Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to the OC's writers and FOX.
Summary: Marissa looks back on her relationship with Ryan and regrets ending up in her new lover's bed.
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She doesn't need a badboy, she needs a hero.
This is what she pondered while laying beneath the badboy's defined chest. His lips are everywhere it seems: on her mouth, jaw, neck, breasts, stomach, thigh. She couldn't control his movements anymore than she could control the weather. But this rendezvous had to end sometime.
Wouldn't it just be easier if it didn't feel so good? All the pain she had harboured was lost in his touch, his sweat, his groans. Even though she was thinking about Ryan, she couldn't feel any of the pain he had caused. And wasn't that the point of her new relationship? Isn't that why she started it in the first place?
Sighing, Marissa helped him roll off her sweaty body, finding the top sheet as she did so. She was self-concious; this was why she chose to cover her body everytime they were finished. It was all too unpredictable when it came to him. But when she was with Ryan, Marissa couldn't have cared less.
"I have to go." She whispered, bringing the sheets closer to cover her back as she swung her legs around to the side of the bed. Her clothes were laying in a heap on the floor, wrinkled no doubt. Marissa was hurry to slide her underwear on, followed by a pair of jeans. She stood then, letting the cotton sheet slip, leaving her bare in the cold air. Within seconds she was fully dressed and ready to go.
"So, bye." She called out, without so much as any other acknowledgement. The sound of a lighter clicking and the smell of his cigarette helped her feet move quicker after grabbing her purse. Once his apartment door finally closed behind her, Marissa collapsed against a wall from exhaustion.
With Ryan, she noted, there would have been a good-bye kiss. Or at least a hug. Not this.
There would have been feeling.
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She was finally in bed, more comfortable than she had been in days.
Marissa's footsteps were softer than a mouse's as she had tiptoed through the Roberts mansion, up the stairs and to her new room. Julie and the Doctor were obviously in yet another late night discussion, so she slipped by this night without any lectures. Summer's attention was also occupied by another muffled voice, Taylor perhaps, so no questioning from the best friend either.
Her night would have been so much easier if she weren't thinking of Ryan. Whenever they were together, it was said by everyone that the sky would fall. They were star-crossed lovers but for some reason, they needed each other. And now, as Marissa pained in bed and longed for his comfort, she couldn't help but wish that they hadn't met at all.
There were too many flaws to their relationship; too many people to stand in their way. First there was Luke, then Gabrielle, Oliver, Theresa, Lindsay, TJ, Trey, Johnny, and Sadie. Who wasn't secretly plotting to screw up their next go at a relationship (if there even was one)? Marissa and Ryan couldn't have gone without a dramatic relationship if their lives depended on it.
The next morning was no better. Marissa had arrived to the breakfast table early, only to find a moping Summer and her confidant, Taylor. As if her life weren't bad enough without her knight in shining armor, Marissa had to drift from her best friend, too. And what better friend could Summer have than Taylor, who spent her life waiting for the moment a beautiful, popular girl would befriend her? Surely it wouldn't be Marissa, who was too busy sleeping with a known party animal and enemy to her deceased friend, Johnny.
If only Johnny could see her now.
Summer's tears surely weren't acknowledged on Marissa's behalf, due to her own worries, but Taylor was quick to pitch in a few warming words. Instead of sitting to revel in the seemingly family appeal, and wait for the Doctor and the Mrs. to appear, Marissa snatched a couple of muffins and headed for her mother's car. This had been her routine the past week anyhow.
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"You're fucking someone else." Marissa stated, her lips quivering in disgust. She glared hopelessly at Volchok, who smelled of nothing but sex and alchohol. "Why am I not surprised?"
She wanted to laugh as he smirked; laugh at her own stupidity. It wasn't bad enough that she had lost her best friend and family, but now her sex-obsessed 'boyfriend' was leaving her too. Or rather she was leaving him.
"Bye, Volchok." She turned, finding and surpressing a piercing laugh in the back of her throat. It was funny how he wasn't looking to explain the naked, passed out twenty-year-old in his bed.
But her laugh was soon muffled by the reality of her lonesome. And now where was she supposed to go? School? She hadn't been in a week, so she could all but imagine the make-up work she would have to power out. That sounded absolutely dreadful.
