Title: Not the one
Author: Kaylee's Teddy
Pairing: Eden/Anne Marie
Rating: R for f/f pairing and sexual moments
Spoilers: None that I can think of
Summery: Set before the film. Eden and Anne Marie and avoiding the obvious. Not happy : (
Disclaimer: I do not own Blue Crush, if I did Eden and Anne Marie would be sipping coconut daiquiris on the beach the whole time. Naked.
Eden knows that Anne Marie doesn't love her. Not the way she wants her to, the way she needs her to, the way that Eden loves her. And even if Eden suspects, or maybe just hopes, that Anne Marie might feel the same way, that when Anne Marie lets her hand wander down between her legs during her morning shower that Eden features heavily in the images that flash behind Anne Maries fluttering eyelids. Even if that were true, even if it were even possible, Eden knows that Anne Marie will never admit it and Eden has stopped sitting on the porch in the early morning, back pressed against the coolness of the house, her eyes peering out into the darkened landscape as she strains to hear the sound of her own name filter down from the bathroom window above her. Eden doesn't see the point anymore.
Eden doesn't think anyone should blame her for the nights she sneaks out, past Penny and Anne Marie bent over some textbook, past Lena playing poker with a couple of surf boys, starts the car and heads out into the night. She tries to vary her destination but there aren't that many choices, tourist bars too rich for any of her friends to work at, somewhere where she won't know anybody. She rarely goes inside, too expensive, too risky, just hangs around outside until she finds what she's looking for. They are always the same, soap opera starlets, last season's reality TV stars, the daughters of famous producers or politicians; the nervous ones, the closet cases, the girls that have the most to lose, the girls that have the most to hide, the girls who will never, ever, be there for more then a weekend.
It never takes long, all Eden has to do is sidle over, march up with that overly confident swagger of hers, offer a light, pretend to scratch an imaginry itch high up on her rib cage and she has them. Sometimes they take her inside for a drink, or to grind against her on the dance floor, more likely they walk along the beach while Eden lays it on thick about her love for the ocean and surfing and her spiritual connection to the water, makes them think they're really connecting when really she's just feeding them what they want to hear, gives them their favorite souvenir, a night with an authentic Hawaiian surfer.
In the end Eden always gets what she came for, gets to thrust into them hard and fast in the back seats of their overpriced cars or follow them back to their whitened hotel sheets, makes them writhe under her fingertips for hours before she finally, finally let's them reach their release. Eden never stays, slips out in the pre-dawn darkness, listens to the waves beat against the shore as she guns the engine back towards the house, the first rays of light slipping over the horizon as she slides the car into it's parking spot.
Sometimes Anne Marie is there, making sandwiches for Penny or doing last nights dishes. Sometimes she's just sitting, alone in the barely lit kitchen, her eyes unreadable as Eden strides through the door.
"Where have you been?" Anne Marie asks and Eden makes up some excuse, a boy, a late night drinking game, sleeping on the beach to check the tide patterns. Anne Marie always pretends to believe her and they make small talk about Eden's fictional evening, laughing lightly so as not to wake Lena. Sometimes Eden doesn't bother with an excuse just slides past Anne Marie towards the bathroom, turns the shower on as hot as it can go.
On those mornings Eden pretends that she doesn't hear Anne Marie as she cries. Pretends that she can't hear her above the waves and the shower and the beating of Eden's heart. Anne Marie can't be crying, because Anne Marie doesn't love her. And Eden needs to believe that that's true.