This is Part One of a two shot. Rated T for strong language.
A girl wearing a simple slate grey v neck and dark denim jeans sat hunched over at a small square table in a nondescript hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. She tucked a wad of her black wavy hair behind an ear before winding her fingers around the handle of an off-white coffee cup. With only a book for company, she neither lifted her head to acknowledge other patrons nor spoke to the waitress who refilled her coffee before she could raise the nearly empty cup to her lips.
Wondering why she even bothered, the brunette waitress muttered, "Rude much" as she strolled away with the glass pot stained by years of coffee remnants never completely washed away.
Not at all concerned with the frustrated woman's decidedly low opinion of her, the girl at the table brushed the tip of her pointer finger against her tongue and turned a page of the book which apparently intrigued her to the point of rudeness. Despite her demeanor and her intense gaze upon the pages, the inked words captivated her as much as the waitress's presence. Before dropping her hand to rest upon the smeared glass table top, she briefly caressed the small dimple in her chin with a knuckle. Instead of entertaining herself with the familiar story of Pip and Estella, she strained to focus on something—something less obvious than her worn copy of Great Expectations. A verbal conversation taking place two tables behind her, not an exposition on a page, demanded her complete attention.
Unconsciously, she leaned back in her chair as if being one inch closer might raise the volume of the personal exchange. To her chagrin, the voices had quieted, making it harder for her to eavesdrop. However, her sharp hearing didn't fail her. It rarely did. As she lifted her right leg and slid her right thigh over her left, her left hand gripped the red coat, her own version of an invisibility cloak, that was draped across her lap. Her ability to remain anonymous, while hearing and seeing what she shouldn't, kept her safe while at the same time afforded her the opportunity to protect four people she had abandoned. Actually she was better than invisible; she was dead. She was simultaneously rotting away and living under the noses of those she left behind. She was Alison DiLaurentis, the murdered girl from Rosewood.
As she nervously tugged at a button on her coat, she contorted her features into a look of revulsion. A small, almost inaudible gag echoed in her throat in response to what she heard. Most of the time, she found herself unmoved when secretly gathering information. After all, why would Vivian Darkbloom be interested in random conversations between highschoolers and certain adults?
This situation was different. In this particular instance, she gleaned nothing useful to her or her friends. Her eavesdropping was purely selfish and a blatant invasion of privacy. She had absolutely no right to follow Emily and Paige to this coffee shop. Regardless, she had to know what was going on between them. Her gag signaled her displeasure, while the slight prick at her heartstrings revealed her disappointment.
For a couple of months, she witnessed the two girls interact from afar, but hadn't dared get close enough to hear the truth of their relationship from their own lips. Now she knew. They were serious. Emily's feelings for Alison had dwindled into nothing but a distant memory. In her moments of optimism and fantasy, she imagined Emily forced herself to move on because she couldn't be expected to remain true to feelings for a ghost. Even if that was the case, Alison couldn't help but be disgusted by the fact that Paige, of all people, had slipped her hooks into Emily. Fucking Pigskin.
While she occasionally regretted her treatment of some people whom she had bullied, she never felt at all sorry for blackmailing Paige. She wanted that bitch as far away from Emily as possible. That's precisely why she had composed that obscenely graphic note and tricked the smitten Paige into basically handing her the ammunition to keep her away for good.
In the quiet moments when she wasn't twitching out of paranoia, she concocted ways to separate them even now. Before her scheme could take full form, she banished the idea with the thought of Emily brokenhearted and alone. Even Alison wasn't that cruel. So here she was—torturing herself listening to their obnoxiously cute flirtation. Strangers might think the jealous spying to be beneath such a pretty girl, but those who knew her wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
"Stop it," Alison heard Emily playfully chide her girlfriend.
"What?" Paige returned, "You are beautiful. Someone should tell you every day." Again, the disguised blonde suppressed a noise of disgust.
"Someone does tell me every day," the brunette swimmer sweetly replied.
Actually glad she couldn't see the two besotted girls, Alison sighed while quickly turning another page in her book and intentionally flipping past the heartbreaking description of Pip's misplaced and hopeless love for Estella. Why hadn't she reminded Emily how beautiful she was?
Over the last year, her once timid friend had been forced to thicken her skin and transform into a confident woman. Ali loved it. She always cheered inwardly when Emily defended herself and the other girls. A bit annoyed with herself, Alison angrily rapped her fingers on the table top. Why had she stifled that brave inclination? Oh, that's right, she remembered, because life had been a chess game and Alison the Almighty had assumed the roles of both players. For sport and partly survival, she shifted people around the board and Emily had been one of those pieces. By the time she realized she returned Emily's feelings, she was in too deep. The game was too delicate and her victory almost assured. She couldn't sacrifice a vital piece to save a pawn. Foolishly and selfishly, she encouraged Emily's affections while feeding her own and keeping the brunette close. She taunted them both with hope for more, but it was always Emily who stumbled away humiliated.
