Author's Note: So the idea for this fic came to be one day and it was... well, sudden. But it gripped me and refused to let go til I wrote it. It's a future fic, where Kaitlin is about 19 and Trey 26. I figured if he turned 21 in season 2 and she turned 15 in season three, that was approximately their ages. In my mind, Trey loved Marissa. That's how I choose to see it. And in this fic, the knowledge of her death spurned a sort of... addiction, that you'll see more so in part two. Yes, this is a two-parter. Part two is already written, however, not edited. I'll have it posted within the next few days. And yes, I know... Trey/Kaitlin, how random, right? Well, unconventional couples are great, so nyah! So hopefully you guys enjoy, review and all that good stuff. Love you long time!
Disclaimer: Don't own, duh.
"This is some pretty fucked up shit, Marissa. You being dead and all."
His opening line. It was usually some variation of that anyway. Last year it had been, "I still can't believe you're dead, Marissa. That's fucked." This was his fourth visit to Marissa's grave since he had heard the news. He always did so in an obscure manner, in the middle of the night where he could be certain he wouldn't run into her family or God forbid, Ryan. He could just imagine what that would be like: horrible. Ryan would not understand. Ryan would be angry.
Ryan had never called Trey to tell him about Marissa's death.
Trey had never called Ryan to say he was sorry because he knew what Ryan would say. "Sorry for what? For attacking her all those years ago and totally screwing her up? For trying to kill me? Or for my loss?" And it would be cutting and cruel and Trey would shudder and yell and he'd deserve every moment of it. He was not able to look at Ryan anymore and he hadn't for about 5 years. He couldn't. Ryan deserved so much better and that wasn't just Trey trying to be all modest and angsty, it was him being truthful and trying to do what was best for his brother. He'd looked out for him, he'd fucked him up and in the end, he'd stayed away and let Ryan sift through the ruins of the damage. Maybe it was the irresponsible thing to do but it had been done and there's no way he'd bring all that history to the surface again. It had sucked enough the first time.
It always hit him that he'd done the same thing to Marissa too. Cared for her, screwed her over and fled. It was like a trademark.
Sometimes a fleeting thought passed through. If he'd never come to Newport, never tried to rape her, had never forced her to shoot him... would she still be alive?
He always instantly dismissed the thought, however. He wasn't God. He wouldn't give himself that much credit.
But despite the fact that he dismisses the thought and tells himself this, he still isn't sure. He would just rather not drive himself crazy with the wondering.
Jess had been the one to break the news to him and she did so with a smirk. Why? Because that's the kind of bitch she had become.
"Your precious little Marissa–"
"What?" His tone was sharp.
"She died last week, Trey."
"No." No thinking involved. Just a straight out 'no'.
"Are you like, actually saying no? Uh, yeah, she did. I went to the goddamn service. Pretty much everyone in my town did. It was kind of sad, but I got to talk to your brother again. I still wonder what he'd be like in bed."
"You're fucking sick, Jess," Trey spat and in that moment he wasn't sure he was capable of loathing anyone more, not the guys who screwed him up in prison, not even his Dad. His fists curled up into balls and only sheer willpower kept him from lunging at her.
"I'm the sick one? You're the one who was mentally placing Marissa's head on my body every time we fucked–"
"Shut the fuck up, Jess–"
"No! You were batshit crazy and obsessed over her. And now she's dead. Deal with it."
Trey stood there for a moment, idly, looking at Jess with deep loathing and hatred. Just concentrate on hating Jess and think about her words later... better yet, don't think, he thought, And Jesus fucking Christ do not cry, you pussy.
Jess watched him with a scowl. "You're pathetic. How did I ever have sex with such a goddamn loser? Marissa never even--"
Trey shoved Jess out of the apartment door before she could finish her sentence, the shock from the sudden action acting as a silencer. Once she had been tossed out, he closed his eyes and started to count to ten.
