A/N: Hello after a long hiatus! So, if you don't know the deal or don't remember following this fic, it used to have twelve chapters. The story moved into season 7 of PLL and was loosely following the plot. BUT I HATED IT. So, I ended up deleting four of the chapters. Instead, I'm going to keep this story going from right where we left off and not do a time jump. There will only be a few more chapters, probably two; this one and the next. I just wanted to finish this for you all who seem so devastated about Chapter 8 ending the way it did. You may want to reread Chapter 8, too, I made some significant dialogue edits starting from when Paige arrives.


Emily.

I stood there, feeling stunned. Confused. Thrown.

The door slammed, making me jump. Like someone had flung a bucket of cold water on me, waking me up, making me realize what had just happened with Alison.

The first thing I felt was anger, maybe even hatred. I hated Ali, hated her as much as I'd hated her back in high school, when I was convinced she was manipulating me again, that everything had been an act. I thought, she's done this to me again. Again and again and again. Why did she always leave me? Why did I ever give her another chance? Why did I ever kiss her back? Why did I think this would be any different than before?

But then I heard her words, her voice floating, pained, back into my mind. She'd said she cared about me. She'd wanted to see me again, that's why she came here. She'd thought she was losing me. She couldn't go back.

I suddenly burst forward, throwing my shoulder hard against the door, lurching through it. I had to stop her from leaving, even if she tried to stiff arm me, even if she tried to run.

"Ali!" I shouted down the hallway, not seeing her. She'd just left, though, she couldn't have gotten far.

"Ali!" I yelled again as I ran to the stairwell, no shoes on. I went down the first flight, my bare feet slapping against the concrete.

I craned my head, staring over the edge, still not seeing her. She wasn't on the street below, she wasn't at the corner. I continued down the stairs, out onto the pavement below. I desperately rounded the building, to look down the other street. But there was nothing. No one. Emptiness.

She'd disappeared. But how? And why did she just leave me?

No, I thought. She could not just disappear into the nether. She wasn't a fucking magician.

I whipped out my phone to call her, to text her, eyes still frantically searching for her form, her long golden hair. The rings were endless. Voicemail.

I tried again. Still rings, still voicemail.

I stared at my phone in disbelief, feeling tortured, helpless, frustrated. I started to type her a series of texts as I walked back towards the front of the building.

Emily to Alison: Please come back
Emily to Alison: I want to talk to you
Emily to Alison: Don't leave

I sent them, and then quickly read them again. They looked so desperate, I looked so desperate. Like I was begging.

I pushed my hands into my hair, tears in my eyes. Why did I say those mean things to her? Why couldn't I have just lied about Paige? Why did this hurt so much? I realized this didn't feel the same as before. It felt worse. Like I had really lost something.

That was when I heard a trunk shut. I turned, startled, even a little excited. Hopeful for a painful split second that it was Ali. But it wasn't Ali, it was Paige, watching me, her palm flat on the trunk of her car, her face stony. She must've been in her car when I'd looked before, maybe that's why I hadn't seen her. She only looked at me, guarded and angry.

Like Ali, our conversation had taken a turn for the worse, too. She'd told me I needed to wake up, or maybe it was grow up, and come back to her. She'd asked why I couldn't see that we were meant to be together. Over the last six months, she'd said she was sorry for the way she acted when my dad died. I'd said I was, too, but I wasn't really sure if I was. I just wanted to make her feel better. We'd been talking, she'd come to visit last month. We'd kissed again, even hooked up. But it just wasn't the same. Or I wasn't the same.

"You don't have any shoes on," she pointed out, leaning against the car, as I looked at her blankly, clutching my phone.

"Oh," I said, trying to compose myself, trying to hide my distress about Alison.

"I take it Ali left?" she said, her expression growing a touch harder.

I didn't answer, looking down at my phone. No response, an empty screen.

"I can't say I'm surprised," she finished.

I knew it was true, that it wasn't surprising that Ali had ditched me. I'd thought those exact words mere moments ago when Ali and I had begun fighting. But for some reason, hearing Paige say it, I didn't like it.

