[&&PastFlames] -Alex

[ALEX KING.]

You left something undone
It's now your rerun
It's the one you can't erase
You should have made it right
So you wouldn't have to fight
To put a smile back on your face
You fall away from your past
But it's following you

[/right]

They were getting somewhere now. Towards the spectrum of more comfortable, less confrontational. Blue eyes finally drifted to him, watching him as he stared at his feet. And watching him, she thought something completely foreign, of someone she'd never bothered with before.

Who had her father been? The very thought of him agitated her, made her shift her weight in her feet, made her furrow her brow. He'd abandoned her, so she had thought. But she could never get a straight answer out of Grace when she asked, merely a mumble of some sort, then a change-of-subject. Had he been awful? Ideas of her mother being raped trickled in, but she had no idea if that was what had really happened. For all she knew, it could have been Grace who had told him to leave, but she didn't dare believe that. Her mother would never tell him to get lost, not without letting her meet him.

He was obviously a bum. Obviously some jerk. Someone who had fucked her mother up, then left without a word. She grit her teeth, continuing to contemplate him. It wasn't as if she couldn't talk to him, wasn't as if he was dead. Thinking that, her face burned, and she pushed him away. She didn't want to, didn't care to. He didn't deserve it. But, was she really any better than him?

As Sasha spoke, she was able to be brought out of it, and she was honestly quite relieved. Thinking of her father was like a nightmare, but she couldn't get herself to wake up out of it. She looked up, blinking, as if being jerked back into reality. She listened, her mind figuring it all out. It made sense, really, that it was a pet name in another language. At least more sense than if he had picked something like Bone Crusher or anything absurd like that. The name was similar, and yet different, if that made any sense. At least it did in her mind.

She nodded, but her eyes were distracted, brought to his feet. He was coordinated, honestly, more so than she to say the least. She looked up after a moment, an expression similar to a smile on her face, but not quite. It was a bit less enthusiastic, smaller, weaker. But it expressed some sort of positive emotion, whatever it may be. She couldn't really describe it. It just sort of sat there for a minute, waiting for her to get used to it. It was an unusual thing, this sort-of-smile. Alex didn't smile much anymore, at least not without forcing it.

And he began to talk of his father, and all of her feelings from before began to line up, as if getting ready for action. His wry expression, his smirk, it all told her he wasn't fond of his name, of his father for that matter. She considered stating that she didn't know her father, didn't know his name, didn't know where he lived, but she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that much, things she wasn't even sure about. It was just Alex being so.. there wasn't really a word to describe it. She was just, well, afraid.

But what if she had known her father? What if he had been present in her life? Where would she be now? Any different, any better off? But she stopped herself. There was no use in questions that began with "what if," because you would never really know the answer. It wasn't going to happen. And so she was jolted back once more.

And it made sense to her, really. All of his words. He was keeping a part of himself in his name, but not staying the same. Changing, but not completely. She took a few steps forward, keeping distance, but not as much as before. The talking awakened a part of her that had lain dormant for a while, the part that almost enjoyed human company. A change, she attempted, but not to the point of forgetting who you are. She frowned, trying to make sense of it again. She gave him an unsure look, trying her best.

She let herself continue, feeling rather carried away. Because, we can change whatever we want-- our names, our clothes, our hair, her ability to talk so much surprised her, but she continued, but we're still who we were before. She was getting off subject, but she still had more to say. She almost forgot he was there, almost speaking to herself. As if she was trying to prove to herself that she could pretend as much as she wanted, try as hard as she wanted to forget, but she wasn't changing anything. The past was still the past; it had all still happened.

Her words, and even her thoughts, shocked her. She looked down, flexed her hands carefully. She hadn't spoken nearly as much as he, but it was leaps and bounds, really. She wasn't used to it. Most people didn't get it, didn't get her. They were intimidated by her brusque attitude, by her cold stares. By how quiet she could be. And so she didn't talk, didn't share what she was thinking. That was the point of her notebook. It sounded so silly, really, to share one's thoughts with a notebook. It almost sounded, well, nerdy. Geeky. Dorky. Like she didn't have any friends. But the truth was, she really didn't.

No, that wasn't the truth. She had friends. Drinking pals, more like it. But they didn't get her, didn't understand what she was feeling. She felt sometimes she couldn't open up to them, because they had their own problems, but handled them differently. They were less cowardly. They didn't understand the fact that she was scared. Scared of facing the truth. Scared of losing herself. Alex defined herself by her fears, by her problems. And if she were to actually do something about them, she felt like she might lose herself.

How pathetic was she? Shaping herself by what she was used to, by the metal frame she lived by. Not by who she was, but what she had gone through. She looked up, finally, gritting her teeth. She couldn't be scared anymore. She couldn't let herself be scared. Because being scared wasn't-- She sighed softly, trying to calm herself down. All of these decisions she was just making wildly, just off of a whim. She pushed them aside, let her eyes focus on his. Tried to hide the turmoil, tried to let it not show on her face. She had to let herself come back, come back to reality.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Sasha Cole]

He waited for a response, and this time it didn’t seem to take nearly as long as it had before. That question was nothing but now rare nowadays and answering it couldn’t be smooth anymore. He had tried his best to give her something, but he didn’t know what could really be said. Most would just ask why he had changed it in the first place, for a lot didn’t seem to realize that being called by the same name as his father wasn’t something he wanted to be known for, at least not anymore.

For a moment he just let the words beat around the inside of his head, taking his own turn to not quite understand what she meant. Well, that was a complete lie, he knew exactly what she had meant, just didn’t want to admit that it could have been true. Maybe at the time he didn’t want to completely change who he was, but now part of him wished he did use a completely random name, something that when asked about it he didn’t think of his father. Or better yet, something that didn’t get questions. He couldn’t deny that Sasha wasn’t a common name for guys in the United States and weird looks were quite common when he spoke his name.

His thoughts were interrupted as she spoke again and he looked to her again, forcing the thoughts to the back of her head. At the words he, only scoffed and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to answer to something like that and for a moment just stood there and stared, though not intentionally. He watched as she seemed to be thinking about something, letting the awkward silence fall over them both, not really caring. Silences were fine with him, he didn’t care much anymore. He found most people had this weird inability to complete sentences around him so silences were only common.

Finally she looked up at him, for a moment her eyes catching his, but this only lasted for a couple of precious seconds. He quickly looked away. Eye contact was something he didn’t make, at least not as much as he could help it. It was a sign of respect, which of course he didn’t do, not easily at least. People just didn’t deserve his trust, no matter how he looked at it, or at least not most people. Being stabbed in the back hurt too much to try anymore, he had just stopped trying completely now. Maybe that’s what made him see so pulled off from the world now, always trying to be alone and keep to himself, just his simple lack of trust and willingness to try.

He glanced back over his shoulder towards the sea lazily before just sighing and giving his head a shake. “Yes, you can’t change who you were born as,” he agreed lazily, looking back at her with the deep slate hued eyes before just letting them roll to the top of his head in something that could have been taken for annoyance. “And believe me, I would know. If there was anyway at all I would have changed who I was long ago,” he sighed before tilting his head downwards and closing his eyes to let himself live in a world of darkness for only a few moments. Thinking, all he was doing was thinking. Wondering how much information should be given and how much he should really talk. Finally he looked back up, eyes opening and head tilting to look at her again.

“I’ve used Sasha for years now, and I’m never going back,” he said, pushing hair from his face once again. “But it’s true; at the time I didn’t want the change to be dramatic. I the time I still respected the man, even though I was angry and seemed to want nothing to do with him,” he sighed and shook his head once again before finding himself unable to stand still any longer. It made him uncomfortable in some weird way. He started off walking with his left foot, call it habit, and once again jerked his head to have her follow once again. He started along the shoreline once again, still walking further from the point in which the two had met.

“Now though, now it’s just nothing like that. No matter how you look at it,” he rolled his eyes before just slowly his pace to wait for her to come up beside him. The wind seemed to get stronger with every passing second, but it was ignored as best as it could. His arms held over his chest as they were kept the jacket well about his torso, keeping him quite warm. The chilly air almost felt nice, bringing back times when he would stay outside in weather so much worse than this for nothing more than to prove to himself that he was strong enough to do it. Well, he never said he had been start in the past, nor that he was now. But he had also never said he was sorry, and he never planned to. Sasha had no problem with any of his past deeds, or at least none of the ones he could think of off hand.