No, Marissa had a better idea.
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The waves crashed loudly against the sand, breaking into a whitewash from the perfect blue. If only her life weren't so dreary at this point, maybe Marissa could actually enjoy the sun, enjoy the ocean. Instead she was basking in her own self pity, and drowning her sorrows away. Or drinking them away.
A bottle of forty percent vodka rested in her hand, the cap long gone. It had rolled off the lifeguard's pier which she now rested on. Although Marissa had been drinking for nearly twenty minutes, she could only feel a slight buzz. This wasn't what she had originally planned on, but it suited her mood all the same. It wasn't like she had something to truly live for anyways.
Another gulp of hard alchohol was swallowed, her throat burning immensely. Marissa was never really one for chasers.
She had now been at the beach for several hours, her head swimming in a sea of lies and deceit. Why couldn't she ever work things out with Ryan? Why did she always have to end up in depression whenever her white prince wasn't around? No, she wouldn't do this again. Her body couldn't handle it.
The sound of a bottle crashing was loud against Marissa's ears as she declined towards the ground. She didn't even care now that it was considered littering. And so what if there was a good three-quarters of a bottle left? It's not like she could see anyhow.
Her body ached as the eighteen-year-old clung helplessly to herself, hands grabbing her sweatshirt in pain. And soon her pain was smothered by a light feeling, a soft, fuzzy feeling. She couldn't even remember where she was anymore.
Where was her savior?
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"Marissa!"
Her name was yelled time and time again by the last person she would have thought possible to be there. It sounded as if he were searching, probably yards away from where she now lay. The sound of waves crashing against the shore drowned out everything else.
"Marissa!" He called again, regardless of her lack of response. He knew she was there, wallowing, drinking, whatever else it was that she did. This was where Marissa found solice every time she was going through a depresssion. And it was obvious that this was what she was going through.
The sand kicked out from behind his feet as he broke into a run, dashing up the ramp of the lifeguard's deck. This time he didn't even hesitate to scoop her into his arms, and coax her awake with the simple stroking of his fingers on her cheek. The sun had long ago set; Marissa had been passed out for an eternity.
"Ryan?" She croaked, two blue eyes opening to meet his. Out of instant embarassment, she tried to sit up, to scoot away, but he held her close to his chest. "What are you doing here?" She managed to inquire, although her voice sounded like death warmed over.
"Your mom called," He answered her, digits continuing to stroke her warmed cheek softly. It's not like she would remember this the next day anyway. "She said you had missed school and still hadn't come home. And Volchok said you left his apartment hours ago."
Marissa groaned, hiding her face in his shirt. His fingers were now entertwined in her golden locks. "So why are you here?" She didn't mean to sound so rude.
"Because I had to find you," Ryan sounded, hugging her tightly. "Because I still love you."
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"Turn off your fucking phone."
Marissa rolled out of his bed, out of a groggy sleep, to answer her cellphone which had been ringing for the past hour. "Hello?" She answered, sounding completely hung over.
"Marissa!" She groaned at the nagging sound of her mother's voice. "Come home! We need to have a serious discussion about you skipping class."
"Fine," She snapped, shutting her phone. Her clothes were scattered, so it took several moments to find the clothes she had worn into her boyfriend's apartment. After managing to slip everything on, she picked up her purse and searched for her keys. The rough touch of her boyfriend's hand against her hip had pulled her back to the bed, and he was now pushing his weight against her. "I have to go," She pleaded, only to be silenced by his coarse kiss, his darting tongue.
"Volchok." She managed to spit out, after shoving him off. "I'm leaving." Finally, Marissa broke for the door, slamming it behind her without so much as remorse.
Some dream. Wouldn't it have been much better if she had caught Volchok cheating on her, if she had drank herself to near death, if her savior had come to rescue her?
Yes, it would have been better. But that's why it was a dream. She was stuck in this rut she called life, with a boy she didn't even care about, a purturbed mother and step-father, a concerned best friend. Her school was even looking out for her. Everyone seemed concerned except for him, the one she wanted.
Marissa didn't need her badboy, she needed her hero.