Title: No Such Thing (As Love)
| Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four |
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story. All characters belong to me.
Warnings: Revolves around a female/female couple. Some inappropriate language. There is some drinking and drug use in this fic (but mostly only at the beginning) so beware to all you sensitive readers.
Author's Note: This is an angsty story (or posed to be). It will have its fluffy parts, but that's later on. Anyways feedback is welcome and wanted. Reviews, comments, flames, criticism, anything. Drop me a line.
Another A/N: Insightful criticism is muchly appreciated. I am very critical of things I do. I'm never satisfied with anything I've done and I'm left feeling disgusted with myself. So if you have any tips or things that I can improve on, I'd be much obliged if you could point it out to me. Thankies and sorry for wasting you're time.
Oh and I would just like to dedicate this to Sam. You made writing this possible by giving my story back (long story...bloody ff.net). You also encouraged me with you're kind words (though I still disagree). If it weren't for you then I wouldn't have even started writing this again (which I'm glad I did cuz it's fun writing it). Thanks! You rule. (Hurrah, my first dedication ^_^)
' Insert text ' = Thoughts (unspoken musings)
Okay 'nuff babbling (I ramble constantly). On with the crap.
Prologue/Chapter 1 - Vodka
~April 02, 2002~
I take a drag of my cigarette and look up at the midnight sky. I've always loved nights like these. The kind of nights where everything is swallowed in darkness. Where it's pitch black and there's not a speck of cloud anywhere in sight. Where the stars are almost painfully bright, crying out to be noticed. It's so quiet. Well, as quiet as it can get in a city like this. I love the silence. It's comforting. It makes me feel like I'm alone. Complete solitude.
I shift in the chair I'm sitting in on my balcony to find a more comfortable position. In my right hand I hold my faithful cigarette. Du Maurier. My cancer stick. In my left hand I hold my trusty bottle of liquor. My saviour, my escape. Tonight's choice is Polar Ice. I take a long, hard chug of my vodka and relish in the warmth it spreads throughout me. Like a ritual I take another drag off my cigarette, just like I always do after I have a decent drink of hard liquor, before I put it out. The smoke, it's so calming. 'I hope it eats away my lungs. I hope it destroys my body.'
Before the haze of the alcohol sinks in, my thoughts start to wander.
'Why am I still alive? No, I'm not alive. I'm dead inside. Let me rephrase that thought. Why am I still on this Earth? Why do I live?'
I can feel myself going numb and my thoughts are starting to jumble. I can't think straight and that's what I want. No coherent thought. No more pain. My goal has been obtained. I finish my vodka and the bottle slips out of my hand and clatters to the floor. I don't know and I don't care if it shattered or not. One word escapes my lips before I black out, "Ashley..."
Chapter 2 - Another hangover
~December 11, 1998~
I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
'God. I fucking hate the bus. It's never on time'
I rub my hands together hoping to create a little warmth by friction and shift unconsciously on the bench I'm sitting on. I've always had a habit of fidgeting in my seat. My teeth are chattering together like crazy and my whole body is trembling. 'Don't you just love winter? I've always been a sucker for cold weather. I grew up in Cali, how can I not not be a sunshine baby?'
'Some people call me grumpy and pessimistic, but fuck, how can I not be in a world like this?'
As I'm moping and shaking from the cold a stranger takes a seat beside me.
"Hehe I see that someone's quite the Scrooge! Would you like to wear my scarf?" I hear a sweet and friendly voice ask me politely. I scowl and look to my right sharply, ready to bark at this annoyingly amicable person, and see the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen in my life. I lose my cynical retort immediately.
"Oh... uhm... nah I couldn't. But uhhh thanks for the offer though. Sorry if I'm buggin' ya." I manage to mumble shyly. 'Wussy. Should have told her off.'
She grins, "Brave. The only thing that bugs me is seeing others suffer needlessly. I'm Ashley by the way. Ashley Newton. And you are?"
