This was not the best of your ideas.

Roxy creeped through the hallway, anxiously pausing to check that both her mother and younger sister were blissfully unaware how the middle Lalonde was trying to drown her pain.

Her mom had written, and Roxy read, enough best-selling books for the fourteen year old girl to know one thing...

Alcohol makes you forget.

And if there was one thing she wanted to forget, it would be the memory of seeing her latest crush kiss somebody.

A guy.

Not only did she have to beautiful, confident, smart, and nice to attract guys, but apparently, she had to have a dick too! I mean, she was ok with different sexualities (she herself was as straight as a noodle), but whoop-de-fucking do, let's just make it a smidge harder for dear old Roxy.

She smothered a burst of wry laughter before darting across the hall. The shiny glass bottles winked down at her from the top shelf, and she scurried to grab a chair, dragging it across the linoleum as quietly as she could.

It teetered as she balanced precariously on the humble ass-throne. Luckily, she managed to snag a bottle before she fell. On the bright side, the bottle was unharmed. Her thigh however, was not. A nasty bruise was already forming, but who would notice or care? So why bother even giving it a second thought.

She cradled the martini glass she stole from her mother, now safely in her room, and sniffed the liquor suspiciously. Schnapps? Vodka? She couldn't tell. It was her first time drinking, so how was she supposed to know anything?

Persuading herself to deal with yet another rejection like this had taken awhile. Partly because she had a phobia of throwing up and partly because...because...

Oh fuck it all, she couldn't remember. But that bitter liquid seared her throat and it did make her feel a little better.

A little.

But her heart was still broken, yet again, and there was nothing she could do.

Rufioh, the new pretty boy. Apparently, he was into pretty boys. Although Roxy wouldn't personally qualify Horuss as a pretty boy, but whatever. It stung all the same, realizing that once again, she was alone.

A translucent tear drifted in the edge of her vision, and raced down to meet the now empty glass. Here, in her small room with the bubblegum pink carpet, she was alone. Here she could be sad, and no one would hate her for it, as people often did.

So she did.

Why am I never good enough?! She bent over, practically hunched in two. I tried my hardest. I've always tried my hardest. But no! She shook her head violently. NO! Of courrrrrse not! God forbid that I could get what I wanted!

The familiar wave of guilt crashed over here. Again, feeling incredibly shameful for being upset about something. All her problems were so meaningless in this huge canyon called 'life', where people died and starved and cried every day. She was just a speck, nothing more important. Yeah, she had boy problems. Every teeange girl did. She kind of doubted that she was the only one with the guilt trip afterward.

Only a month earlier had Tavros, Rufioh's best friend, cheated on her with some random spider bitch. And no one would listen. No one would care. Just another boy issue that everyone knew she would get over.

She never got over people. Not really.

No one wanted Roxy around if she wasn't happy. With a bitter, hacking laugh, she drained the bottle, ignoring her now throbbing head and swaying stomach.

She got her share of crappy couple fluff from fanfics and other people's facebook statuses.

"Janeyyy," Roxy whined, "I don't believe you!" She teasingly batted the foam of her (admittedly spiked) caramel latte at her powder-blue best friend.

"No, Roxy, I'm serious! He's gorrrgeous!"

"Uh-huh. Suuure Janey." Roxy teased. "You said that about all the guys you introduce me to! May I remnid, I mean, remind you that we have completeley, completely different tastes in guys?"

"Are you drunk already?" Jane tsked, "Rox, we're only sixteen! Ya shouldn't be drinkin' that stuff!"

Roxy waved away the obviously preposterous idea that drinking was bad. "As much as I love your idaes, ahem, ideas and as much as I love covnentions, fuck, conventions, I don't want to get my hopes up."

"But," Jane pouted. "But Rooooox! It's gonna be a gathering of writers and cosplayers," (she said it 'cosplayas'), "and I know you love that, and trust me, he's really cute."

"Yuppers. I trust ya." She glugged her schnappy-latte and rolled her eyes. Jane hugged indignantly and both girls cracked up. Standing (stumbling) elegantly (sorta) from her seat, Roxy extended her arm to her country bumpkin, crap, pumpkin buddy, flipping her favorite scarf over her shoulder.

"Shall we?"

"We shall."

Her room really hadn't changed in the two years since her drinking habit had begun. Same white walls, same black kitten, same bubblegum pink carpet (best mothafuking color EVAR) and the same romance novels hidden under her bed. No way was she gonna let her mother lord her emotional insecurities over her.

Besides, she hid her poetry in those books, and no way was that seeing the light of day. Sighing, she settled into her spinny computer chair to read a couple of fanfics before bed.

Screw chores, screw homework, just give her the damn fics. Within minutes, her feels were aching and she was cuddling her favorite fluffy (pink) pillow. How were these stories so damn good?!

Maybe it's because it made her feel loved? Or more alone. She was too drunk to contemplate it. Her thoughts were muddled when she was drunk, and that was always. Important discussions were reserved for hangovers.

Apparently, the convention Jane was talking about was on May twenty-sixth. She was free that day...and she did love cosplayers...and pocky, just like dayum. Her resolve was swaying, and Roxy knew it. A part of her was even a little ok with it.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go.

But she was only going for the Pocky.

Amg, I've been wanting to write a Dirkxy since FOREVER AND A HALF, and so , tah-dah, I am!

Please review and let me know what you think! :)