“So, anything else you wanted to know?” he said calmly, looking to her before just shrugging his shoulders. “This may be a good time to ask, I’m in the mood to talk,” he said, once again letting his cold eyes give her a bit of a glare. Now, that didn’t mean he would give her all the answers to all the questions that raged through her mind, but it did mean that he was willing to talk. He’d give answers to questions like the one she just asked, which at most times he didn’t. For some reason, being around her had lightened him up, and he couldn’t say why but he hated the fact. Made him feel like he was going soft, which everyone knew he hated more than almost anything. It was probably just because with how she acted now she was reminding him of his friends back home, the ones so much like him who seemed to hate everything so much and just want to stay away from life and everything to do with it. It was hard not to think of her as such when she was acting like this.

[ALEX KING.]

And when the broken hearted
People living in the world agree,
There will be an answer: let it be.
For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see,
There will be an answer: let it be.

[/right]

When she had been younger, her friend had given her a Rubik's Cube for Christmas. The cubes weren't considered very old at the time, and she adored it. However, she hadn't grasped the point of it, to swivel it around until the colors were aligned, no matter how many times people would explain. She found that aspect pointless. Why would anyone want to categorize the bright colors? She loved tossing it around, watching them all come together to create a spectrum that excited her. But it wasn't as if she hadn't tried the stupid cube again. She still had it, but now it lay in a drawer, abandoned but not forgotten.

Alex just didn't quite enjoy challenges anymore. She used to, really. Liked the chance to prove herself. Be praised. Tell people that she was someone. But now-- now it all seemed so pointless. She didn't like the thought of people doubting her, didn't like the idea of being challenged. Because there was no guarantee that she would succeed. And she didn't need someone else to tell her she wasn't up to par. She already had enough of those feelings. Surplus, even. And so she didn't attempt, didn't face the reality that maybe it just wasn't something she was good at. That was part, she assumed sadly, of why she was so arrogant.

Quietly, she followed him, taking her place at his side. And she took note of how unhappy he sounded. Well, sheesh, that was an understatement. Anyone could notice that. But, the fact that he didn't like who he was. And the fact that, honestly, she didn't like who she was either. But not because of her crackpot father, dead mother. Because she didn't like who she was, didn't like her cowardice, didn't like how much she worried. But he-- she stopped herself. Here she was, making assumptions again. When she had no right to. She did that. She assumed, thought she knew things that she really had no idea about. So she bit the inside of her cheek, listening again.

She couldn't say what made her decide to share this next piece of information. What sort of strange out-of-body experience caused it. But, her lips parted nonetheless. I didn't know my d-- father. She frowned. She could never call him dad. Anyone could be a father, but you had to actually care to be a dad. She felt wrong saying either name, really; as if she were spinning a web of lies. There was no self pity in her voice, no regret. I never needed him.

But she glanced at him briefly. True, she knew he and his father never got along. But why? She looked down at the sand in front of her, watched the bottoms of her shoe make small zig-zag imprints. He had invited her, almost, to ask more questions. Now was the time, he told her. She blinked a few times, registering it all in her mind. Why do you hate your father so much? Perhaps hate wasn't the word. Maybe it was too strong. But maybe it wasn't strong enough.

She braced herself slowly, not sure she should have gone that far. She never liked when people asked about either of her parents. It made her have to think back, think back before it all. Dig into memories that haunted her, mess with things she'd rather leave untouched. But she thougth about them anyway, really. Well, her mother at least. She thought about her constantly. Her father came into her mind only once beforehand, the week after her mother's death. Should she go live with him, see him, talk to him. And she'd told the social workers no. That she didn't care to see him, talk to him, anything. Didn't want anything to do with him, just as he had wanted nothing to do with her.

A crab scuttled across her path, and she paused before stepping over it. Some aspects of the creature's life looked almost inviting. You were protected, with a nice sturdy shell on your back, and pinchers that looked like they could hurt a great deal. You hid under a rock until it was time to eat, sleeping and whatnot. But, then again, there was the whole "opposable thumb" aspect of being human that basically counteracted all of it. That and being on top of the food chain, and having free will.

So this was what she was resorting to? Wishing she could be a crab? She could honestly say it was probably one of the weirdest analogies she'd ever made, coming from someone who was practically queen of weird analogies. She pushed herself away from these "crabby" thoughts-- she almost snorted when she thought of a time when she would have laughed at a joke like that-- and listened, awaiting his response apprehensively.

It didn't really shock her how much she worried about what she would say, what he would say. She was a worry-wart, a wet blanket. She wasn't ever unpredictable, wasn't the type who lived a carefree lifestyle. She lived in her own little bubble, as sad as it was. Didn't want to step outside of the shelter she'd built for herself, didn't want to expose herself to anything new. The world was dark, and she had her own refuge. The world was dark, and the world was cruel. If you could try your best not to have to face it, why bother?

Being a journalist made her think about all sides, she guessed. She wondered, as she wrote, what the person she was writing about would say about her. What their first impression would be. And, while in high school, she'd grin as she thought, thinking of the words "cocky" and "brilliant." Now, she could only think of "depressing" and "arrogant." Silly Alex, how hypocritical she sounded, psychoanalyzing everyone and everything, trying to solve their problems so she wouldn't have to deal with her own. Living vicariously through the adventures of everyone else to hide how scared she was to live.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Sasha Cole]

Rubik’s Cube huh? Sasha had memories of one of those. His father had given one to him when he was very young, probably only about five or six years old. Alexander had placed a bet with his young son that he couldn’t figure it out by the time he got off duty and moved back to the states. It he could his father would give him some money to go buy whatever he wanted. At first the child couldn’t figure it out, but in only a few days he knew what he had to do and worked on it with every spare second he had. Simply being male meant he thought very spatially, he could look at something and figure it out in very little time, it’s just how he was. Much to Alexander’s surprise he brought it back to him in two months time with all the colors perfectly aligned and held out his little hand for the money he had been promised, and at that time it was handed over with nothing but a surprised look.

Now Sasha wasn’t sure if he would still be so good at it, he hadn’t tried something like that in years and who knows what his drug use did to that part of his brain. He wasn’t even sure if he had seen a Rubik’s Cube in years, much less tried to figure one out. Now he wasn’t sure if he would have the drive to do something like that, something his father would be proud of. Making the man happy was hardly on his list of wants after all these years. Suddenly it made him think of what Alexander would think of his horse training. It hardly mattered, for it was something that Sasha did indeed love to do, which was rare now. There wasn’t much in life that he appreciated anymore, much less enjoyed so he wasn’t going to let go of the reason he pulled himself out of bed in the morning.

She spoke and he glanced over. Never knew her father, why did he get that all the time when he ranted about his own? Usually though it was “at least you have a father” and all he could do is scoff. Making sure she was finished he just shook his head. “Consider yourself lucky. If he had no want to find you then you wouldn’t want to know him,” he shook his head slowly, wondering what he was saying. Since when did he give advice to random people on the streets? Maybe he was going soft, something he was going to have to work on a bit.

Her voice filled his auds once again and he quickly looked over, slate hued orbs narrowing slightly at the question. He couldn’t deny that wasn’t what he had been expecting, and that it was tougher to answer successfully without going about and giving a life story. Making sure not to stop his slow pacing down the seashore he glanced towards the sea once again, mind racing for a moment to think of a way to answer something that was a pretty invasive question. Normally he would have just rolled his eyes and thought of a way to change the conversation, but he did nearly invite her to ask more questions and he wasn’t one to go back on his words.

“My father didn’t want me to match just his name,” he finally forced his vocal chords to form to his will and words to escape from between his lips. “Over the years he slowly tried to change me into the exact copy of him, and it’s bad enough I have to look like him, much less adding anything else to the equation,” now that was no lie. Anyone looking at the two could tell they were related, and closely. In fact, seeing a picture of Sasha and one may think it was just a younger picture of Alexander himself. That was one thing that was very difficult to escape from.