He got to three and then punched the door the remaining 7 times. There. Ten. Hell, eleven. Twelve. He kept punching. No blood yet. Why not? He wanted his hand to bleed, goddammit, because it seemed appropriate enough, to bleed in mourning, but nothing came of it except a now severely sore hand. He felt his body weight collapse underneath him and he crumpled to the floor in front of the door, feeling pathetic and meek and disorientated enough to make him wonder if he'd just gone on some drug trip and imagined all of that. But just for a moment because when the second moment came up, he decided to cry and he didn't give a shit if someone heard him. He could beat their ass later, anyway.
He sat beside her gravestone, leaning his head against the cold, concrete stone, feeling it scrape into his forehead but not giving a damn. Some dirt was finding its way onto his jeans - again, not like he gave a damn - but not that much. Like everything in this twisted town, the surface always looked great. Constantly trimmed grass in the damn graveyard. Great looking grass; dead bodies. It was fitting. Like... Marissa, almost. In the brief time he'd known her– loved her, and fuck him if he wanted to admit it– he'd began to learn her logistics, the person that she was. She was hot. Hell, she was beautiful and that was not a word Trey threw around. But on the inside, she was deeply, deeply ... well, fucked up. And then he laughed at himself, just then, for being so ridiculous, for sitting here at her gravestone at 4:47 in the morning like he had for the last two hours, thinking up cheesy metaphors about Newport and Marissa and goddamn grass. He kept laughing and eventually bumped his head back on the gravestone, smacking the back of his head hard. He winced. Karma, or whatever that 'what goes around comes around' bullshit. Laugh in a graveyard; get injured. Great.
He rubbed the spot where his bullet wound was through his shirt and attempted the ignore his now throbbing head. It was just endlessly twisted that Marissa was dead and the concept did not seem to get any easier. Four years since she'd been dead. The fourth time that he'd been sitting in this spot, talking to the rotting corpse buried underneath him. Maybe he was just trying to relieve guilt. Maybe he was trying to 'make peace with himself' or whatever the hell people went on about. He had always regretted attacking Marissa. No, it wasn't something he woke up everyday and was burdened with and it didn't follow him around like a shadow. But the thought still came, unbidden, and cloudedhis mind every once in a while. He'd always figured that one day he would make it right. When he was a man, and she was a woman, and he wasn't such a fuck-up, didn't have such a temper... he'd apologize and do it right. Make amends. She was dead now and this would never happen. So yeah, maybe he was selfish and talking to the air around her grave was his attempt to ease a guilty conscience. So was this about her or was it about him?
He doesn't know.
He remembers trying to figure out her death. Simply knowing that it was a car accident had not been enough. He wanted to know everything. He did more research toward that than he ever had at anything relating school. He read all the articles he could, both in the newspaper and the internet. As much as he hated Jess, he grilled her too. The truth slowly ascended from the haze. It was her exboyfriend, some Kevin Volchok, who had been the vehicle to crash into her. He had been drunk Ryan was driving her vehicle and she was going to go off to Greece with her Dad. Everyone was okay, except for Marissa who suffered head injuries and severe internal damage. She didn't die on the spot, but a few minutes later with Ryan.
It still didn't seem real. It was just words on paper. So impersonal.
He remembers the obsessive, violent thoughts he'd had about beating that Kevin guy to death. They burned brightly, constantly.
He remembers hearing about him going to jail and thinking that wasn't good enough, that only death would do.
He remembers knowing he wasn't any better, that what he had done to Marissa was unforgivable too... but more forgivable than taking her life away.
He remembers getting stoned for the first time in two years and then every day for a week after that.
He remembers flushing his drugs down the toilet because he really did not deserve the privilege of escaping reality.
He saw long legs in tight jeans. He saw boots, black, with dangerously sharp heels. The long, boot clad legs kept walking and finally he figured out that they were coming over to him. It's nearly 5 AM and he's shocked because no one hung around in graveyards around this time. Trey finally brought himself to follow the legs up, all the way to curvy little hips and a thin waist. His eyes kept going up. Dark hair with a slight wave in it. Dark eye make up. She had a cigarette between her fingers and she took a drag before looking over him at the exact same why he had done with her.
