a minute. Jay had leaned forward, brushing his thumb along her cheek.
"Lexy, I miss you."
She had kissed him, then, knowing somewhere in her drunken state that she was a fucking idiot. And right then, she didn't care.
The bed was softer than the couch, and it was bigger, too. Jay lay on top of her, and she kissed him, clutching onto his shoulders as tightly as she could. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her neck, and it was like he was igniting fires on her skin. This was how it had been, how it was, how it is, how it would be. It was Jay, and it was them, and it was the rush and the burn and Alex held onto him even tighter, terrified to let go.
His shirt was gone, and her bra was unhooked. It's going to happen, she thought. You will hate yourself, and it's going to happen. Jay trailed his fingers lightly along Alex's stomach, avoiding the scar near her ribs as only someone familiar with her body could do. His lips were crushing hers, and as she fumbled with the top of his jeans she remembered that there were good bruises and bad bruises, and tomorrow, she would have some of both. The past, the present, she was escaping one hell and possibly selling herself into another. But right now, all she wanted was him. She could taste the shot of rum he had done earlier; it seemed to buzz on her lips and tongue. Spice and warmth and oh god, Jay. It's happening, she thought, and she let him remove her pants.
********************************
She woke up with her cheek against his chest, a pounding pain in her head, and more regrets than she even knew how to contemplate. She sat up, slowly, clutching the bed sheet around her. Her movements awakened Jay.
"Hi," he said quietly. His fingers played with the edge of the sheet, occasionally brushing up against her skin. She shook her head.
"I am becoming my mother."
He sat up. "What?"
"I've been watching it for sixteen goddamn years. My dad, or Kyle, it's the same thing. They beat the shit out of her, and the next day, she's telling them she loves them. I kept telling myself that I wouldn't, that I would never --" She stopped and chewed her lip, staring at the ugly taupe colored walls of Jay's bedroom.
"I would never fucking lay a hand on you." His tone is indignant, apologetic, angry, and soothing, all at once. She tries to look at him, and gets as far as his legs, still covered by the sheet.
"I know you wouldn't, because I'd beat the shit out of you if you tried it. But you cheated on me, Jay. And when you do it again, I'll look like even more of a dumbass than I did the last time."
"I won't do it again. I'm sorry. About what happened. I mean it."
"I know you do." And she did know, too. For whatever the hell it was worth, he was genuinely sorry. She swung her legs out from under the covers and stood up, searching around for her underwear.
"Are you leaving?"
"I'm gonna go buy cigarettes. I'm out."
"I'm coming with you."
She shrugged, picked up her bra, and hated her self a little more for not telling him to leave her alone.
**************************************
The sun was a little too bright outside the confines of Jay's living room. She squinted a little, and wished she'd remembered her sunglasses. Jay tilted his head towards his car.
"We could drive."
She shook her head and started walking down the sidewalk, letting him fall into step next to her. Their shadows marched in neat formation, rolling over the cracks in the sidewalk in a calm and orderly manner.
Alex resolved to go back to sleep as soon as they returned to Jay's.
At the convinience store, she didn't even need her fake. The clerk handed over the cigarettes without question, barely taking his eyes off of the miniature television behind the counter. She was tempted to buy some food, but she figured Jay would have lifted something while she was buying the cigarettes.
Sure enough, as soon as the exited through the sliding glass doors, he pulled a Three Musketeers bar out of his pocket. She unwrapped it and ate it in three bites. Dropping the wrapper on the ground, she opened the fresh pack of Camels and lit herself one. She handed Jay the pack without being asked, and as he removed a cigarette they continued to walk home.
She couldn't count how many times she had wanted to run away. They would be driving back from somewhere, approaching the exit on the highway, and she always had the urge to tell him to fuck the exit, and just keep driving. He had told her once, with the authority of someone who saw a late night special on the Travel Channel, that Vancouver was a goddamn paradise. She believed it, she believed him, and she believed that if they could jut get the hell out of this place that somehow, it had to be fucking better. It had to get better, she thought, because it cannot get any worse. It has to get better, because with him there was something in all the crap, something that burned and sparked and made it all worthwhile. She might be condemning herself to a life of being treated like crap, but at least it wasn't a life she had to live here. With him, she had an out.
"You are my road," she muttered, and took another long drag on her cigarette.
He glanced at her like she was slightly crazy, but he smiled all the same. She grabbed his hand, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk.
"You are my goddamn path, ok?" She stared into his eyes. He nodded, and fuck, he might just be faking it, but she was almost positive she caught a glimmer of recoginition, a glimmer of understanding. It was enough. She kissed him, tasting the remnants of nicotine in his mouth as she was sure he was tasting those from hers. She didn't quite hate herself, and that was enough.