“You would hate anyone who tried to form you into a clone of themselves,” and that was as much as she was going to get. The complete truth, though it wasn’t. Alexander had tried it, sure, but that wasn’t the full reason. But then, Alex had no need to know that. She had no right to know about the hours of lectures and torturing his own body to bide to his father’s will. Then collapsing on the couch unable to stand on his own two feet before being rudely awoken the next morning at six am, at the latest. He had no want for her to know any of that, no want to admit that weakness to her.

As he was talking and thinking he noticed the crab as well. In the inner anger towards his blood his first thought was to see how far he could kick the small animal, but he resisted such a mean doing. He wasn’t going to prove to her he still had his old anger problems, not just yet at least. It would only be a matter of time before he would lose it and just want to put his fist in her face, he knew that and he had a feeling he did too, just a feeling, nothing more or less.

A hand reached up and pushed through his hair again, maybe part of a habit or maybe just a reaction when his hair fell across his eyes. He wished there was something he could do about it, but that had proved a futile attempt more than a few times and he wasn’t going to fight with it right now. “An answer you were expecting?” he questioned, giving her a small glance before letting his eyes focus on the ground in front of him. “Or were you expecting an answer at all?” he asked again before just shaking his head and looking back towards the nearly completely set sun. Only a sliver of its light was showing above the horizon now, and Sasha couldn’t say he was complaining. He loved the dark.

[ALEX KING.]

Let him know that you know best
'Cause after all, you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you...

As they walked, she absentmindedly let her right hand wander to her left arm, fingering the half-moon indentations, spaced evenly, four on the top, and one on the bottom. Scars from fingernails. Scars from the man who'd killed her mother. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her skin grew cold-- well, colder than before. Quickly, she dropped it, letting her arms swing back at her sides.

His words almost startled her. They were unexpected, but not all that unappreciated. But, somehow, she didn't believe him. Maybe their life in Denver wasn't enough for him. Perhaps she wasn't good enough for him. Had he really not wanted a child that much, to the point of abandoning them? But she pushed it all out of her head. Her dad was an ass, no matter if she was better off without him or not.

She understood, really. At least, in a detached sort of way. She hadn't experienced the same sort of emotions, same feelings. She could never understand completely. But she understood as best she could. And it all seemed to make sense, all seemed to click in her mind. It was true. You couldn't force someone to live a life, couldn't force them to be someone else. Because, what fun was it to be someone's doll? Their puppet?

But no, it wasn't about fun. It was about being who you wanted to be. And she suddenly felt so sheltered. Her mother had been a parent, yes, but she hadn't forced her to do anything-- save consuming a few too many spinach shakes. Sure, she'd pushed her. But, if she did something wrong, it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't-- She chewed on her lip. Had she been the one who pressured? Made her mother conform to her silly childish needs? Go on midnight trips for soup when she was sick? Lose any chance at another man because she was so selfish?

She'd complained about not wanting to drive, complained about being hungry. So her mother took the wheel, her mother stopped at the Wendy's. She'd forced her. It was her fault. It had all been her fault. Her eyes closed for a second, briefly, but long enough for the images to flash before her. Long enough for it to replay. She opened her eyes quickly, but not quickly enough to hear the gunshot in her ears. She tried to slow her heart beat, and looked over at him. Tried to drown the thougths, drown the fear. Drown the memories.

It wasn't her fault, was it?

Not quite what I expected, she said slowly, her eyes focusing on her footprints again. She'd expected something more along the lines of, well-- some sort of display of anger. She wasn't sure why, but the thoughts had rung in her head even after the words left her mouth. She'd expected some sort of glare, some harsh words. Some sort of fight, even, a shove or something. There was supposedly some sort of law that stated that men couldn't hit women, whether it was because they were weaker or inferior, or whatever it was those pompous idiots told everyone. She wasn't much of a feminist-- she was fine with women not having to be drafted, believe me-- but at the same time, she was infuriated by being treated as something less than an equal.

But regardless of this "man law," she didn't even know what he'd do. She doubted he'd try and kill her-- that seemed much too extreme-- but she didn't doubt at all that he wouldn't hesitate in a shove, or some sort of hitting. Maybe even a punch or two.

She'd talked to her friend earlier that day. Her name was Karen. She'd called her up, asking to talk. Alex had been reserved on the phone, not sure what to say anymore. And her friend had not been so happy about it. "Why don't you talk anymore?" she'd asked angrily. Alex had replied, saying, "I don't have anything to say." Karen had yelled some more, saying that it had been two years since her mother had died, that it was ridiculous for her to still be brooding. That she could sulk all she wanted, but it wouldn't help.

And Alex had asked her what the hell she knew about any of it. Silence on the other end. And so Alex had continued, asking why she'd called, why she'd bothered, if all she was going to do was tell her she was wrong. Make accusations. No answer. "Go to hell," Alex had said to her, hanging up. It had all left her angry, angry through community service, angry about everything. Angry at the man who shot her mother, angry at Karen, and angry at herself. Angry that she didn't have anything to say anymore. Didn't have anyone to say anything to.

She wasn't really angry anymore. At least, not as much as she had been when she'd arrived at the beach. Being angry was exhausting, really. It made you brood, made you think harder than you wanted to. It was too much work, too much turmoil to keep up for that long. And so she digressed, moving back to her fear, her blame, her anxieties. Her cowardice.

Everyone solved their problems differently. Her mother, for instance, always dealt with them fairly, justly, and promptly. She'd seek the source and stop it. Karen, well, she yelled. She accused. Because she had wanted something that Alex wasn't even sure was there anymore. And then there was she, the one who hid, the one who pretended. The one who didn't like anyone to see what was going on, didn't want them to think they knew.

And it made her feel so hypocritical. Because she did that-- thought she knew, when she didn't. So, in theory, wasn't she really trying to hide from herself?

[/blockquote]

[Sasha Cole]

“Not quite what I expected,” Sasha’s head turned at the words before he sighed and gave a small shake of his head. He was temped to answer right away, but quickly halted himself. The question may have rubbed him wrong, but it wasn’t in anyway taken as anything more than a person’s curiosity. It was only natural, human nature if you will, to wonder why. Why was the one thing every human had in common, they all wanted to know why. Why this or that happened, but more commonly, just the simple thought of why me.

Everyone always just thought why me, and it got tiring very quickly. Why me only proved you were self-centered and needed to see how bad it could really be. Everyone was always complaining and it made Sasha’s head throb. It wasn’t as though the guy didn’t have a few hard knocks himself and he didn’t spend his time complaining about it. From seeing his best friend’s death to being arrested for a crime he technically didn’t commit and having two years of his life stolen to having no family who would ever admit they knew him, his life wasn’t wonderful. Yet, Sasha didn’t spend his time complaining about it, contrary to popular belief, but many still did. It could be worse, if you could still complain about it, you could have it worse.

Now, had Sasha been able to read minds and Alex’s thoughts could possibly have been known it would have infuriated him. Call her lucky that it wasn’t so. Her words hadn’t really bothered him, no, but that was only because, as said before, it was nothing more than a question. The whole thing about her thoughts was that she was judging him, as most people did. Did she really think of him as some hostile, hating guy? He didn’t appreciate being judged like that, even by someone who did in fact know him. He wasn’t that bad, was he?

Why was in that people heard gang and immediately thought him someone who would as soon kill him as look at him. Sure, he used to be pretty bad about the whole thing, but he didn’t think he had ever purposefully kill anybody, and maybe accidentally as well. Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure anymore. He knew he had done some pretty bad things in the past, including torture, but he wasn’t really as bad as most people saw it, not now at least. He could remember the last time he hit someone hard enough to have them end up on the ground or with a black eye. People would never be able to figure out that his time in jail had done him some good with his anger problems, even if he disliked admitting it.

Then, what was this about not hitting woman? Who said that except crazy, sexist males? Sasha had no problem with hitting a girl who deserved it. Guys and girls had it completely equal in his mind, had the same chance to do everything, including win a fist fight. Your fighting skills were based on two things: your weight and agility. Guys obviously had more weight, but normally a girl was more agile. Now, why did he treat guys different from girls, when they angered him at least? Well, even he couldn’t answer that one. When he was mad he didn’t know what he was doing, but it was probably just something in the back of his mind knew he would get in more trouble if he hit a girl instead of a guy and he had to listen to something at all times, right?