"You know, she's not the same as she was in high school," I said back defensively.

"Really?" she said hawkishly. "You're defending her?"

"Of course," I replied, my tone wary. "She was—is one of my best friends."

"Did you share a bed while she was 'visiting'?" she asked, emphasizing the last word with incredulity.

"No, Paige," I said more sternly, somehow finding it much easier to lie to her than to lie to Alison. "There's nothing going on. You know, there's never anything going on with her."

We stared at each other in a strange sort of Mexican standoff, Paige silently challenging me to own up to the truth for once. But I didn't.

As the silence wore on, I wondered if that made me a bad person: the fact that I could lie to my ex-girlfriend, who I'd been with off and on for years, but I couldn't lie to a girl who had never officially claimed our relationship. I had never lied to Alison, whereas I had always lied to Paige about Alison. Paige and I… almost everything was open and honest, visible and on the table. But not Alison. She had been a closed subject, locked and squared away. Off limits. We'd gone rounds about Alison in the past, Paige never believed me, never trusted Ali and I's friendship was totally platonic. Even though she had no solid reason to think it wasn't. After all, I'd never told her about the night Ali and I shared when she came back. And I never would.

Maybe I wasn't a bad person, maybe I was just consistent.

Paige shook her head as I maintained my silence, a contemptuous half smile on her face as she stared up at the beautiful, clear blue sky for a moment.

"You know," she said, rounding to the driver's side door, a look of angry defeat on her face. It reminded me of when I would beat her at swimming in high school. "I wish I was the one you ran after when I stormed off after a fight."

And, with that, she got into her car. My mouth hung open, trying to prove her wrong, trying to lie, but no words came out. But she didn't wait for my response, she slammed her door, started the engine and drove off.

I turned away from the sight of it, feeling dejected and stupid again. I checked my phone, but there was still no reply. It occurred to me that she wasn't going to answer. That she might never talk to me again. But that was unacceptable to me, not even an option.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, centering myself. I needed to find Alison. I knew I could find her. Where would she go? What would she do?


Alison.

I saw my missed calls from Emily. She'd texted me. But I didn't answer. She'd come rushing out of the apartment a few moments after I'd left. I heard her call my name down the hallway, down the stairs, out into the street. But I'd expected it, I'd hidden on the floor above, in a doorway. I'd gone upstairs instead of down. I could still remember how to hide. Even after years. Was it something you could ever forget?

When the coast was clear, I called for a cab and went to the airport to book a quick flight home. But of course, because my life could never be easy, there were weather delays and cancellations. I drummed my fingers angrily on the counter, struggling desperately to control my temper, as the ticketing agent told me there was nothing she could do. I even lied, telling her I was part of a wedding, that I had to get to Rosewood tonight. Anything to get out of this fucking city. But the woman still couldn't help me. Her 'hands were tied.' I huffed, throwing an angry glare at the ceiling. She offered me a flight first thing the next morning, she even recommended a hotel around the corner from the airport. I sighed, resigned, and booked my ticket with a tight-lipped smile.

Even though I was beyond pissed, I took her hotel recommendation. Mainly because I was too exhausted to figure anything else out. In my room, I pulled back the curtain and looked out over LA, at least what I could see through the smog. The view wasn't like Santa Monica. Everything seemed old, from the 70's, dirty, and hazy. The hotel was nice, nich-ish at least. My room had floor to ceiling windows, but I couldn't see the ocean. But maybe I didn't want to see it again. It would remind me of her.

I let the curtain fall closed again, and I sat on the edge of my bed uncomfortably. I wondered what had happened when I left. Did Paige come back? Had Emily called her, looking for comfort? Emily had always left me for her. What would stop her again?

Fucking Paige. Paige Fucking McCullers.

I tortured myself. I thought about Paige staying there, the sheets still warm from my departure. I thought of Emily hugging her, relieved to see her. I thought about them kissing.