~April 03, 2002~
I awake to find myself lying on my couch face down in my own drool. 'Yuck.'
I groan and sit up wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I quickly glance to my left to look at my clock. 2:48 pm. Soon the pounding in my head starts and begins to bash my skull over and over again in rhythmic beats. Then the nausea kicks in abruptly. 'Another day, another hangover.'
I make a b-line for the washroom. As soon as I get there I get down on my knees, hang my head over the toilet bowl, and vomit until my stomach is one hundred percent empty. After I finish I sit down exhaustedly. I lean against the bathtub to my right and reminisce on the dream I just had. 'No, not a dream. A memory. God, I'm so pathetic. Why can't I just get over it? Get over her? It's almost been a year!'
After a while I finally get up and rinse my mouth out and then trudge into my apartment kitchen. I grab a glass of water and take 5 Tylenol on the spot. For a few minutes I just stand there and try to collect my thoughts.
'How can I just forget? How can I just move on? I had no reason to live before I met her. I have even less reason to live now that she's gone. She showed me joy, happiness, love. She showed me life. But did it last? Of course not. I'm God's torture puppet. His punching bag. He can't just let me be happy. No, no then he'd have no entertainment. I hate this! I hate everything... It hurts so much to be given euphoria and then having it ripped away from you.'
A strangled sob escapes my lips. I stumble into my living room and collapse onto my couch.
Thinking of her always brings me down and I think about her every second of everyday so there basically is no up. I'm just stuck in a spiral of depression and despair. Falling endlessly with no one to catch me. Falling down, down, down. I've never had anything nor anyone. Only her and yet I've lost her too. In a way I think I deserve it. I was being utterly selfish. I was always unworthy of her love. 'But at least I was happy. At least she was happy.'
I can feel the familiar sensation of tears welling up in my eyes so I close them hoping to stop them from spilling over. It's unsuccessful. Just like always. Tears holding pain, longing, and suffering slowly make their way down my face in a trail of tragedy.
'Tragedy. I've seen a lot of that. Been through a lot of it. It's a frequent visitor in my life.' I bitter chuckle escapes my throat. My thoughts wander and I find myself thinking about her funeral. 'The funeral was just plain torture. So many people, so much grieving. So much sadness. She was definitely loved.'
More tears fall. All I want to do is grab a bottle of whiskey and get lost in it all but I'm sensible enough to know that I can't. I have to leave for work in a few short hours. I grab my black jean jacket and walk out onto my little balcony. I nudge a couple of liquor bottles over the edge to clear the deck and they explode with a crashing noise. Instead of alcohol, I settle for a cigarette. I lean against the railing and light a Du Maurier. Inhale, exhale. I probably look like shit right now but all I can think about and all I can ever think about is her. I close my eyes and picture her face. A bittersweet feeling pangs my heart. Inhale, exhale.
Chapter 3 - An awaited phone call
~December 11, 1998~
I return the grin, "I'm Cristina Davis. Pleased to meet you."
And suddenly waiting for the bus wasn't so bad. The weather seemed to become warmer just by her smile. I suddenly saw the world as half full instead of half empty. As corny as it sounds, she really made the sun shine, metaphorically speaking. We sat and talked idly on that bench for what seemed like hours but was actually only about 20 minutes in reality. After we boarded the bus, we mutually agreed to sit beside each other without saying so verbally.
"Well my older sister, Janine, just had a baby boy a few months ago. He's really cute. She named him Jeff after our great grandfather who died from alcohol poisoning. He was a wonderful man. I hope he's found peace in heaven. Anyway I'm visiting them for holidays. That's why I'm here. I can't wait to see little Jeffery again!" Ashley chatters on cheerfully. All I can do is nod and smile dumbly, too entranced by her beauty to do anything else.
'What's wrong with me? What is this affect she has on me? Am I jealous of her? She looks a little familiar. I bet that's it.'