He slung his arm around her shoulders, and wrapped up in a cloud of smoke, they walked home.
***************************************
Jay/Alex, set sometime after "Secrets"
R, mainly for cursing
"It's good to be bad if it's better than bored." - Eve6
Three weeks after she dumped him in a furious blaze of anger and tears, he showed up in her bedroom.
She was standing in front of her mirror, wearing her green cargo pants and her favorite black bra, and surveying the latest damage on her torso. She heard the door open, and he met her eyes in the reflection.
"Move back in with me."
"Go fuck yourself."
"Don't be a fucking idiot." Three weeks ago, two weeks ago, hell, even a week ago, the words would have been enough to make her spin around, armed and ready for battle. But it wasn't a week ago. It was here, it was now, and she was too damn tired. So she simply stood rooted to the spot, her fingertips lightly running over the multi-colored bruise near her abdomen. When she remained motionless for another minute, he took a step closer.
"You can't live here. You can't do this again. Stay at my place. You don't... you don't have to sleep with me or anything."
"How gracious of you."
"Shit, Alex. Don't do this."
She bit her lip, swallowing down several retorts about all the things she could do, or that he had done. Instead, she grabbed her tank top off of the dresser, and pulled it over her head, forcing herself to look away from the mirror.
They both knew she had conceded.
***************************************
She had insisted on sleeping on the couch, and he was smart enough to only protest once. They existed in some sort of unspoken truce; a bizzare limbo between partners and ex-lovers. Ellie did not approve.
"He's a jerk," she had said. Ellie and Alex had been sitting in what was technically still Sean's apartment; Alex slowly smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes, and Ellie playing with her ferret. The scratchy sounds of Nine Inch Nails reverberated from the tiny clock radio on the nightstand. Alex exhaled a puff of smoke and regarded Ellie with critical eyes.
"You're just a bit biased on the subject of men."
"That's because they're assholes." Ellie met Alex's eyes for a moment before returning her gaze to the small animal. "Don't let him do this, Alex. He's going to hurt you again."
"We're not back together. I'm just staying there. I'd think you'd fucking understand what it's like when home isn't the place you want to be."
Ellie sighed. "Yeah, I get it. Just don't..." She shrugged, and what Alex shoudln't do she never found out, as the conversation shifted to whether or not Bueller could develop a nicotine addiction.
****************************************
A month after she arrived at Jay's, he brought a keg into the living room. Alex was sprawled on the couch, watching reruns of Family Guy, and made no efforts to help him as he carried in several cases of beer.
"You mind that I'm having a party?"
"It's your place. Do whatever the hell you want."
Peter was a fat buffoon, Stewie was threatening to destroy the world, and she could feel his eyes on her, running along her body. She was very aware that the angle she was sitting at caused a few inches of her skin to escape, creating a bridge of flesh in between her black pants and white top. She knew that if he touched her, if he placed his hand on her hip and let his palm connect with her exposed skin, that his palm would be cool and her body would be hot.
The doorbell rang suddenly, three times in sucession, and it could only mean that Towerz had arrived. As Jay walked over to answer the door, Alex grabbed a beer from one of the twelve packs and gulped it down, almost choking as she drank half the can in one sip. She wanted to fall, and drift, and just let it all go -- and if beer was the only way to do that, so be it.
*****************************************
By three AM, she was back on the couch. The television was still on, but everything was too blurred for her to know what program was on. Actually -- that wasn't right. Alex knew, she knew, she knew the name, but the words -- was it words, because she was thinking it, and not saying it? -- the words, they eluded her.
Jay was drunk too. She could hear him yelling from across the room -- his voice always got louder as he got more intoxicated. She didn't know how many either of them had had, but several rounds of losing at Beer Pong hadn't helped. The music thudded, and the bass was vibrating through the floor, through the couch, and through her back as it rested on the cushions. It was rocking her, swaying her, and she wanted to feel surrounded. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, Jay was standing next to the couch.
*****************************************
The trip to the bedroom was a fuzzy memory. He had picked her up, she remembered that, and it had set off a feeling of deja-vu ("Mr. I can pick up a girl..."). He was stumbling as he carried her, and she had barely avoided smashing her head into a wall. As he dropped her onto the bed and collapsed on top of her, she thought she might vomit, and wouldn't that be a fucking marvelous metaphor for it all. But she hadn't. They had remained in almost perfect stillness for nearly a minute. Jay had leaned forward, brushing his thumb along her cheek.
"Lexy, I miss you."
She had kissed him, then, knowing somewhere in her drunken state that she was a fucking idiot. And right then, she didn't care.