Finally he let himself stay calm, forcing himself to keep his voice level. “And what were you expecting?” he asked, once again keeping his eyes away from her. “If you didn’t think you were going to get an answer, than you shouldn’t have asked,” now he looked to her, slate orbs in narrow slits as he glared in her direction. He smirked before shaking his head and looking towards the half moon about both of their heads, “Or were you scared. Don’t trust me to hold my temper?” he questioned, not sure how much he really wanted an answer to all of the questions. His eyes found the ground as his head tilted forward before moving back to the top of his head as the sandy hair fell across his forehead again. He sighed before moving his head back up at the same time he pushed it back, rolling his eyes at the annoyance on his own locks.

He looked to her, with something like a questioning look before just shaking his head. Though the question may have seemed rhetorical, he did in fact want to know. He was interested in what she was thinking, why she had said such. It wasn’t really that fair to him to take comments like that and not be able to understand what was meant behind it, so he was in fact going to see what he could get as a response. He sighed deeply, his shoulders almost shrugging in the movement of his lungs as he wasn’t thinking about actually making the most of every breath he took at the moment.

Just the thought of something like this made him want to laugh. Who thought about getting the most out of your breathing? That just proved he was raised differently than most people, taught to always think about everything he was doing, and surprisingly that wasn’t only his father’s doing. A lot of the stuff he did had been taught to himself just by different trials and figuring out what worked and what didn’t. The thought was pushed away, once again. He thought too much, he would always say it and repeat himself. For just once he had to stop his mind’s constant moving and let himself calm down.

Maybe she had a point in her thinking, about anger. It was tiring to stay angry all the time and Sasha of all people would know. But to him, this feeling was a good one. He liked that feeling of weariness that being angry gave him, for some reason, but then again he had been feeling like this for so many years now, anything else was just so awkward and wrong. What he assumed made him to tired and annoyed was trying to suppress his anger. It was always so much easier and he never got as many headaches when he was “allowed” to just throw a punch when he got mad.

((icky icky icky, I don't care what you say, that sucked, lol))

[ALEX KING.]

And in the end,
The love you take
Is equal to the love
You make...

[/right]

Karen was right. Those were the only words that came to her mind as the silence passed. Karen had always been such a frivolous kid in highschool. She'd been the one they had to watch out for, provide a shoulder to cry on, listen to her go on about some guy she didn't care about. Make cookies for if she was feeling down, be her slave if she was feeling good. But, despite that, she somehow had spoken something true, something that made Alex feel embarrassed. It wasn't fair of her to brood. Wasn't fair for her to make everyone around her suffer. But she couldn't seem to stop it. It was so much easier than putting on some fake face, pretending you were fine for someone else's sake.

And that was why she was so alone. Because she was so self centered she didn't feel like putting in any effort for someone else's happiness. It was all take, and no give for her. And that wasn't right. It was why only a few people still stuck with her, still believed there was the old Alex in there. The one who loved people. Loved to make them smile, make them laugh. Make them happy. It couldn't all be gone. It had to be there somewhere. The fact that she may have changed forever distressed her, made her worry. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant she was closer towards wanting to change.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore. Some times she wanted to sleep, for days, weeks even. Not have to see anyone, face anyone. Just be alone, have time to sort things out. Other days she wanted to be back to her old self, enjoying almost anything. And yet, there was never any imbetween. It was all black or white. As if to say she couldn't have it all. She had to chose-- what was easier, or what was right. And it didn't seem as if it should be a question of morals. Seemed as if maybe, corny as it was, it was all a "follow your heart" sort of question. But, sheesh, if her mind couldn't decide, what said her heart would?

Scared? She looked at him, furrowing her brow. No, for once it wasn't fear that had filled her mind. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. True, she'd expected violence, but it hadn't really scared her, had it? She looked to the ground, actually rather embarrassed that she couldn't come up with a straight answer. As if the gears in her mind had frozen, leaving her out of fuel. Leaving her to come up with her own shit. She was out of things to depend on. It was time for her to depend on herself.

Anger, she said quietly. I expected you to be angry. She swallowed, not shifting her gaze towards him. She didn't know how long it would last. How long they'd keep to talking. How long it would be before she made an ass out of herself. I'm not all that fond of intrusive questions, she continued, so you're right. I shouldn't have asked. She gazed towards the horizon, the grey clouds and grey buildings. And a thought occured to her, referring to her earlier musings. Maybe things aren't just black and white. Maybe they can be a million shades of grey.

Maybe there was an imbetween. Maybe there was another choice, thousands of other choices. Maybe she was just closing herself to the obvious. That now, she could be what she wanted. She could switch her majors, switch her focus. Now, she could be what she wanted. But it didn't seem that simple, really, not as she thought about it more. Changing was never satisfying. You always looked for something more. You always knew there was something better. Was it possible to be truly happy? One of her friends had really been into that musical, Wicked. You know, the one with the witch? But, one of the characters had squeaked out something important, let her soprano go as she'd stated something Alex had found surprisingly poignant. And when that joy, that thrill, doesn't thrill like you think it will, but still...Happy is what happens when your dreams come true, isn't it? So maybe she was paraphrasing. But it had been along those lines. Maybe we just weren't meant to be happy.

But really, who was she kidding? All of this talk about not being happy, not ever being happy. She sounded like that guy Will Smith played in that new movie. He'd gone on about how people were allowed to pursue happiness, but maybe not ever actually reach it. Of course, he'd worked his ass off and gotten the job and made millions and whatnot. It was Hollywood, what sort of unhappy ending could there be?

She snapped herself out of it as best she could. She didn't like this depressing wave that had washed over her. Didn't like feeling sorry for herself. She'd gone to this camp once over the summer. A writing camp. Ridiculously nerdy sounding, but there were actually some not-so-intelligent teenagers there, not much older than she was. They were there to "catch up," apparently. And one of them, a boy named Kevin, had snatched up her paper and read it. He then proceeded to rip off little bits, watching her eyes widen, watching them brim with tears. She had been a bit of a crybaby, true, but she'd worked hard on that paper. And he'd ripped it to shreds. And he left the bits on her desk, leaning quite far forward, until he was nose to nose with her. And he'd told her she had to toughen up. Then he'd left with his friends, laughing.

And when she'd gotten home, she told her mother she had no intentions of going back. She didn't want to have to see those boys, didn't want to have to see them laugh as she started the assignment all over again. And her mother had said no, she was going. That this was what was going to give them satisfaction, prove them right. Grace had looked her in the eye and told her, be strong. And that had made her mad, at first. As if everyone was against her, calling her weak. And it had taken her years to figure out it was true. She was weak. Weak and selfish and arrogant. What a trifecta.

ooc. ew. ewewew. sorry x/[/size][/blockquote]

[Sasha Cole]

Why was it you could change for apparently no reason and people just shrugged it off, but when you obviously had grounds for getting a new outlook on life, people seemed to question it? His friends continually told him that jail had changed him and what could he say to that? He knew it was true, he knew that he wasn’t completely his old self, but what was he supposed to say. No matter how much he tried to explain it to them they still said he should get over whatever his problem was and get back into the swing of things, but the bad thing was that even though Sasha did in fact know he changed, he didn’t know how.

The guys said he was calmer, but wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t it good that he would talk to someone instead of hit them and use that childish notion of using your words to solve a problem instead of your fists? He understood that he was supposed to be hating and untrusting, but he still was, no one could deny him of that. He was still a very angry person in the world, angry at life and the world and with nothing to stop him. Now though, it just didn’t show. He could be angry but take a deep breath and be able to hide it for a while, unlike how he used to be where he would throw a punch the second you looked at him wrong.

What else did they say about him now? He couldn’t even recall all the differences. Maybe it was just they didn’t remember him after almost no contact over nearly two years. Maybe their own drug induced memories were fogging them up on what they thought he once was since the only change Sasha could see in himself personally was his anger management, but those classes had to do some good right? But then again, who could see their own changes and alterations? You were used to yourself, that much was obvious to anybody. Others just had to deal with you, so maybe what they saw was more truthful than what you see in yourself.

