Okay, let's be honest. My last few stories for this pair have been very 'eh'. But, now that I've watched the entire series, thought more about Alex's character, and did some reflection, I managed to put together this piece that I'm relatively proud of.
You look out at the black, BMW parked outside the shithole that masquerades as your apartment and take another sip of ten dollar wine.
Stay cool you tell yourself. He's only trying to scare you.
But although you once built a multi-million dollar career on false pretenses, you were never very good at lying to yourself.
To anyone else, the black BMW parked feet away from your apartment is slightly odd, considering its luxurious contrast to your rundown apartment building. To you, however, it's a warning and constant reminder that Kubra never took kindly to traitors.
Fuck.
You knew from the moment you signed those papers that accepting that plea bargain was a mistake. You knew, even if you hadn't been lying when you told yourself that you did it out of sheer desire to protect her – and weren't at all motivated desire to be released – that following the law was somehow going to end up fucking you in the end.
And you were right. You hear news of the mistrial, of the dumb fuck who mishandled the evidence, and you realize it was all for nothing. And now, as you glance at the drawer that contains the small handgun you sleep with out of the fear that's constantly lurking in the back of your mind, you adjust your glasses and sigh.
I'm the master of handling things completely wrong. Not only did I fuck myself. I completely screwed Pip—
You force your mind to stop. You can't go there. Not again. But God, do you miss her. In spite of the thin, artificial resolve you had to stop thinking about Piper, you find yourself reminiscing about the first time you realized that you'd fallen in love with the blonde.
"Wasn't that great?!," you ask, as the two of you stumble into your luxurious loft after a long night of drinking and other debauchery. Seven or eight other people you don't know follow the two of you in, talking and laughing.
Piper nods insincerely, not even bothering to fake a smile as she allows herself to collapse on the couch, away from the entourage of people who have begun to disperse around your living room.
You frown. Even in your inebriated state, you can tell that something's wrong. She's been quiet all night. Smiling, you go over to her, deciding to try and lighten her mood.
"I want to go to bed," she tells you, looking unhappier by the second as the strangers saunter over to your stereo and put on loud dance music.
You sigh. Why did she have to be like this? The party was just getting started.
"Come on, Kid," you cajole. "Live a little."
A wave of irritated sadness ripples across Piper's face before disappearing completely "I'm so exhausted, I feel dead."
"Well, last I checked, this was a party, not a funeral."
She rolls her eyes and gives you a light shove. "I'm going to bed. Have fun with your groupies."
"Pipes, don't be like that," you say. You start to go after her, but out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the people in your living room passing out ecstacy tablets. All thoughts of Piper are momentarily forgotten as the colors and sounds blur together in a euphonious haze.
You wake up on the floor of your living room, head pounding like someone's driving a jackhammer through your skull. After forcing yourself up – and thanking God that all your clothes are still on – you gently, but firmly usher out the four or five strangers who lost consciousness on your furniture. As you watch them leave, holding your throbbing head between your hands, you look at the clock above your bookshelf: 7:43 am.
Shit. Piper.
After closing and locking the door behind the last of your overnight guests, you make your way to the bed that you and Piper have been sharing for the past few nights. You're relieved to find her sleeping in one of your old T-shirts, an arm draped over her face and messy blonde hair.
Your mind flashes back to the look she gave you before she went to bed last night. After going back and forth in your head, you decide to take a chance and wake her up. You gently shake her arm. When that doesn't work, you gradually apply more force until you hear the girl begin to slowly wake.
"Piper?"
"Ugh." Piper stirs, still half-asleep. She opens one eye. "What is it, Alex?
Your heart begins to quicken as you realize that for once, you don't have a reply. Because, really, what are you supposed to say? Throughout your life, you've made it a point not to do apologies. Your mother used to tell you that you should never say you're sorry just to make other people happy. You see apologies as a sign of weakness. But as the beautiful girl of whom you've become so fond in the past few weeks watches you carefully with a look of guarded expectation, you feel your resolve crumble. You open your mouth to tell her you're sorry, but what comes out is: "You're hogging my pillows."
Fuck. I didn't mean to say that, you think as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She mumbles something incomprehensible and rolls over.
Smooth, Vause. You think sarcastically as you crawl into bed beside her and pull the covers over your still pounding head.
It's 2:10 pm when you wake up to an empty bed. Sitting up, you rub the remnants of sleep from your eyes, stretch, and reluctantly stand up, wondering where Piper is.
"Piper?," you call out. No answer.
"Piper?!," you try again. Still nothing. You groan in frustration, your head still in a fog from last night's events.
"Piper!," you cry out, beginning to worry that maybe she left.
"What Alex?!," she snaps as she emerges from your bathroom, dripping wet and wrapped in a yellow towel. "I was in the shower."
