A/N: I'm not really sure where this came from. My love for Vauseman is so ingrained and deep that they literally make me sit here and cry. And then this came out. Hope it's OK.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership of these characters or main plot lines. I'm just working with them.

And go ~

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't fucking breathe, and it was all her fault.

How could she leave me? How could she abandon me like that?

I knew she was angry but that's how we worked.

We got angry at each other and alwaysalwaysalways made up, because she was my Piper and I needed her. I thought she needed me too.

My mom was gone.

My Piper was gone.

How was I supposed to breathe? How was I supposed to move on? How was I supposed to live without them? Without her?

I didn't know what to do. I wasn't supposed to cry. I wasn't supposed to be weak. But how could I be anything but? Everything was gone. My entire life, everything that mattered; it was over.

I remember the first time I saw her. She was so innocent, and my first instinct was to corrupt her. Something automatically drew me to her.

Later on I realized that what made me approach her, what made her stay; it was the fact that we were meant for each other. Nothing more and nothing less.

I was certain that I would be with her forever, something that had never even crossed my mind with anyone else. She was it for me. But I guess I was wrong.

I'd never thought of actually using the heroin that I spent so much time with. She always accused me of loving the drugs more than her, but the high that I got wasn't from the drugs.

It was from the fear, and the passion. And from her. Always from her.

I don't know when I decided to use. Maybe it was after the funeral that I just knew she would come to. She had to.

It was my mom and didn't she still love me? But after, when she didn't call and didn't show, I fell apart. Without her I felt nothing. I was nothing.

The drugs helped me to forget get most of the time. Never fully, because she'd always be there.

I finally started to sleep with other girls, needing to feel something other than the heroin running through my veins, but it never helped.

They were never pretty enough. Never funny enough. They were never her, and it never felt right.

Nobody made me feel like she did. Nothing made me feel like she did.

The way she kissed my entire body.

The way she went down on me.

The way she could make me laugh and make me cry and make everything ok.

The way she made me come.

With time, I learned that nothing would ever compare. Nothing would ever come close. Nothing, except her, would make me whole again,

It took me a year to throw out the stuff she left behind.

The pictures of us. The books she bought me.

But I could never throw away the memories, and it was those that hurt the worst.

For awhile I thought hating her would help. But when I realized that I did hate her it was worse, because I still loved her too.

I stopped sleeping around because it hurt too much.

I relied solely on the heroin, and after awhile I started to love it more than her.

I still don't know if was because I started to love her less, but I knew that my high could help me forget.

I thought about her every time I touched myself. I imagined that it was her hands, her tongue. Nothing got me off like she did.

It had been 1,357 days since our breakup when I saw her again.

My heart raced in my chest, that all still familiar high rising up.

And then I saw him. They looked so happy.

She looked like she had the life I always wanted to give her but couldn't.

So I left before she could see me. I went and sobbed and then used the only thing that could make me feel better.

While I slept that night all the memories I'd hidden for so long came rushing back.

I dreamed of the first time I took her out to dinner. She had never publicly been with a girl before, so she was scared.

She came to me because she was scared. Nothing felt better than her coming to me. Relying on me.

I dreamed of the first time I introduced her to my mom.

My mom had been begging to meet her, wanting to know how this infamous girl that could make me fall in love with her was.

They hit it off so well. They kept in touch themselves. She loved my mom. She loved me.

Just not enough.

I dreamed of the first time she went down on me.

She came up to me in the bathroom, not seeming to care about the last time we were together and my girlfriend had walked in on us.

She seemed so mad when it happened, but at the moment it was as if she had forgotten.

She told me that she didn't want to stand in the way of true love, and then started to tell me how sexual I made her feel, and that she wanted to taste what I tasted like.

I had never become so wet so quickly before, and at that moment I knew this girl had a hold over me like no other.

I started to kiss her, running my hands through her hair and battling her tongue for dominance. I grabbed her and took her into the bathroom stall.

It wasn't the ideal place for her first time, but at the moment neither of us cared. She took my shirt off and started to kiss my entire body, like she just couldn't get enough.

After kissing up and down my stomach, she delicately took my bra off and stared at me in a way nobody had before.

She started to feel my breasts, massaging them with her small hands.

Then she took one of my nipples into her mouth, licking it in circles while playing with and pulling on the other one.

She told me how turned on she was; how much she wanted to make me squirm.

She knelt down and started to take my pants off, kissing up and down my thighs. I wanted her. I needed her.

She took off my panties excruciatingly slowly, and then she rubbed a finger across my folds. I immediately jerked my hips, needing to feel her more.

After pushing a finger inside of me I begged for more, and she then took out her fingers and put them in her mouth to taste me.

Her eyes closed and she sighed in relief, a hungry look then on her face.

She took her hands and spread my legs, and then slowly licked her tongue along my opening. It felt so good that I was ready to scream right then and there.

She was very eager, plunging her tongue inside of me and then sucking on my clit in all the right ways.

She continued with her mouth and her fingers until I came hard.

With a satisfied grin on her face she told me how beautiful I was and how worth it the taste of me was.

That night I took her home with me, and from then on we were inseparable.

I woke up sweating, and then I started to cry. God I fucking missed her. The way she smelled. The way she laughed. The way she tasted.

How was it possible to miss someone so much? To miss someone for so long? Why was it possible to miss someone so much who didn't miss you at all?

It hurt. My heart ached. I needed her.

But she wasn't mine to need anymore.

I stopped counting.

I stopped needing her.

I stopped feeling.

I stopped living.

I saw her again about five years after we broke up.

She was alone, and everything in my screamed to walk away, but I needed to see her. To talk to her. To know that she was alright; that she was better than I had been.

We were in a little book shop, and no matter how hard I tried to resist my heart begged and pleaded until I walked up to her.

"Pipes," I whispered, standing just inches away from her.

She turned around, surprised to see me.

"Alex?" she asked, in disbelief that it was really me.

"HI," I said.

Before I knew what I was doing I was engulfing her into a hug, taking all of her in.

'I'm with someone," she spat out.

My heart fell.

"I just wanted to say hi," I told her.

Then I moved her hair behind her ear and gave her a kiss on the cheek, turning to walk away.

She called after me. Again and again.

But I did the strongest thing I ever did when it came to her.

I walked away.

The next two years were easier. I still missed her, but not like I had.

I was angrier than I had been before. I forgot to keep loving her, and with that came the hate I had longed for so eagerly before.

I wanted her to feel what she made me feel.

I wanted her to hurt.

But deep down, all I really wanted was her.

Everything came tumbling down at once.

The drugs. The money. It was all out in the open.

I was going to jail.

I never imagined myself being vengeful with her, but when I had the chance I took it.

I named her right away.

I knew someone would end up doing it anyway, and after how she broke me, it was my one and final chance to get some closure. To move on.

Prison wasn't too bad. I stopped being able to use, but I was never that great of a junkie anyway. At least not with heroin.

I mainly kept to myself, but the girls were nice.

And then she showed up. The girl who ripped my heart into a million pieces and stomped all over it.

And the worst part? I was ready to let her do it all over again.