He glanced to her for a moment. Could it be the same with her? She changed, he could see that much. When they had known each other before she had been much more outgoing, now she was drawn back, sad may be the only word to use. Why he didn’t know, but he assumed she had a reason, but assumptions had killed him in the past, so he wasn’t saying anything. In fact, he was going to stop thinking about it all together. It wasn’t his place to wonder what was wrong with her, not to mention he had enough problems of his own to start to worry about the problems of others, unless of course he had been worrying about them for years, such as everyone back home. It would only cause chaos, worrying about others, in both his own life as well as theirs.

Her voice seemed sudden as he looked over at her, before letting his eyes roll to the top of his head. He let her finish, finding his right hand gripping into a fist about his left arm, his arms still crossed against his torso. Now he was starting to get annoyed, and that wasn’t a good thing. He took deep breaths and tried to shake his rising temper away. Why was this bothering him so much, it was nothing, seriously? Most people wouldn’t find this angering at all, but it was just the principle of the matter. She was worried he would get angry over such a question. How did you chose your alias, wasn’t that something that was somewhat common? He didn’t know, and currently couldn’t think.

He didn’t want to say anything, not until he got a little more control of himself. If he spoke now he would probably end up yelling, which he was sure wouldn’t be a good way to give a first impression, though they may be past that stage by now. His hand loosened about his opposite limb; if the ink hadn’t been present the strength of his grip would have been obvious. The flesh under his tattoos had turned pale, draining much of the blood from the limb where he had been gripping. If he did that to himself, where he could feel the pain he inflicted, just imagine how his anger was taken out on others. It wasn’t fun to be on the receiving end, to say the least.

“So, you didn’t trust me to hold my temper?” he repeated, shaking his head slowly as a sigh laced through his lips. “Or are you really that scared of making someone angry? You don’t seem the people-pleasing type,” he said, scoffing. There, he had said something without yelling; now he just hoped he could follow through. His baritone was almost calm, but his annoyance could be heard by someone who listened. Unknowingly he had quickened his pace, out of anger and annoyance of course. It was just habit by now, as if he could ignore the problem just by walking faster. Something locked in the back of his mind that refused to leave, he was sure.

“Look, you can ask whatever you want, okay?” he looked over to her, his slate orbs looking almost menacing as he asked her to understand what he was asking. “If you think it’s okay to ask, it most likely is and if not I just won’t answer,” he sighed, making sure to keep his voice calm as he pushed hair from his face once again, now only out of a need to do something with his hand instead of actual irritation. Finally he let both limbs fall to his side as he forced his legs to slow, slightly, realizing he was pacing much more quickly than he had ever meant to. His head shook again before he gazed over at Alex once again.

“The only way that you will have anything to fear is if you push me for an answer, which I think your smart enough not to do, am I correct?” he asked, proud of himself for getting through the whole thing while holding his temper firmly in his grasp. His anger shouldn’t be wasted on her; there were much worse people out there who deserved it, while she didn’t seem to at all. She was curious, which was understandable. Everyone was curious and it was about time he accepted the simple fact and got over his anger towards them.

Hell, even he was curious, though he hated to admit he could be that much like other humans, most of which he figured were just idiots who couldn’t use their own brain to figure things out. People had to ask questions to figure out what they wanted to know, that’s how he saw it. That’s why he got so bombarded with questions he would rather not answer; it was just how it saw it. Sasha didn’t tend to ask too much, he just tended to figure it out on his own, but then again, for someone like him who had trouble simply talking to a person, asking personal questions didn’t usually work very well.

[ALEX KING.]

He's just that boy from out of town
Only stops here twice a year
He says you're pretty and he adores you
Reciting dialogue from classic romances
Dialogue from the classics he steals
But Scarlet my dear, he doesn't give a damn about you

[/right]

There was a time when she had been impulsive, not worrying so much about what she wanted to say, not worrying about what anyone else said. If something came to her mind, she'd do it. You know, that whole “CARPE DIEM!” thing. She'd shout if she felt like it, take a walk in the rain. Hell, it didn't matter, right? But now, well, now it was nothing like that. Everything came with its own price, its own strings attached. There was nothing that came without complications. And so she would hesitate, considering what might happen. She would try not to do anything that had consequences she couldn't handle. She wanted stability. She wanted to know what was going to happen, know what she was getting herself into.

Do you know how people would always imagine themselves saying something to someone in their head, but do something completely different? Their head imagined something outlandish, something they wouldn't even think about doing in public, while they acted cautiously. And Alex was experiencing that at the moment his words hit her. Her mind showed her saying, "What aren't I afraid of," throwing her arms out wide, having some sort of self revelation. But, really, do you think she would do something like that? If you do, you honestly haven't gathered much from Alex. She was getting on his nerves, but his words were harsh. Not the people pleasing type? Her gaze shifted from him to the horizon quickly, forcing a swallow. She couldn’t quite say why that had rubbed her the wrong way, but it had. It wasn’t simply a question of making someone else happy. It was the fact that she didn’t trust anyone, not even herself.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn’t form a response to that. She closed it, teeth gritting softly. But, she supposed it was fair, if you wanted to see things that way. She had been wrong to think such things, think she knew what he’d do. It just reinstated the fact that, she could ask all the questions she wanted, but she could never really know what was going to happen. And, we’ve been over this, Alex likes to know what’s going to happen. She let her eyes fall upon him again, listened to his annoyance, watched him speed up. She kept her pace the same, let him walk ahead of her. She knew she had to say something, that she couldn’t just say nothing to what he’d told her.

No, she said, kicking herself mentally, I won’t—I won’t push. She should have said something more, but it was all she could say. She could barely manage to utter those few feeble syllables. She looked back on the whole thing, and was tempted to shake her head and laugh at it. It wasn’t really anything to get all worked up about, but she had. But it was all something she couldn’t change, something that had already happened. She always seemed to dwell on the past, always seemed unable to let things lie. She had to overthink it all, had to consider what she’d done wrong, had to criticize herself continuously. Had to doubt every word, doubt every feeling.

Until recently, she’d always blamed every problem, every fault, every flaw on her mother’s death. She’d convinced herself that that event was the cause of everything, that nothing was her fault. But really, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. She couldn’t put two and two together, couldn’t figure out how that could make her change so much. It didn’t make sense to her. And so, she figured all of this self doubt, all of this bitchiness—it had all been there before Grace had died. It was always there, and maybe it always would be. She’d just never truly recognized it, or at least never realized how much control it had over her. And that thought made her feel pathetic. Which really just proved her point even more. God, could she be more depressing?

She just couldn’t get her mind to ask anymore questions. She didn’t know if there was anything else she wanted to know, let alone needed to know. She was curious, there was no denying it. A corner of her mind wanted to know, well, everything, but the rest of her wouldn’t let it ask. The rest of her knew there was no need for her to know. But, there was one thing, one question she knew she had to ask. It was irrelevant, almost, but on subject all the same. What about your mother? she inquired. Did she want you to be like your father too? Oh, Alex. She was such a mother’s child. So used to the feminine ways, not accustomed to the idea of testosterone. She was sort of ignorant in that way, not used to what a father was like. It was why she’d inquired about him, and now about his mother. She wanted to know.

[ooc. stupidest ending like ever x/][/size][/blockquote]

[Sasha Cole]

((Okay, the post is probably going to suck, I’m a little doped on Vicodin and am still in pain, but I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer))

She seemed upset at his words. Upset? He could hardly believe that, did he really say anything that was true? Well, when thinking about it, sure he could have. He didn’t mean to, he never meant to be rude or say something that may anger whomever was brave enough to talk to him, it just kind of happened. He seemed to forget that he was one of the very few people out there who accepted he wasn’t one of the nicest people out there and knew he could be a complete jerk most of the time, and one of the even fewer who didn’t care. Most people seemed offended when put up to the fact that they did in fact have some trouble making people like them, but he just didn’t care and that’s probably why he said such things. He didn’t find it hurtful, just truthful, which was probably what put him even further away from so many other humans.

The random thoughts were again lost by her voice. He looked around at her and smirked at the words. Well, she said she wouldn’t push; now the only thing he had to worry about was believing her. He didn’t trust people, but hadn’t we gone over that already? People didn’t deserve to be trusted; they ended up just stabbing you in the back, with him sometimes it was even literal. Over the years his life had only proved to him that the whole idea of living was just tough, but in resent years he had gotten better. He still didn’t put a big price tag on his life, but he wasn’t as reckless now. Sure, he still rode a horse without a helmet and such, but he wouldn’t just run out and do something that could cost him his life without thinking about it anymore.