Relief courses through your veins. She isn't mad at you, you realize. She was probably just tired from last night. Shaking aside your worries, you smile at her mischievously.
"Want some company?" You reach behind your back to unzip the dress you're still wearing from last night.
But to your surprised, your smile is not returned.
"No," she says with a tone of finality before disappearing back into the steamy bathroom, leaving you alone.
Fuck.
And so this went on for the rest of the week until finally, you can't take it anymore. You half-jokingly tell her over dinner that if being passive aggressive was an Olympic event, she'd take home the gold metal.
"Fuck you!," she cries out, slamming her fork down and standing abruptly up. Crimson creeps across her cheeks as she notices the stares of the other people in the small Indian restaurant. Exhaling in exasperation, she sits down.
"Hey," you say, genuinely concerned – and confused – by the blonde's behavior. "What's with you these past few days?"
Piper took a sip of the margarita she'd ordered despite the cold weather before looking you straight in the eye and saying, "I want you."
You knit your eyebrows in confusion. If you had to go by this week alone, you would've come to the opposite conclusion.
"I want you," she continues, noting your confused face. "But you don't want me."
You can't help but scoff at her words. They're ridiculous. After all, hadn't you doted over her? Given her the life she'd always wanted?
"Piper…," you start, not knowing what to say. "That's not tru—
"Oh really?," she cuts you off. "Then why is it every night that you don't have to work, we always have to go to some party or gathering with 900 drunk, high as fuck strangers who don't even w—
You're taken by surprise. "What? I thought you loved parties!"
Piper throws her hands up in the air. "I do! But Alex, we've been in Jakarta three weeks and have barely explored at all. Every night it's the same routine: eat dinner, go to some wild party, get drunk or high, come home with strangers, get even more wasted, and go to sleep."
A smirk tugs at the corner of your lip."You forgot the mind blowing sex."
"Alex, stop it! I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about the fact that you can never just be with me. Alone. Unless your face is between my legs. Because I'm not enough for you."
Her words hang in the air and you feel like someone sucker punched you.
I don't even know how she could possibly feel this way, you think. Of course she's enough for me. That's absurd! Doesn't she know that's not true?! Doesn't she know that I love her?
It hits you. You love her. You really fucking love her. With all your heart and mind. And so, for the first time in years, you make it a point to apologize. You tell her that she's all you've ever wanted and she forgives you.
You tell her you love her a few days later. She says it back. You can't remember the last time you were this happy.
Briiiiiiiiiing! The phone rings and obnoxiously breaks you out of your reverie. Hesitantly, you pick it up and hold it to your ear.
"An inmate from Litchfield Federal Prison is attempting to contact you. To accept this call, please press one."
Willing yourself not to smile or hope that it's her, you accept the call.
"So in your letter, you claim you tried to ask if I could get the same deal you got," begins Piper without even a hello. The 'no nonsense' tone to her voice brings a small smile to your face. It's the same voice she used to use when she would threaten to withhold sex from you.
She continues. "But, what you failed to explain is after you coached me into exactly what to say in my testimony, you suddenly do an about face and say the exact opposite thing."
The familiarity of her voice sends shivers down your spine. As the two of you talk, her originally indignant and self-righteous tone gives way to an entirely different emotion: pure, unadulterated panic as you explain to her the reality of your situation – you're in serious danger.
"Alex, you shouldn't be in New York! You should be in fucking Nevada or Argentina or something…"
The fear in her voice – the very same fear that was present when you asked her to carry drugs for you almost 11 years ago – catalyzes an instinctive urge to reassure her, to be her protector, to ease her anxiety.
So you lie.
"I'm fine," you say, hoping your voice won't betray the way your hands are shaking as you look out the window and see that Kubra's car is still outside your apartment. Your eyes flit to the cabinet where you keep your gun. After the phone call ends and Piper agrees to put you on her visitation list, you allow yourself a tiny smile. Before a forceful knock from your landlord causes your heart to pound in your ears.
That Saturday morning you get dressed and try to make it look like you haven't been spending your nights with a gun under your pillow. You reflect on your fucked up past with Piper. Yes, you'd been angry at her for leaving you when you needed her most. Yes, she'd picked Larry. Yes, she'd broken your heart, not once, but twice. And yes, she was a WASP-y, self-involved narcissist. But hindsight is always crystal clear. Although you spent years too blinded by anger and heartbreak to see things from her perspective, it finally hits you: she was scared. Piper left you not out of selfishness, but fear, something that you couldn't understand until now: as you lie awake at night, afraid of what tomorrow will bring. And if she was even half as scared as you are now when the two of you were in Paris or when she picked that curly headed fuck over you, you can understand why made the decisions she did.
