Water
If he could sleep, he'd wake up tomorrow with a hangover in the Sheriff's bed. If he could smile, he might, at that.
The ocean pounds inside his head, blood singing in his ears. He's thought sometimes as he's stood waiting outside that there's a kind or irony to it, that a girl who holds everything so tight against her chest should have an ocean on her doorstep.
Veronica Mars' apartment. They never went there, not even before. Hell, why would they? Hanging out at the Sheriff's was never going to be the teenage pastime of choice, even back when you could repeat the zip code in public.
He's found himself here a lot, lately. In the whitewater ride his life has become, it seems like every time he hits the rocks he ends up here. It's as if his life is held together by one constant, his guiding star, and this is where it draws him.
Is she awake? Veronica Mars, tiny blonde one. When he'd showed up she'd showed him in with a smile that had hurt him more than any punch he'd taken earlier, an irresistible glimpse of something just beyond his grasp.
Love, dammed in. Sweet and intoxicating. Like if you could tap into it you'd probably drown but it might be worth it.
The truth is that loving her is like drinking saltwater: the more he has, the more he wants; and yet it burns, all the way down. He's lost so many people he cares about; his life is full of holes, his heart so full of misdirected love that when it finds an outlet it floods over. Like all the hate and love in him are distilled, and all the love in him is poured into her.
Sometimes he feels like he's swimming in the ocean. So far from land, and it's all he can do to keep afloat.
Light spills into the room through the open blinds, illuminating a patch on the floor. He follows it back up to the window and beyond, where a single red star hangs low in the sky.
His blood to alcohol ratio is still on the side of making the room spin, but he recognises it, all the same.
Mars. His guiding star.