I pressed my hand hard over my eyes, trying to make myself stop. But I could only think that Paige had always been there for Emily when I wasn't. She had always given Emily everything that I couldn't. She was loyal and honest and loving. There were times I thought I was lifetimes away from who I'd been, miles away from the girl who had bullied her, written her a fake love letter and blackmailed her. But there were other times, like now, where I hated Paige again. It felt all consuming, like a fire that destroyed whole forests, whole cities. I remember once having the arrogance to tell Paige that I owned her. But she owned Emily now. Which meant, that in reality, she owned me. She'd won again.

And why? Because I was a coward?

I made a grumbling noise, glancing at my phone. Emily hadn't called or texted in a while. Did she give up? Should I answer her? Was it cold that I didn't?

The more I thought about it, the more I hated to admit that she might've been right. I was running away. What I'd felt there in her bed, the whole weekend, when she'd been in Rosewood, I wanted it. I wanted her. Too much. It frightened me. It made me hate myself. Paige "Pigskin" McCullers had somehow been braver than me, opened herself up, loved all of Emily and let Emily love all of her. How could I do that? What if she rejected me? What if it ended?

I put my phone down with certainty. She would reject me. She had before. While I might've known what I wanted, I had no idea what she wanted. And she definitely didn't want me.

No one did, not really at least. I knew I was beautiful, seductive, a trophy men wanted to place on their mantle. But I was also the kind of person that hid from someone desperately calling their name. The kind of person that ran away for two years while everyone that loved them suffered. A liar. A manipulator. I acted like I was ready, then I wasn't. I kissed her, then said we shouldn't talk about it. I had only ever hurt her. People like that, like me, they didn't deserve love. Certainly not from someone like Emily. Not now, not ever.

I picked up the hotel phone. I dialed room service, I told them to bring me literally any bottle of wine. I could only hope that, somehow, alcohol would make this all go away until the morning.

When I hung up the phone, I thought, next week this would all just be a memory. Another thing that had happened that I'd try hard to forget.

Then I cried. Hard. Ugly cried in that stupid hotel room. The type of cry that haunts you later, leaves your body sore, sick. I wasn't sure if what I was feeling was heartbreak… because I'd never felt anything like it. Emily and I hadn't even been a thing necessarily. We never had been. But we always had been, too. And, whatever it was, it was over. I'd ruined it.

I peeled my clothes off, so I wouldn't smell like her, so maybe I'd stop crying. Then, I got into the shower for a long, long time.


Emily.

I stood there awkwardly at the door. I thought about what a pain in the ass this whole ordeal had been. I briefly thought, what if this isn't her room? What if I was wrong? Then I thought, fuck it.

I knocked on the door, not loud, but not quietly. I knocked with authority.

After a few moments, I hear soft footfalls, the door swing open. Her normally beautiful blonde curls were wet, sitting on her shoulders. Her face was in shadow, turned away.

"You can put it over there," she said, holding out a five dollar bill.

But when I didn't move to take it, she looked up, and she saw my face. Her eyes widened, she took in a deep breath. She looked like she was seeing a ghost. Or someone she absolutely never thought she'd see again. And maybe that had been her plan. But that wasn't my plan for her.

"How did you—" she stuttered, shocked. "How did you find me?"

I wanted to say that I would always find her, that I have always found her. Even all those years ago when she was missing, it was me that hacked the email account. It was me that met up with her in secret. It was me that never stopped believing that she was still alive. I can't explain it, but we have a connection, something that gives me a sixth sense for what Ali might do, where she might go. I suppose it's a product of thinking about her, dreaming about her, longing for her so obsessively for so long. Even when I think I've forgotten about her, I haven't. She's always with me.

I looked at her face. Despite the obvious surprise there, her eyes were red, her skin was puffy. I thought I might find her perfectly composed, laughing about what she'd put me through this time, but she didn't look like that at all. She looked as devastated as I felt.

I didn't answer her question. Instead, I pushed open the door with my hand, invading her personal space. I slid my fingers against her cheek, to the back of her neck, where I pulled her forward. I worked my lips over hers aggressively, forcing her to take a step back, the door slamming closed behind me.