"Oh, the next stop is where I get off. It was a pleasure talking to you Christina." She nods and holds out her hand. I shake her hand and then search my pockets quickly. I take out the pen and scrap piece of paper I was looking for and write down my number and hand it to her nervously.
"Yeah, it was nice to meeting you to. If you wanna keep in touch or need someone to show you 'round, here's my number. Maybe I'll see ya?" I mutter shyly and smile softly. A blush spreads across my face and I feel embarrassed all of a sudden without the slightest clue why. The bus pulls over at her stop and she nods and waves as she gets off.
'I can't believe I just did that. I gave my number to a total stranger. This is so not like me... But I guess she isn't a total stranger. Ashley Newton, who are to do this to me?'
~December 13, 1998~
I stare at the phone. 'Ring! Ring, damn it ring!'
I sigh while walking into my living room and plopping down into my lazy-boy recliner. It's only been 2 days since I met that girl at the bus stop. It's only been 2 days since I last talked to her and gave her my number. It's only been 2 days since I've seen her smile and it was driving me mad! 'I need to see her again. I don't know why, but I do.'
Almost as if someone had read my thoughts, the phone rings. I reach for the phone quickly but then I retract my hand after thinking about it. 'Don't want to seem too eager. That's pathetic. Let it ring twice.'
After the second ring I grab the phone off the table next to me and try to sound casual, "Hello?"
"Hi. Is there a Ms. Davis I can speak to?"
"This is she," I scowl inwardly. 'Fucker... Got my hopes up.'
"Yes, hello. I'm calling to inform you that your book has been rejected by Mr. Grant. You'll receive further details in the mail. I'm sorry."
My left eye twitches, "Alright... I understand. Thank you. Good-bye."
I hang up the phone and scream in frustration. This is the fourth rejection in the past 3 months!
'Perfect... Just the icing on the cake I needed!'
The phone rings again and shakes me from my current thoughts. I sigh.
"Hey, Cristina speaking."
"Hi. It's me, Ashley. I was wondering if you were busy?"
"Oh, nah. Not really. Why? What's up?" I swallow nervously.
"Nothing. I'm just really bored and I was wondering if you wanted to do something."
I grin triumphantly, "Sure. When, where, and what?"
I hear a giggle, "Uhm how about in half an hour? At the coffee shop on Potter Street? You know where that is? We could meet there and maybe do something else. You know, whatever."
"Yeah I do. Sounds great. I guess I'll see ya then?" I'm twisting the phone cord with my index finger like an anxious, love-sick teenager. I immediately stop my actions once I realize what I'm doing.
"Okay. Bye!" Click. My heart beat returns to normal and I start to ponder. 'What the hell I'm going to wear? And why do I care? No time to think. I've only got 15 minutes!'
~December 13, 1998, 13 minutes later.~
I look in the mirror for the umpteenth time and smooth out my white shirt. I look at myself in every possible angle with scrutiny. 'It'll have to do. Shit, I'm going to be late! Since when am I so fashion conscious?'
I grab my jacket, put it on, and grab my keys then I slip on my white runners as I exit my apartment. Potter Street is fairly close to where I live so I decide to walk instead of taking the bus. As I'm bustling down the street in haste, I accidentally bump into some old lady who almost falls down. Luckily I catch her though. I apologize profusely and pick up her cane for her.
"It's okay dear, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I'm not as old as I look!" the kind women shoos me off nicely and continues walking.
Once I'm sure she's alright I turn around and I spot Ashley. She's across the street sitting in the coffee shop we're supposed to meet at. She's smiling brightly and looking right at me. I wave and inwardly pray that she didn't witness the granny incident. She waves back at me cheerfully. I cross the road and enter the little cafe. As soon as I walk on this guy gives me a funny look. I groan. 'He must have seen me and probably thinks I'm some psycho who beats on the elderly!'
"Cristina! Over here," Ashley calls out to me and waves me over.
I slide into the seat next to her, "Hey. Sorry I'm a little late. I -"
She cuts me off, "Yeah, I saw you brutally attack that poor innocent lady. Shame on you!"