The bed was softer than the couch, and it was bigger, too. Jay lay on top of her, and she kissed him, clutching onto his shoulders as tightly as she could. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her neck, and it was like he was igniting fires on her skin. This was how it had been, how it was, how it is, how it would be. It was Jay, and it was them, and it was the rush and the burn and Alex held onto him even tighter, terrified to let go.
His shirt was gone, and her bra was unhooked. It's going to happen, she thought. You will hate yourself, and it's going to happen. Jay trailed his fingers lightly along Alex's stomach, avoiding the scar near her ribs as only someone familiar with her body could do. His lips were crushing hers, and as she fumbled with the top of his jeans she remembered that there were good bruises and bad bruises, and tomorrow, she would have some of both. The past, the present, she was escaping one hell and possibly selling herself into another. But right now, all she wanted was him. She could taste the shot of rum he had done earlier; it seemed to buzz on her lips and tongue. Spice and warmth and oh god, Jay. It's happening, she thought, and she let him remove her pants.
********************************
She woke up with her cheek against his chest, a pounding pain in her head, and more regrets than she even knew how to contemplate. She sat up, slowly, clutching the bed sheet around her. Her movements awakened Jay.
"Hi," he said quietly. His fingers played with the edge of the sheet, occasionally brushing up against her skin. She shook her head.
"I am becoming my mother."
He sat up. "What?"
"I've been watching it for sixteen goddamn years. My dad, or Kyle, it's the same thing. They beat the shit out of her, and the next day, she's telling them she loves them. I kept telling myself that I wouldn't, that I would never --" She stopped and chewed her lip, staring at the ugly taupe colored walls of Jay's bedroom.
"I would never fucking lay a hand on you." His tone is indignant, apologetic, angry, and soothing, all at once. She tries to look at him, and gets as far as his legs, still covered by the sheet.
"I know you wouldn't, because I'd beat the shit out of you if you tried it. But you cheated on me, Jay. And when you do it again, I'll look like even more of a dumbass than I did the last time."
"I won't do it again. I'm sorry. About what happened. I mean it."
"I know you do." And she did know, too. For whatever the hell it was worth, he was genuinely sorry. She swung her legs out from under the covers and stood up, searching around for her underwear.
"Are you leaving?"
"I'm gonna go buy cigarettes. I'm out."
"I'm coming with you."
She shrugged, picked up her bra, and hated her self a little more for not telling him to leave her alone.
**************************************
The sun was a little too bright outside the confines of Jay's living room. She squinted a little, and wished she'd remembered her sunglasses. Jay tilted his head towards his car.
"We could drive."
She shook her head and started walking down the sidewalk, letting him fall into step next to her. Their shadows marched in neat formation, rolling over the cracks in the sidewalk in a calm and orderly manner.
Alex resolved to go back to sleep as soon as they returned to Jay's.
At the convinience store, she didn't even need her fake. The clerk handed over the cigarettes without question, barely taking his eyes off of the miniature television behind the counter. She was tempted to buy some food, but she figured Jay would have lifted something while she was buying the cigarettes.
Sure enough, as soon as the exited through the sliding glass doors, he pulled a Three Musketeers bar out of his pocket. She unwrapped it and ate it in three bites. Dropping the wrapper on the ground, she opened the fresh pack of Camels and lit herself one. She handed Jay the pack without being asked, and as he removed a cigarette they continued to walk home.
She couldn't count how many times she had wanted to run away. They would be driving back from somewhere, approaching the exit on the highway, and she always had the urge to tell him to fuck the exit, and just keep driving. He had told her once, with the authority of someone who saw a late night special on the Travel Channel, that Vancouver was a goddamn paradise. She believed it, she believed him, and she believed that if they could jut get the hell out of this place that somehow, it had to be fucking better. It had to get better, she thought, because it cannot get any worse. It has to get better, because with him there was something in all the crap, something that burned and sparked and made it all worthwhile. She might be condemning herself to a life of being treated like crap, but at least it wasn't a life she had to live here. With him, she had an out.
"You are my road," she muttered, and took another long drag on her cigarette.
He glanced at her like she was slightly crazy, but he smiled all the same. She grabbed his hand, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk.
"You are my goddamn path, ok?" She stared into his eyes. He nodded, and fuck, he might just be faking it, but she was almost positive she caught a glimmer of recoginition, a glimmer of understanding. It was enough. She kissed him, tasting the remnants of nicotine in his mouth as she was sure he was tasting those from hers. She didn't quite hate herself, and that was enough.
He slung his arm around her shoulders, and wrapped up in a cloud of smoke, they walked home.
***************************************