He continued to walk, slowly his pace even more to come back to her level. He had gotten control of himself again, and was proud of such an accomplishment. Sighing deeply he let his eyes find the soft sand in front of them, yet to be disturbed by their feet. It was almost surprising, to say the least, that he could keep up something like a conversation with her of all people. He had never expected to see her before; they had been so different way back. He the one who hardly showed up to class and she the one everyone was sure would be valedictorian of her year. He scoffed, it was so weird, but in some way felt natural to keep up a conversation.

She spoke and he looked over. Part of him still wasn’t expecting a question, even though he just gave her the go ahead to ask whatever popped into her head. She just didn’t seem to want to take the risk, and he did understand that, but at the same time it bothered him that she didn’t trust him to keep such a simple promise as not getting upset for nothing more than a question. The thought was shaken away as he let himself focus in on the words that did leave her mouth. As the sorted out he looked over quickly and shook his head, that was also not what he had been expecting, but he did say she could ask whatever, and that was hardly prying, was it?

He scoffed before glancing away again. “My mother?” he questioned, wanting just to laugh, for some reason even unknown to him. “Most people seem to completely forget I even had a mother. Hell, I think I forgot I had a mother a few times there,” he sighed, shaking his head again. Sadly, that was the total truth. He didn’t know how to keep going from that, but he still hadn’t answered the question, and thought he should. Taking a deep breath he let the salt air get to him again before just looking over.

“She completely ignored me most of the time, unless I came home bleeding,” he shook his head again. She would know what he meant by that, wouldn’t she? “I hardly saw her; she worked a lot, a nurse, so how do I know what she wanted?” They were coming up to the side of a beach, where the bank would seem to stop their progress, but Sasha didn’t seemed to notice it as he kept going at the same pace towards it. He turned to her again before just sighing as he lifted his foot slightly and found a hold in the bank and letting his hand balance on it as well. He pushed up onto the bank with very little effort, even though the higher mound of dirt was about at his waist. He had a lot of strength and coordination from riding by now so something like that was really easy for him.

“The only thing I can tell you about her is that she didn’t want me to end up how I did,” he sighed, but his voice did in fact sound like he was halfway joking. As he spoke he turned around and wiped his hand off against his pant leg, getting the dirt he had obtained from placing it onto the ground. He then let it reach down in a simple offer to help her up to where he just landed himself.

((Bleck, see told you so. That sucked, really. Sorry, and one again sorry for the wait. It shouldn't happen again, promise))

[ALEX KING.]

Well I’ve got some problems
But we’ve got ten dollars
That’s enough to get us wasted before the night is over
These past five days I’ve been completely sober
But tonight I’m getting ripped wide open…

Really Alex, all you ever do is take. You take take take, make others feel sorry for you. You’re a leech, you live off of our sympathy, live off of the fact that we’d do anything it takes to make you happy. But, now—now, Alex, we just don’t have anything left to give you. So get lost.

Certain words always seemed to stay in your mind forever, always seemed to make you shaky, even at the happiest of moments. They were life-affecting, made you question everything. The words that rang in your ears harshly, made you remember what an idiot you were. She hadn’t really forgotten about the words, but they’d been put on the back burner throughout perhaps the whole conversation. And in the silence, they began to taunt her, began to remind her that she was worthless, that she was nothing. In previous years, they would make her mad, make her storm out of her hotel room and get wasted or something. But now, there was nothing she could do. Besides, she’d been banned from alcohol until her birthday. The management had finally put two and two together after she was arrested, and so now, she was clean. And it sort of sucked, really.

She chewed on her lip as the words echoed, her mind placing them with the face almost immediately. Three girls, two boys. Her closest of childhood friends. The ones she’d turned to whenever she’d needed them, laughed with, danced with, had fun with. But now, now they couldn’t take her. Couldn’t bear to look at her, be around her. There wasn’t much that hurt more than that, wasn’t much that pained her as much as the fact that she’d lost each of them. Get lost? Where was she supposed to go now?

He almost looked surprised as the questions reached his ears. Honestly, she couldn’t quite blame him for it. Alex had gotten to the point where, if anyone showed any sort of emotion around her, she wouldn’t dare blame them. She wasn’t good at being angry, wasn’t good at placing blame on anyone but herself. And that, she was practically the champion of.

Forgot? She tried to keep any look from showing on her face, anything at all. Whether it was joy, curiosity, anger, surprise—anything. She just let him talk, but let her mind whorl as well. Yes, she understood what he meant. Only paid him heed when necessary. Of course, it was that same detached sort of understanding, the kind that she’d experienced before. That she had never experienced it, never had it, but could mentally understand what he was talking about. Taking it in, her eyes drifted to street lights, providing a harsh cone of white along the boardwalks above the beach. It was so artificial, taking away from the sandy shores. She looked away from it, not wanting to let the light burn into her eyes any longer.

She wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She hadn’t ever had the parental issues, hadn’t even been unhappy with her mother. She’d always been her mother’s main priority, not just a child put on the back burner. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a laughable thing, for one might mistake it as indigestion. But no, it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t, she knew that. It was that fresh prick she got each time, each time she dared think about her mother. About that night. Heard the sounds ring in her ears. A comment about her own mother seemed unfathomable. How could she say anything? She hadn’t spoken a word about Grace, hadn’t dared, since the funeral. When the wound was still so fresh, and the words came easier. Now—now she couldn’t find words that would work. Words that would sum her mother up well enough. And so she stayed quiet.

She hesitated before grabbing his hand, a part in her brain insisting she get up onto the bank herself. That little part of her that was a slave to pride, a slave to self sufficiency. Ignoring it, she reached and grabbed his hand surely, climbing up the best she could. She too began to brush off her pant leg, picking off the few grains that refused to be swept off easily.

For the past few years, Alex had always wondered how she, who had changed so much, could hate change itself. But recently, she’d figured that it was just because when people changed, she felt she didn’t know them anymore. That she wasn’t able to talk to them, be around them, until she’d psychoanalyzed every single feature. Hiding from her own faults, hiding from her own problems, and trying to figure out the spectrum of everyone else’s. But everything changed, right? The caterpillar became the butterfly, the seasons changed, even the wind and tide changed. Change was inevitable.

Where do you work? she finally asked quietly, trying to get Grace from her mind, trying to move on. The whole topic had left her shaky, and she took deep breaths. Of course, Alex had always been a deep breather. She wanted the most air she could get from each breath. It made her feel more secure, more stable. She thought about her own job, how pathetic it was that she just wasted away at Starbucks, pouring coffee for business men and warning them that it was hot, only to have them yell that they'd sue her after they spilled it all over their trousers. But, she'd chosen the job for a reason. Doing something as mindless as a waitress at a coffee shop was so much easier than putting herself to the test, so much easier than trying to prove herself as an actual writer. It sounded pathetic as she thought about it, sounded lazy and rather disappointing. But Alex was perpetually disappointed.

[ ooc. yours was still better than mine, and I’m not even on any drugs xD ]

[/blockquote]

[Sasha Cole]

Alcohol was one thing that Sasha had to admit he liked. Sure, he was underage, even more so than she was, and he knew he could get in a lot of trouble for it. Being on parole he was sure that illegally drinking could land him back in prison, but it hardly mattered in his own stubborn mind. His parole officer knew as well as he did that alcohol kept him away from the opiates he longed for, so saying he couldn’t drink would only put him back on something worse. Than there was the whole fact that he couldn’t manage to get drunk, which for him just sucked. On really bad days, usually when Strider had managed to hurt him pretty badly, he could head to a club, drink until he had to go home for his curfew, or until they cut him off since they were convinced he was wasted. He’d drive himself home, on his motorcycle of course, get home and drink some more. The next morning he would wake up, completely free of a hangover and feeling fine. It was annoying if he wanted to forget something, sure, but his tolerance was very useful.

The thought was shaken away. He wasn’t drinking tonight; he was actually in a pretty good mind set at the moment, despite everything that could be wrong. In his younger years he had been very pessimistic, but over the last little bit of his life he quickly learned that you could go through life like that. When you had no one and no memories to lean of the only thing that could keep you going was your own hopes for the next day. Now, no one could say he was the most optimistic person you could find, but you also couldn’t say he was always glass half empty. Remember Strider? Do you really think he would have even tried to calm and train the insane stallion if he could only look on the bad side of everything?