I can feel the blood rushing to my face. "I... I... but... i-it was an accident!" I stutter like a 10 yr old who's been caught doing something bad.
She laughs lightly, "Loosen up. I was just joking. I know it was. If I thought you did it on purpose I wouldn't be talking to you right now."
I smile relieved that she's not actually mad, "Phew, that's nice to know. And I do feel pretty bad for almost knockin' the poor grandma off her feet."
She nods, "Show me the sights of this city. I wanna see it all. Now." She grabs my hand and drags me out of the coffee shop.
"Hey, wait. Don't I even get coffee? Awww..." I whine as I'm being pulled off to the nearest bus stop.
Chapter 4 - No ordinary barfly
~April 03, 2002~
I find it hilarious that no one notices I drink while on duty. I find it hilarious in a sad way but it's still funny none the less. I'm practically always a little drunk or somewhere in between tipsy and buzzin'. Ever since her death I've basically become an alcoholic. 'I just can't deal with reality.'
"Bahrrrkeeep. Iwan... Iwannanotha shott pleash!" an annoying drunk shouts. I pour a shot of whiskey for him and another for me.
"Cheers my wasted friend," I take my shot like a pro and slam the glass down. He drinks his and then tries to wink at me akwardly but it looks more like he's having a facial spasm. He then proceeds to wander off somewhere in the bar. I'm assuming the washrooms.
I work at the Piznissed Bar five days a week. Tuesdays to Thursdays from 5 pm - 12 pm. Fridays and Saturdays from 6 pm - 4 am. It's a pretty good job I think. Free booze, the pay's actually decent, lots of breaks, it's fairly easy, and I get to bathe in the company of completely pathetic and dejected people. Misery loves company after all. It kind of lightens my mood sometimes listening to intoxicated morons babble about their problems. Sometimes they're in worse situations than mine. Sometimes they're just plain stupid and/or funny.
"Excuse me. Could I get 3 shots of tequila, oh, and one for yourself of course," a new customer requests as he enters. He's tall, dark, and handsome. He seems a little... off though.
I fake my best smile, "Comin' right up."
I serve 4 shorts of tequila Cyote Ugly style, complete with neat spinning bottles, and give him his 3. I take my down. He pays for his drinks and then takes all 3 down in a row without even so much as a wince. I stare at him disbelievingly. 'Something aint right here...'
"Whoa. That was pretty impressive. Where'd you learn to drink like that, eh?" I ask trying to sound nonchalant.
"I don't drink often. When I do, I can drink like a fish," he grins at me engimatically.
'This guy is giving me some weird vibes.' I look at him closely. After studying him crutially I realize what's off. His eyes. They're glazed over and glassy. It's not from the liquor, I know that. He motions for me to pour another 3 more shots. I slide him his shots and take mine on the spot. I'm becoming a little drunk now. I can tell because my vision is slightly blurred. 'This guy... I want to know more about him. There's something about him. It's staring me in the face but I just can't see it yet.'
"Yep. You definitely gots talent buddy. So what do you normally like to do then?" I question him subtlety.
He laughs hearitly and throws some more cash on the table then downs his drinks, "Tonight's a great night. A great night. Gimme a beer and get yourself a cooler sweetface."
The man chuckles, "And no miss, I do not have any talent for drinking. The only time I indulge in alcohol is when I'm kite, if ya know what I mean! My favourite hobby."
I open my mouth to ask what he meant when the answer comes crashing down on me. My mouth snaps shout and my eyes double in size. This guy's a druggy. A narcotics user. I calm down after accepting this realization. 'So that's it. Makes sense I guess.'
I fake smile again and get him his liquor, "Of course. Never been up in the air myself." I put the beer in front of him and open my Mike's.
'But this could be my chance...'
A/N: No feedback, no updates! Yes, that's a threat damnit! What? No one cares? *Sniff* aww... poor me ;_;