Trey sat there silently.
When she was done, she took another drag - and sweet Jesus, he craved a smoke so fucking bad - and said in a bored yet slightly suspicious voice, "Who the hell are you?"
He figured she was about 20, give or take.
"Trey," he answered and only after his answer did he realize that it was probably a stupid move because if she knew Marissa, there was a chance she'd know who he was, what he did, and would go blab to Ryan. She didn't look like the blabbing type though. Just the apathetic type.
He was judging someone he'd seen for about ten seconds. What the hell was wrong with him?
"Why are you here?" She's being awfully demanding for someone he didn't know and for someone who didn't know him. "Now?"
"I'm an old friend," he replied, hoping it'd cover both questions. "You?"
She plopped down on the grass across from him, something he found impressive. Girls that looked like her were usually high maintenance. The girl looked directly at him, which was vaguely unnerving.
"I'm her sister."
She didn't use past tense and once again, that impressed Trey. This girl was very straight forward. At the same time, he was confused. Marissa had a sister? He didn't know if the girl was lying but he figured the chances were highly unlikely because one- who lied about that? And two- she did look strikingly like Marissa. They had so many of the same features. Same long legs, passion for fashion that clearly showed. In the time that he'd known Marissa though, she had always seemed light and carefree and... natural. Her sister – what was her name? – looked bad-ass chic, jaded. He found himself wondering if she could hold her liquor too.
"You look familiar," she said and he blanched.
"I don't know you," he said quickly, attempting to dissuade her. It was true though. He didn't know her.
"You remind me of this guy. Ryan. You know him?"
Trey shook his head swiftly, his palms beginning to itch with sweat. "No."
"Okay." She took another drag and then tapped the cigarette lightly, watching the ashes disappear into the grass.
He looked longingly at her cigarette, feeling the familiar ache for nicotine flare up. She noticed.
"Want a drag?" she offered, lazily extending her arm and the cigarette.
He nodded, taking the cigarette and taking a long puff. He savored it, savored the feeling and then exhaled. Bliss. He passed the girl her cigarette back, noticing that she was watching him thoughtfully.
"My name's Kaitlin," she said after a moment of silence. "And I'm totally stoned. So I came here."
He had no idea how being stoned and coming here were connected. He had no idea why she chose to share that with him. Her eyes were red, come to think of it... but at the same time, she seemed totally cool, like the drugs had barely gotten to her. He just nodded, wishing he was stoned. "Cool."
"Not cool," she corrected sharply. "How is mourning the dead ever cool? God, you ghoul." She dropped her cigarette, smothering the tip in the ground.
"I meant... your name," he amended clumsily, feeling his throat get a little scratchy. "Not the mourning thing. It sucks."
"Yeah, it does," Kaitlin agreed with a nod. "Try everyone you know for like, months. It gets so tiring."
He blinked.
"I'm fucking self-centered. I know," she said and her eyes dropped down.
"No... you're not. Well, you are, but it's cool. We all gotta take care of ourselves first, right?" It was surreal, to be sitting here with Marissa Cooper's fucking sister but it felt so nice in a strange kind of way. Like he had a little piece of Marissa with him. He realized, in a flash, that's what everyone probably thought. Kaitlin, for all her resemblance to the former-stunning dead girl, was probably everyone's cheap replacement. Everything she'd ever done had probably been compared to Marissa. She probably got sick of trying, grew the attitude and took up the addictions. Addictions were fun, he would know. Kaitlin was the fuck-up of the family, he could instantly tell and he could, of course, relate.
He mentally high-fived himself for being so intuitive. Maybe it was the strange tranquility of the night that was enabling him this power. Maybe it was the way the creases that she shouldn't have had on her face screamed, "don't make me out to be Marissa". Maybe he was simply experiencing some dementia.
"Right," Kaitlin agreed and Trey could tell by the way she looked at him that he had gained her respect with that comment. Score.
"So you from around here?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, perhaps a little too much. She crossed her ankles and he found himself looking at those vixen boots again.