Sasha couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of his horse. It was a sad thing when one thought about it, but Strider was close to the only reason Sasha pulled himself out of bed in the morning. The horse needed him, and no one could deny it was nice to feel needed. His thoughts were snapped away as Alex grabbed onto his rough hand. He was only half expecting her to take the offer, but was actually kind of glad that she did. He let his hand wrap about her smaller one before using only about half of his strength and helping her up onto the bank. Using his full power to get her up would probably only send her flying into him, which he wasn’t sure either of them really wanted much. See, he was learning his own strength, after years of hurting people accidentally because he didn’t understand that his pat on the back was someone else’s shove.

She got her feet under her on the bank and he let her hand go, smirking at her before just turning slightly and sighing once again. It seemed to take a moment of silence in his mind before she said something, simply, quietly. He turned his torso to look towards her again before just sighing. Hmm, he wasn’t expecting that. All these questions about his family, but now she suddenly seemed to remember that that was all in the past. He started walking again, at first slowly so she had time to take her place back at his side then speeding up slightly, back to the speed they had been at. His hands found the pockets of his leather jacket again before he finally seemed to figure out how to work his vocal chords.

“Believe it or not I work out at Sunset,” he said, giving his shoulders a small shrug, “that stable.” He quickly added on, forgetting not everyone knew that he did about it. He motioned down to his left arm, remembering the tattoo that would be new to her, even though it was not covered with his jacket. He just thought maybe that would explain it a little better. “I train the horses, more or less,” he shrugged once again and just let his eyes find his shoes as they came in and out of his view. It wasn’t at all interesting, but it was something to hold his mind now that everything else was still.

He really loved his job, getting paid for something he enjoyed so much, it was almost funny. Not to mention the pay wasn’t bad at all for a guy who didn’t finish high school and just got out of jail not three months ago. Sure, he had his GED, but it wasn’t really the same in his mind. Now he had no drive to even think about college and since the money with what he was doing now was good he was going to stick with it. Then there was the whole fact that he was good at what he did and was almost over booked with people wanting him to work with their horse. He loved it.

Lazily he took his hand from his pocket and slipped in into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. He only glanced at it for a second before putting it back away. Seven thirty, so he had been here an hour. He couldn’t even remember why he decided to show up in the first place, but now he wasn’t ready to go. It was surprising him, but it was actually almost enjoying talking with Alex. It was weird, he didn’t actually like to talk to most people, they bothered him. Sure, exceptions were made for the guys back home, but most of the time he just didn’t see the joy in trying to hold up a conversation.

“What about you?” he asked, letting his slate gray, blood shot eyes, glance over to her slowly. Did he really care about the answer? He really wasn’t sure. He knew it wasn’t important, but he assumed it was polite to ask, right? Maybe she had something more exciting to share, or maybe not, he really didn’t know. Just knowing who she was she seemed like the type who would currently be working her way through college herself, so he assumed it was just a little job for the money, but of course, it was just an assumption and assumptions had killed him in the past. With that in mind, he said nothing else as he awaited a response.

[ALEX KING.]

She’s just that girl from another town
Know her name by the letter of city and state
Brown hair blue eyes—she’s about five-five
She’d never lie to you, but fidelity is no concern
When you have become this…

[/right]

The Kings had never been, well, financially challenged, save that year when Grace was out of work. They’d built up a fine savings account, planning exotic trips that never quite happened. They were always scrimping, really, for no reason except the frugal tendencies they both had. People told her that her job was pointless, she might as well quit. But really, without it, she didn’t have anything else to do. As tedious as it was, work was something she appreciated. Sort of. And so the account lay untouched, gathering interest as she wasted her time. It didn’t feel right to dip into it; she couldn’t bring herself to spend her mother’s life savings. Sure, it was strange. She would openly tell you it was strange. But it just made her feel uncomfortable, like a child who had just been caught playing with something they weren’t supposed to. Of course, the fund was all hers, free to be wasted away with gambling or whatever it was she did with it. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

College was, well… There weren’t many words she could come up to describe it, because honestly, it wasn’t all that important to her. What kind of major, honestly, was journalism? Some of her teachers chided her for it, telling her she needed to stop fiddling around and make up her mind. But Alex happened to be quite indecisive. So, that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. So, until then, journalism it was.

The stables? She racked her brain, trying to place the dot on the mental map of the city she held in her head. Her face cleared with recognition as she found it, trying not to think about how strange it was that she had some sort of map in her mind. Blue eyes drifted to the tattoo as he motioned towards it, nodded slightly. That would certainly explain it. She tried to remember if he’d ever been into horses, but she hadn’t even mentioned them to him. She tried to think if she’d ever ridden with Grace, but nothing came to her. Actually, she’d be scared to death if she were that close to one. But it seemed to fit him, his job. He seemed like the sort of person who would work with them. He even spoke of it, not fondly, exactly, but with some sort of implication that he didn’t hate it.

And as he inquired to her, she let her eyes roll up towards the sky. I’m a waitress, she said, her voice bemused, but not all that enthusiastic, and one eyebrow raised, at Starbucks. It sounded pathetic, even more so than usual. But, she shrugged it off. It was just a stupid job, just something to occupy her until she could find something else. It keeps me busy, she added, letting her eyebrow fall and something almost resembling a smirk play on her face momentarily. She fell in step next to him, more relaxed than before. For someone who tried acted so cold towards some, when she got the chance, Alex actually enjoyed human company. It was strange, it was twisted, but that was Alex for you. She could act one way, feel another. Most of the time, she didn’t even understand herself. She didn’t expect anyone else to.

Her eyes drifted to the water, the city’s lights reflecting neon against its blue waters. And a memory came to her, of when she was a frivolous sixteen year old, going to a bonfire around the Arapahoe Lake. It was at least an hour’s drive from Denver, located on some Indian reservation. It had been actually rather serene, the fire casting its brilliant lights all throughout the reservation, dancing off the water teasingly. She’d had her first drink there, actually. She shivered involuntarily; it was perhaps the only thing she’d never told her mother. Most kids had been much more into alcohol before her, but she’d tried to stay clean. But it hadn’t lasted long. It was the beginning of her craving for it. She almost snorted; she supposed that could qualify her as an alcoholic.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop herself from drinking. She right as well could, and she’d been without one for, how long had it been? Three weeks? Oy. Doctors said it was hereditary. She had an aunt who had been an alcoholic, but, she was only an aunt by marriage, so that didn’t quite work. She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. Amazing how she’d jumped from bonfires to alcohol.

Out of her three hundred hours of community service, she’d done about two hundred ten. She worked her ass off. Nothing was worse than walking around the old hospital with a bunch of goody-goody Girl Scouts, all pointing and whispering about “the girl who’d been arrested.” She could frighten the girls easily, which, sadly, was sometimes amusing. Bark for them to bring her a towel, tell them that they weren’t doing things right. But, they also brought out some sort of maternal instinct. One cut herself chopping tomatoes, and Alex had given her a band-aid, which was reciprocated with a teary smile. If you got past their annoying pigtails and their inevitable cookies, they were actually king of cute sometimes. Well, sometimes.

It was hard for her now to imagine herself as their age, eleven, some even twelve. They seemed so small, and it seemed she could never have been their age. But she had, and the fact that she could hardly remember made her unsettled. No, no, she could remember. She had many memories from that time. But they seemed so distant, clouded by the haze provided by the years that passed. From her eighteenth birthday and on, everything snapped into focus, disturbingly clear. The memories she wanted to forget were the ones that remained clear as crystal in her mind.

[ ooc. ewww. Blah. Mine sucks suckers x.x ][/size][/blockquote]

[Sasha Cole]

Life was going to be tough, why couldn’t people just figure it out? You couldn’t just be going for a walk in the park without climbing the mountains as well, no one could. You would always think you had the worst life out of anyone, but no matter how bad it was, someone out there had it worse than you did. The sooner you understood such a simple fact of life the better off you, and everyone around you, would be. Just live through the hard times and you would enjoy the good that much more, and he would know. He had been living through some really difficult times for at least five years now, but he had to say it was getting better, he guessed. Sure, he wished he was back home with the guys and all that, but he could hardly complain considering the circumstances.