Why she's still talking to you on the other hand is something beyond your comprehension. You rub your eyes and force yourself to face the facts: it was you who got her to carry drug money. It was you who caused her to leave you in Paris. It was you who got her thrown in prison. It was you who messed up her comfortable, yuppie life, and it was you who made her a perjurer and a liar. You look in the mirror at your reflection and see the weary face of an aging woman whose best years are most likely behind her. You sigh, try to shrug off your guilt, and grab your car keys. For the first time since the trial, you're Litchfield bound.
As you sit in the visitation room, you take a breath in an attempt to steady your racing heart. You know Piper isn't going to like what you have to say and you aren't looking forward to saying it. But you have to do the right thing for once; you can't leave Piper, the woman who you know will always be the love of your life, without bidding her a proper good bye. But, when she sits down across from you, trying very hard to pretend she isn't happy to see you, you're again at a loss for words. You decide to begin with a joke.
"Okay, this is totally weird. I'm in the wrong outfit."
Piper laughs cheerlessly. "I like your sweater," she says, caressing your arm. Your glum spirits begin to lift. Maybe she isn't as angry as you thought. "It's soft. Like your resolve when you're offered a plea deal."
The small amount of hope you'd had that this would go well vanishes. You swallow, searching your mind for the right combination of words to assuage her anger and explain.
"It came down at the very last minute, Piper." You put your glasses on top of your head and look her square in the eye. "And they promised me it would put him away. For good."
An unamused expression fixes itself upon Piper's face.
"But it made me a perjurer and you a free woman."
You clench your teeth. Must Piper always assume the worst about you?
"I thought you were going to tell the truth!," you counter defensively.
"And I thought you were going to lie!"
You throw your hands up in exasperation. This entire situation is fucked.
"Jesus, we're like the fucking O. Henry story!"
At this, Piper's anger fades and she offers an almost smile.
You chuckle slightly, deciding to try and appease her. "It's good to see your face."
She gives you a forced smile. "I don't know what to say."
The tense dialogue continues. Although you never say you're sorry, you admit that you're a fuck up. She doesn't disagree. The two of you talk for a few minutes about your fat, useless probation officer.
"You'd think that part of his job would be protecting his probies, you know?"
You look down at the table, willing yourself not to start crying. "But nobody gives a shit about ex-cons."
When she asks you what you plan to do, you realize that you can't beat around the bush any longer. You have to tell her why you came here to talk to her.
"I'm skipping town."
The cold front that Piper has been putting up immediately gives way to a devastation that breaks your heart.
"You're what?! You can't."
"I don't have a choice!," you tell her. "These people know where I live. That's why I wanted to see you. Once I go, Piper, I can't come back. I have to just disappear."
Piper shakes her head furiously as tears begin to fill her eyes. "You can't leave me," she tell you in a small voice.
"Piper, I'm in danger!"
"But I don't have anyone left."
The anger, self-righteousness, and hostility in her voice are gone. Now, all you see is sadness as she begs you not to go.
"I really do love you," you tell her in earnest, imploring with your eyes for her to understand.
Despite her insistences to the contrary, you both know she loves you every bit as you love her. This time, you're the one breaking her heart. She trusted you and you let her down. Again.
On the ride back to your shitty apartment, it's raining. You think it's fitting, considering your situation. You think back to the first time you realized she was falling for you – it was after your fourth date when she had finally let her walls completely down and the two of you had sex for the first time. As she came with your fingers inside of her, she'd given you a look, a look that implied complete trust and unconditional awe. A look that implied that as long as she had you, even if it was in the capacity of a life that her family and friends could never know about, she'd never be alone
I really fucked that up, you think.
Because now Piper has nobody. Not her family. Not her self-absorbed friends. Not even her stupid fucking fiancée. All because of you.
When you get home, you start pacing around your kitchen, running your hands through your hair. If there's one thing you know for sure, it's that you love Piper more than anything on this entire, shitty planet. You can't bear knowing that you're responsible for the look of utter defeat on her face when you kissed her farewell.
Unexpectedly, you do something you haven't done in months: you start to cry. You cry for Piper, you cry for your lost glory days, you cry for how scared you are, and you cry for your mom; what would she think of you now?
You have to try and make this right. You can't go on living in fear. You can't go on knowing that you left Piper all alone. You wipe away your tears and with shaky steps, make your way over to your downtrodden living room.
You pick up your telephone, call the king of sitting on his fat ass and stuffing his face with swiss rolls – your probation officer – and tell him about the unregistered gun you've been sleeping with at night. Because, at this point, what really is there for you to lose?
Nobody gives a shit about ex-cons.
Thanks for reading. Review are appreciated. If the interest is there, I may consider turning this one shot into a multi chapter story.