"Used to be," he said after a moment and it was only a half truth– a half lie. "But now I'm in Vegas."
"So you just like... came here to sit at my sister's grave?" She raised her eyebrows. "At five in the morning?"
"Yeah. I guess." He hoped she wouldn't press. She doesn't.
"What's Vegas like?" is Kaitlin's next question and he looked up from her boots to see her looking intently at him. He thought about it. He felt compelled to give her a good, honest answer.
"It's... easy to disappear," he answered finally and she seemed to accept that answer. Even like it. Maybe she wanted to disappear too.
His turn to ask a question. "I know you were her sister and all, but what are you doing here at 5? Alone?"
She tweaked a cold blade of grass in between her fingers while answering. "I was partying. Just walking home now. Decided to cut through the grave yard. Eric didn't want to go through the graveyard, so he ditched."
"Shitty boyfriend," Trey commented and it was his subtle way of finding out if she had one or not. It didn't explicitly matter but he felt curious and this situation was already fucked up enough as it was. Why not go all out?
"Eric's not my boyfriend," she told him flatly.
"Oh."
"He's a slut."
"That sucks."
"For him. If he gets syphilis or chlamydia or something, I mean."
"You should go home," Trey said abruptly and he could instantly tell he pissed Kaitlin off.
"Don't tell me what to do," Kaitlin snapped. "I'll do whatever the hell I want to do."
He held up his hands defensively. "Just a suggestion. But I'm leaving now."
"You're driving back to Vegas? Now?" Her tone is incredulous and it's not hard to see that she thought the idea was absolutely ridiculous.
"Yeah," he answered easily and pulled himself up from the ground. His jeans are kind of dirty and his head still kind of hurts but that's okay. "Later."
"Wait." She stepped toward him. "Take me with you."
Now that was a shocker and his eyes widened and his hands flung out as he backed out. "What the fuck? You've known me for about ten minutes. Look, I'm not taking you to Vegas!"
"Why not?" she demanded impatiently. "I made up my mind. I want to go. Either way, I'll find a way to get there. This is just convenient."
He wasn't sold. He thought she was crazy. "No fuckin' way."
"I'll keep you company during the drive," Kaitlin said, attempting to tempt him.
"I don't care."
"I'll pay you," she offered and she reached into her purse, pulled out a wallet and plucked a few bills. "Two hundred just to sit in your shitty, dingy truck to someplace you're already headed anyway."
The cash is tempting. And to be honest, he didn't really mind Kaitlin. It felt kind of wrong, though, but it also felt like Marissa. Anything that helped fill up that deep, empty pit with Marissa's name on it was welcome. Plus, Kaitlin was hot.
"Fine," he said, giving up. "Let's go."
It occurred to him that she didn't have anything on her except what she was wearing and whatever was in that purse of hers. He wondered if she was gonna make him stop by the house. He hoped not. After driving for a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to and he's very grateful. She doesn't say anything and once again, he's grateful because it gives him space to think. Surreal. That was the word. This was nothing if not surreal. The past three times he'd done this, no one had ever caught him, except maybe the security at the grave yard. And here he was, going to Vegas with the girl he'd endlessly obsessed over's little sister. Not that she was so little... He doesn't know where Kaitlin will stay when she gets to Vegas, how long she'll stay for and if anyone will notice if she's gone and what they'll do if they do notice. It's not up to him to be concerned but he can't help but be. He's not as devil-may-care as he used to be, a sure sign of maturity. Maturity drove him crazy sometimes. He loved having youth as an excuse to dick around as much as he wanted.
Glancing over at Kaitlin, who looked even more like Marissa with the reflection of dawn, another thought occurred to him.
"Why do you want to go to Vegas so bad?" he inquired, turning a sharp left.
"I want to disappear."
He doesn't ask for details, she doesn't elaborate.
The rest of the way there they barely said a word, just watched idly as the sun fully rises and chases away the remainder of the inky night sky. He drove, she stared straight ahead and they both anticipated and dreaded what would happen when they got there.