Taking a long sip of the black coffee, Alison nearly choked when she heard Emily speak her name.
"… with Alison—"
"Alison?" Paige interrupted in a voice reeking with displeasure.
After a short pause, Emily continued, "Yes, it was Alison that got us into the wedding reception." The raven haired girl at the other table perked up at Emily's tone. She only sounded like that when she smiled. Picturing her gorgeous face, she listened as the swimmer told the story, "We all happened to be wearing wedding-ish clothes and we slipped into this huge room in an art gallery. We did get stopped by two guys because they didn't recognize us. I think they were groomsmen." Emily snickered, "Alison easily convinced them that we knew the bride… or really she just distracted them by offering to dance with them."
"Of course that's how she'd handle things," Paige mumbled.
"Paige. C'mon," Alison could practically hear Emily rolling her eyes. "You asked if I had ever gotten thrown out of a party. This is the story."
As Emily continued to recount that crazy afternoon, Alison smirked at her enthusiasm and smothered chuckles at her tame version of the wedding crashing incident. The girl's head jerked upward as a memory from that day hijacked her thoughts. Shoving aside the invading memory, she listened to Emily, "So I was drunk at this point. Alison dragged me into a room with some water and tried to sober me up." Alison waited for details of what specifically happened in that room, but to her astonishment Emily said, "Next thing I knew, Hanna and I are were doing the Macarena in the middle of the dance floor. I'm pretty sure Spencer and Aria were trying to calm us down, but those same two guys Ali tricked into letting us stay eventually booted us out."
"Wow," Paige commented, "I can't quite picture that."
"I'm sure that a lot more happened, but I was ridiculously drunk. I can't even remember why Ali wasn't there pulling Hanna and I off the dance floor."
Laughing, Emily's girlfriend conceded, "Well, that beats my story for sure."
While the conversation switched topics, Alison's brain spun as it reluctantly filled in the massive gap in Emily's story. She had no way of knowing if Emily edited it for Paige's sake or if she really didn't remember. After "it" had happened years ago, she thought it might have been hazy in Emily's mind, but she waited for weeks for Emily to confront her. Eventually, she decided that Emily didn't want to discuss it and honestly, she had been relieved. However, Emily's lack of hesitation tonight when glossing over the incident made Ali think that perhaps she really didn't remember. Also, she left out the hilarious, yet embarrassing sexual dance spectacle brought to you by Emily and Hanna. If she had forgotten that, those few minutes in that room may be completely absent from her memory as well.
Regardless of Emily's blissful ignorance, Alison walked around day after day with those few minutes seared into her brain. She couldn't even count the times she tortured herself by reliving it. Unfortunately, one of those times was right now in the middle of this coffee shop with Emily only a few feet away.
"Ali!" Emily whined as the blonde yanked her into a dark room. As the sober girl with two water bottles tucked under one arm flicked on the lights, the brunette said, "I was having fun! I love weddings!"
"You're really drunk, Em," Alison commented as she guided the girl to a nearby armchair. "And you're going to get us thrown out."
"Nuh uh! I was just dancing. Nothing crazy. Nothing bad." Even with short sentences, her speech slurred.
The blonde scoffed as she caught the drunk girl before she could topple onto the floor, "I wouldn't call that dancing, sweetie."
"Why do you call me that?" Emily cocked her head to one side and asked while settling herself into a chair with her friend's assistance.
"Call you what?" Alison replied as she unscrewed one of the tops of the bottles.
Not buying the girl's ignorance, Emily stressed, "Sweetie. It's a term of endearment, ya know." The word "endearment" was beyond jumbled.
Unsure of Emily's angle, the blonde wedged the open bottle between her friend's outstretched hands and pointed out, "I call everyone that."
"So you endear—endearment—endearing everyone?"
"It's just a word, Em," Alison crossed her arms. She was a little irritated that Emily might blow their cover. Alison DiLaurentis didn't get thrown out of parties.
"It's a word, but not just a word," Emily managed to enunciate to get her point across.
Spurred on my sheer frustration, Alison snapped, "I use the word—whatever it is or isn't. Drink the damn water and chill the fuck out."
"Humph," Emily grunted, "You wouldn't say that if I was your sweetie."
Ali's flaring anger was trampled by Emily's assertion. Ali was about to discover what kind of drunk Emily was. A rock of nervousness formed in her throat. In an attempt to dislodge it, the blonde forced gently, "What are you talking about, Em?"
After gulping down water, the brunette attempted to lock her eyes on her friend's face. She began without hesitation, "Weddings are all happy and about love. Happy love." As she chugged more liquid, Alison started peeling the label off the second bottle sweating in her hands. Completely unaware of the blonde's body language, Emily slovenly continued, "I want to be happy too. I want happy love."
"Em, can I say—"
"No. No. No talking while I'm talking. You're always talking. Now I want the talking. To do it. Do the talking."
If Alison wasn't completely terrified by the direction of this one sided conversation, she would have laughed out loud at Emily's babbling.