They were no longer walking in sand, which calmed Sasha in some weird way. He now let his eyes shift stay in one place, unlike how they had been before, shifting nervously. He was observant, very much so to be truthful. He noticed anything and everything, just a self taught habit. Could save your life one day, he had proven that over and over again. Noticing a knife or gun or even something as simple as a tattoo, but now that the back of his mind wasn’t worried about the footing he didn’t have to worry so much about everything else. You can’t understand him unless you think the same way he does, and sadly, very few people do understand that.

He listened to her words and nodded. He did in fact know that her family had been okay with money, that just came with being observant, but so was his family. His father had been honorable discharged from the military due to an injury in the line of duty, not to mention he got the retirement benefits from the whole thing, but afterwards didn’t retire. Alexander had become a crime scene investigator, such an annoyance for Sasha, running from his own father half the time. Needless to say, they had money, they always had money. How do you think he had paid for his drugs back in the day? His father had never been happy when he found good sums of money just gone, but he could never prove Sasha took it, he had used it so soon afterwards.

The point of thinking about his own family, was just to prove to himself that just because her family had money, doesn’t mean she did, not any longer at least. He had no money, or at least not much. Just enough to keep himself housed and Strider up on his vet bills, and if he had to send money back home just in case something happened with the guys. Then any extra money was put into his account, hoping to save it for a house one of these days, but he was happy enough in his apartment for now. He needed to get back on his feet after being let out before he went about trying to do anything important with his life.

Once again, side-tracked from what he was trying to make sense of in his mind. He had no clue how she was with her family, or what was going on with it at all. For all he knew her and her mother had a huge fight over something incredibly stupid, but now weren’t speaking, much like he and his won parents. In fact, whenever he tried to call them they didn’t answer, but you had to remember he really didn’t try very often to get a hold of them. Obviously, he didn’t know much about her, but we had already figured that much out, hadn’t we? He remembered her only because he felt guilty when thinking about her, beyond that, he knew close to nothing about her. One could call it sad, hell; he would call it sad now. At the time he didn’t care who he slept with, or about them at all. Now, though he did have his one night stands and all that, if he slept with someone more than once he did tend to learn something more about them than their name and the fact they thought him brilliant.

After a few moments of silence he looked over to her and found himself smirking, “Hey, my turn I guess,” he brought his hand from his pocket again and pushed his hair back once again, still only as something to do with his limb. He continued to lead their pacing, kind of back towards the parking lot completely truthfully. Why? He wasn’t quite sure, but that was where he was going. He noticed her shiver and smirked at it, but didn’t make it appear to be so as he seemed to ignore it and just led her to wherever he was headed, which in his mind he wasn’t even sure of himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking over at her and shaking his head slightly. “You’re different than you once were, don’t deny it, I can tell,” he shook his head again before shrugging. Simple question, hardly invasive if you asked him. Hell, she had asked him much worse and all he wanted to know was if there was something bothering her. Did he really care? Hell, he doubted it; he never seemed to care about anything, but he was curious, but that just who he was. Sighing once again he stepped over the curb into the parking lot and made his way over to his bike.

Lazily he searched through his saddlebag before pulling out a second leather jacket. This one, though it did fit him, was smaller and obviously not as expensive. He just kept it around as a precautionary measure. He handed it to, her remembering her shivering a while back. After waiting for her to accept or refuse his offer he perched upon his bike, swinging his leg over it so it seemed like he was ready to go somewhere, which was far from the truth. It was just comfortable for him, to say the least. He let his slate orbs glance back to her, waiting idly for a response to his question.

[ALEX KING.]

So we sit at this table
With our hands in our laps
And we have a few drinks
And we share a few laughs
But now those days have passed
And they're no coming back
It's a shame, cause they're all
That I had

There were certain things you could never avoid, like the pain that came with getting whacked in the face, the fact that you'd be covered in mud as you fell onto the ground. They were always going to happen, no matter how hard you tried to prevent it. It was why she hated those shows that showed people living the same day over and over again. How come they got a chance to go back, and everybody else just had to suck it up and move on? It was hardly fair, hardly logical. Besides, it wasn't possible. Goddamn Hollywood.

And his questioning-- it was inevitable. She'd tried to prepare herself, but she, as usual, hadn't succeeded. His words rang in her ears. Deny it? Fuck, she couldn't deny anything. She was a terrible liar. She didn't bother anymore. She wouldn't make up a story for you, she'd walk away. There wasn't any sort of way to get around the question, not without starting about Grace. Her eyes shifted to the ground, then up to his motorcycle. No, not really. Her voice wasn't pained, wasn't self centered. Not like it usually was. It was calm, slightly irritated. Not with him. He had every right to ask. But with herself. For not being able to bring herself to talk about this.

She had barely told anyone about what had happened, only Talan and Destiny. And even that wasn't on purpose, merely after she'd been too drunk to think straight. She'd regretted it, at first, letting the whole situation consume her completely. And then, she'd had a mini sort of revelation to the fact that she could trust the two, if she could trust anyone at all. And she decided, whether she could trust him or not, she'd tell him. My mom got shot, she said, pausing to think back to the date, ignoring the images that flashed at her as she was silent, around this time two years ago. She shuffled her feet slightly, staring at the sand that had made its way onto the black concrete. And, you're right, I haven't been the same since. Her voice choked slightly, and she swallowed. No matter how many times she said it, it didn't stop making her sound pathetic. She looked up, trying to shrug. It took concentration to stop her shoulders from shaking as she shifted them into the gesture.

She didn't want to launch into her whole history, didn't want to give him every detail, but she hadn't quite answered the question. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out all of the things she'd spent the past few years brooding over, musing over, analyzing and picking at. Trying to put it all into words. I mean, if some guy would just go and shoot my mom, her voice rose a bit, almost angrily, then why should I trust anyone else? Who says they won't hurt me either?

She was quiet, then, clenching and unclenching her fists, hoping to get her hands to shop shaking. She looked away quickly, embarrassed again. And that was how she’d changed. She didn’t want anything to do with anyone else anymore. But, she felt like she should have held her tongue. He hadn't signed up to hear her dump everything on him. And yet there she went, trying to get someone else to deal with her shit, rather than go through it herself. She folded her arms, clamping her hands to her sides, trying to absorb her body heat. Her mind reeled a little bit, and she tried to just have one moment when she didn't think, didn't worry, didn't regret. Just a moment of being carefree, spontaneous, and impulsive. But it wasn't coming, no matter how hard she tried to make it.

Finally she looked back at him. She didn't really expect anything. Her whole rant hadn't really been something anyone could reply to. If he said "I'm sorry," she might just have to walk back to her car and leave. That was perhaps one of the least sincere comments she had ever gotten. Because really, was that all they could say? Sorry didn't mean anything.

She tried to think back to directly after it had all happened, to the number of people who had dismissed her with a sorry. Numerous, really. It wasn't that she expected more. They didn't have to say anything. But the fact that they had bothered to attempt, but with something so pathetic, it just made her cross. And she looked back on what she had said before. It sounded sillier and sillier each time she said it. Honestly, it wasn’t as if that drunk old man had purposely tried to hurt her, had he? She pulled her arm out of its warm spot against her torso, twisting it slightly, so the outside of it would face her, eyes lingering on each half moon scar.

Sure, she still hadn’t quite told him what was bothering her, what was on her mind. Was it the fact that she had changed that plagued her? She couldn’t answer that question truthfully, because she didn’t even know the exact cause of her distress. It could just be memories. It could just be herself. She didn’t know, she didn’t want to have to dig under the topsoil to find up. Each problem seemed to create its own layer, and sadly, it seemed as tall as a wedding cake. And there she stood, a plastic, lone figure standing at the top, scared the whole thing might topple over on her.

The gunshot rang once more in her ears before she stopped feeling so panicked. Her heartbeat slowed, the adrenaline pulsing with less intensity. The mindless fog that had settled over her cleared, and she managed to push away from the memories, if only temporarily. Her expression grew less intense, and she waited for another question, whatever it may be. She wanted to get off the subject of her own problems, talk about something more mindless, like… oh, she didn’t know. Anything. Anything to get her mind off of that night.

[/blockquote]