Summary : I know the whole a guy walks into a bar thing is old, but that's how our story starts.

Notes : Based upon 'Nothing Left To Lose' by The Pretty Reckless.

Between Elvis and Suicide
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On a rainy Saturday evening, a guy walks into a bar. I know that phrase usually goes along with a joke, but ain't nothin' funny about this story. Some would call it depressing, others miraculous. Personally, I don't know what to call it besides life, or lack of. Specifically, my lack of life and her abundance of it, even though she isn't supposed to have any left. You'd think that being dead would suck the life out of her, but it seems that Little Pink Hair didn't get the memo. She's all smiles and dark jokes and stupid laughs and so much color that you'd go absolutely blind – but you really don't need to see anyway.

Hell, even if you were blind you'd still see her mess of pink hair and those bright, stupidly green eyes that only a girl named Sakura could have. I remember once she told me that Sakura wasn't the name on her birth certificate, but a nickname her sister coined after she...y'know...died. She had another dainty flower name, like Rose or something, but sakura flowers die early, and that's what she did.

I've never been much of a flower person, but with pink hair and green eyes, I couldn't imagine her having anyother name. It just wouldn't fit the bill. She just looks like a Sakura.

But that's not the point. The guy walked into the bar, full of swagger and confidence that he's always known. It was pouring buckets outside, but the guy was too cool to notice. He's always been too cool for something, and even in death, that never changed. He walked into the bar, and was momentairly blinded by the pretty pink drink of water that was the bar tender. She was short and plucky, making light conversation with a blond who wasn't drinking anything. Her hair lightly grazed her shoulders and was a wickedly bright shade a pink that drew the guy over to her.

If you assumed the guy was me, you'd be right. In the coolest manner possible, I made my way over the bar and took a seat, watching the pretty bar maid with interest. I had a way with girls in life, and if her friend was any indication, I haven't lost my touch. The pretty girl looked and me and her face flushed softly, and I chuckled at her – it's been a long time since I made a girl blush so quickly. In a blink, she made her way over to me, her bright jade eyes staring into mine.

This is the moment when I noticed the music in the background. It's an old song, but one I know well, due to spending so much time with my mother as a child. She was huge early rock 'n' roll fan, and everytime she found a recod on vinyl, she bought it home. Really, this songs belonged in a diner more than a bar, but I didn't have any complaints. In fact, I tapped my foot against the bar stool along with the beat. This action caused the pretty girl to smile a wide, bright smile at me.

Her pink lips pursed together as she spoke, "What's your poison, babe?" Her voice was smooth and even over the loud music, and it was the clearest thing I've heard since I died. Sweet and soft, I had to lick my own lips before responding to her.

"That's a pretty morbid joke, babe," I said, propping my elbows on the counter.

She laughs lightly and props her own self up, leveling her face with mine. Her jade eyes aligned with mine, and I was hooked. Those green eyes and those plump lips charmed me into moving closer, completely addicted without having a single taste. When she bit her lip in hesistation, I moved closer intent of invading her space. WIth a devious look in her eyes, she said, "We're all pretty morbid here." She looked at me with a mischievious smirk, and threw a wink towards the blond.

I guess she was the thing I was too cool notice, for I'd forgetten that she was here. The girl turned back to me, bringing an empty glass. When she approached me with an amber liquid in hand, I smirked at her. "You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see," I said, in time with the music in the background. She laughed her clear, bright laugh as she poured the shot and once again, I fell back under her spell.

"How old are you? Fifty?" she joked, putting the bottle back.

"Only twenty-nine," I responded truthfully. She turned to me, her eyes slightly wider than what they were. With a cock of her head, she smiled at me. "You?" I asked, downing the shot.

"Nineteen," she said, a gleam in her eyes. Before I could protest to what she was doing, she said, "I've been dead for ten years."

"That's a long time," I say, and she shrugs softly.

"I wouldn't spend these ten years doing anything different," she said, wiping down the counters. She quickly glances up at me and threw a wink my way, one bright eyes covered by tan skin. "Would you?" she asked.

"I wouldn't give anything to not end up here with you," I said, my voice deep and suave. She looks at me and cocks her eyebrow, but the pink tint staining her cheeks tells me that I'm going in the right direction. "What's your name?" I ask.

"They call me Sakura, and that's pretty morbid," she replied, stacking the glasses behind her. Quickly, she hopped onto the counter and swung her legs over, not quite facing me, but slightly turned to my form.

"And why's that?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Why do they call me Sakura or why is it morbid?" she asked, pursing her pink lips. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me, but her green eyes seemed to be looking through me. I don't put it past her; she seems like the kind of girl who can look through me. She won't find much, I'm not a man of substance. Shivers and chills and anything to keep me from getting low is what I was about when I was alive, and I haven't changed much.

Now, I don't get low.

An infinite high.

"Both," I answer her, and she takes a seat besides me.

"They call me Sakura because I offed myself when I was nineteen. It's morbid because Sakura's are beautiful and pink and happy little trees, but they die super early and super fast. One minute there and the next dead," she said, her eyes ever optimistic. Before I can feel bad for what she's told me, she puts a hand up. "Life sucks, then you die. I just wanted to speed up the process." She looks into her lap and digs for something in her pocket. "I sent my sister a text before I died," she said, pulling out her phone. She cleared her throat before reading, "'Maybe I was wrong. Maybe life doesn't get better. Life sucks, it has always sucked, and it might suck forever. Is there a such thing as recovery? A long, difficult process that erases what dad did and makes everything better? Sounds very fairy tale-ish and I don't think it's worth it anymore. I won't pretend I'm okay anymore.'" She put her phone away and sighed softly. I put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked at me with wide eyes. "By the time she found me, I was long gone. And I don't regret it." I hadn't the slightest idea how to react to this. A complete stranger telling me about her suicide doesn't always happen, and it's enough to make me lose my cool. Before I know it, she puts a hand on my shoulder, "You're shaking."

"I used to shake all the time," I told her, trying to ease up. She held her eyes away from mine, until I spoke up, "I'm not judging you or anything. It's just some chills. I'll be fine in a bit." It was true, I used to shake and shiver and sweat all the time when I was alive. When my brother died, I fell into a void and the cause of my shakes and shivers pulled me out of it.

It also lead to my demise.

"I used to be a junkie," I blurted, causing her to give me a look.

"So was my sister," she said, smiling softly. "She's clean now. I check up on her from time to time, but I don't think she notices," she continues, lacing her fingers in mine. I didn't protest. "How'd you kick the bucket?"

"Overdose on painkillers," I say softly. She looks at me with her bright green eyes and I keep talking, though I don't know why. "It might've been intentional or accidental, I don't know for sure. I just woke up that day and told myself that I was going to swallow a bottle of xanax and I did."

She stayed silent for a moment, but it wasn't odd. Slightly off putting, but she'd been off putting in general. Off-putting and bright and blinding and filling the void I'd gotten myself into without even trying. She became my new addiction in what could've been minutes or hours or days.

Suddenly, time didn't matter anymore.

She mattered.

My shaking stopped.

I don't have chills.

And she's holding my hand.

"This is going to sound weird," she began, placing a hand on my chest, "but I want to try to live as close a normal life as possible. With you."

"You don't even know my name," I say, smiling slightly at her.

"I do," she said, smirking at me.

"Oh?"

"It's Cute-Guy-I'm-Going-To-Spend-My-Afterlife-With."

I like the sound of that.