As I kissed her, I could tell she was still shocked, slightly rigid beneath me, her hands clutching at my elbows. But I was honestly surprised, too. I thought I would start yelling at her again, demand to continue our conversation from earlier. But when I saw her, looking raw and vulnerable and small, I only wanted to do this. I wanted to kiss her until she forgot we'd ever had a fight at all. I wanted her to forget about everything.

As I pushed her further into the room, still kissing her heatedly, I appreciated the soft texture of the bath robe she wore as I groped her ass. She made a noise, and her lips finally responded to mine, fully engaged, firm and sensual. I felt her tongue graze my lips, my teeth.

I thought about everything she'd said about us. I remembered suddenly how she called me a mess. I moved her roughly to the side, against a low sitting dresser, her back and legs making hard enough contact that it rocked. I grope blindly behind her, slide everything off of it in one sweeping motion. I lifted her onto the top, so I was between her legs, her thighs situated fast around my waist. She pressed her palms flat against the wood, stabilizing herself.

I pulled back for a moment, my hands clutching her waist tightly as I stared into her bitingly blue eyes. She's still leaned back, her hands still on the table top. She wore a strangely vulnerable expression that seemed to say 'what now?' but I could only hear her taunting me from earlier, her voice sharp.

"I know you're failing your classes. And, Jesus Christ, Emily, you're a bartender?"

I kissed her again, hard. I pulled, ripped at her bathrobe, opening her like an overeager child with a Christmas present. I had something to prove. I intensely kneaded the inside of her thighs as we kissed, Ali moaning into my mouth. It was satisfying to know she wanted this, even though she said she didn't. Then again, maybe I'm confused, and that's not what she'd said at all.

Either way, she held onto me like a lifeline. She didn't disconnect our mouths once but pressed closer into me, moving her hands into my hair. I pushed the bathrobe fully off, over her shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on dresser top, so that she was fully naked and laid bare.

I broke away, looking down at the smooth expanse of her slightly defined stomach to her delicate collar bone to her cleft chin. She looked so hot. She watched me, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling.

I wrapped my arm tightly around her waist pulling her close again. I trailed my finger down her stomach, moving my body against hers, pressing her back hard against… it wasn't a wall, it was a mirror. I made eye contact somewhat awkwardly with my reflection before I repositioned my hand at her sex, sliding, plunging into Ali. She moaned, loud and long, pulling my hair. My breath fogged the mirror in front of me. I could see Ali's back, long and slender leaving marks as her hips moved back and forth against it.

I wasn't gentle, but I wasn't being too rough as I nibbled her neck slightly, thrust her ass forward into my hand. She drew my face back to her mouth, biting my lip, my tongue. I curled my fingers, and she groaned, louder than before, breaking our kiss, throwing her head back. I quickened my pace, taking a moment to savor the fact that Alison is tight around my fingers, outside of herself with pleasure.

I snaked my other hand up from her ass to her back as I licked her ear, dipping my tongue inside it.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed out in a whine.

There's a knock at the door. I halted my movements, looking at the door confused.

"Who is that—" I asked breathlessly, but I didn't finish as Ali grabbed my chin, turning my face back to hers, pressing her forehead against mine.

"Don't fucking stop," she warned, her eyes threatening, her pupils big and black.

I felt like I had no choice but to listen to her, so I continued, reentering her, causing her to bite her lip, whimpering. I used my thumb to rub hard circles on her clit, and she made a grunting, growl of a sound, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were pink. I didn't see any trace of the girl who answered the door, and I felt relieved.

There's another knock, but this time I didn't stop.

"Room service," a voice said insistently.

"Leave it—leave at the door," Ali called out in broken words. I could tell she was close, her fingernails were biting into my shoulders.

I leaned in, twisting my tongue into her mouth, roughly massaging hers. Her mouth only lolled open, uncoordinated and uncaring. I left it, kissing the rest of her skin, leaving marks in a trail down her body, from her neck, to her chest, and to her breast… all as the dresser banged loudly against the wall.

"Em," she cried out, and I could feel her whole body tensing, beginning to spasm.

"I'm right here," I said back as she came.

I hope you all enjoyed this one, rare moment where Emily dominates Ali. Because Alison DiLaurentis is a top.