"You're really mean," the swimmer stated bluntly. That's not what Alison expected, but she remained silent, literally biting her tongue. "To people. Other people. Not me… well sometimes me, but mostly other people." Emily desperately struggled to clarify. "Ya know?" Obediently keeping quiet, the blonde nodded in acknowledgement. Waving her hand asking for a response, Emily said, "You have to talk. I can't really see. There are sometimes two of you."
"Yes, I know."
"Okay. Good," the brunette crinkled her brow and bobbled her head to gaze at the ceiling. She thought aloud, "What the hell was I gonna say? Oh!" She snapped her fingers with recollection, "You're mean to people, but I don't think you wanna. Or maybe you do wanna. Or maybe you don't know if you wanna so you just do." She threw an open hand against her own cheek and mumbled, "What did I just say?"
"Probably the truth," Alison muttered under her breath.
Suddenly standing two feet from the thoughtful blonde, Emily slapped her hands on Ali's shoulders and said, "I think you should be happy and not mean."
Alison could smell the liquor on the girl's breath. Actually, it seemed to be seeping from her pores. How did she get so drunk? When did—
Emily's hands crushing her face and mashing her mouth into smashed fish lips jolted the blonde from her inner dialogue. The swimmer's voice softened, although tainted by the drunken slur. She said, "I think I can make you happy. You make me happy. I can show you how to be nice."
Alison wrapped her fingers around her friend's wrists and gently loosened the hands clamping her face. It was clear now that Emily was one of those astonishingly insightful drunks. Although her heart spouted opposing thoughts and sentiments, she responded as calmly and kindly as possible, "I'm happy with you as a friend—just a friend."
Fortunately, the brunette's intoxication impeded her ability to grasp exactly what Alison was saying. The blonde couldn't bear to once again lie to or turn down the sober version of this beautiful woman. Chipping away at Emily's heart wasn't her favorite pastime, despite mounting evidence to the contrary.
"You're lying," Emily smiled as if replying to her friend's thoughts.
"Em. You need to—"
"Shut up," Emily commanded. She crashed her mouth against Alison's lips. Well, she actually missed most of her mouth and landed between Ali's upper lip and the tip of her nose. Not deterred, the brunette quickly recovered and settled her lips perfectly against the flabbergasted girl's lips.
While Emily sucked and slobbered, Alison's eyes remained open in shock. She couldn't let herself enjoy this, not with Emily so drunk that she completely ignored her rejection. Pulling away, she managed to say between Emily's stubborn kisses, "Em. We can't. Not like this."
"Then when? How? Tell me when… how." the swimmer begged.
Alison hated what she saw. Standing before a girl so debilitated by desperation made her sick. Her heart sank under the weight of her guilt of teasing Emily to this point. No matter how much she wanted Emily, her situation—her game—was too fragile to upset the balance of power. She needed the swimmer exactly where she was, not kissing her and loving her and making her happy. "We can't happen. Ever." Her vocal chords shook on the final word.
"Why?" Emily pouted as she pawed at Alison's dress.
Swatting at her hands, Alison snapped with as much cruelty as she could muster, "Because I don't want you! I'm not like that! How many times am I going to have to tell you?!"
"Fine!" Emily sneered as she pushed past the yelling girl. As she threw open the door, she called out over her shoulder, "Just keep being mean."
"Fuck," Alison's book slipped from her fingers as she buried her face in her shaking hands. Even if Emily's drunkenness had truly hidden the truth of that day from her, the altercation still haunted the blonde. She often wondered if the outcome would have been the same if alcohol had been removed from the situation. Would Emily have given up so easily? Would she have been so honest in the first place? Remembering how alone and vulnerable she felt in that room, Alison breathed, "What is wrong with me?" She chose to think in the present tense because she wasn't convinced that she had changed. Even if she had a chance, she couldn't say with assurance that she wouldn't do the exact same thing again. For good or for ill, she would never have a chance, so she couldn't fuck it up again.
"Hey Em, I'll be right back," Alison heard Paige say as her attention returned to the conversation at hand.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl walk toward the restroom. Without thinking, the raven haired girl shot up from the chair, book and coat in hand, and scurried to a counter where her waitress stood. Harshly, she demanded, "I need a favor. And a pen."
"And manners," the other girl snarked.
Rolling her eyes, Alison yanked a hundred dollar bill out of her pocket and shoved it into the girl's hand. "That covers the coffee more than twenty times over."
Happily shocked at the sight of the money, the waitress pulled a pen from her apron pocket and replaced it with the crisp bill. Alison snatched a napkin from a silver holder on the counter and hurriedly scribbled two nearly illegible sentences. She folded it twice and handed it to the confused woman. She instructed, "Take this to the brunette over there." She pointed at the back of Emily's head.
"Then what?"
Smashing another hundred dollar bill on top of the napkin, the blonde clarified, "Don't tell her who gave it to you." One last hundred dollar bill piled onto the other followed by a curt, "And then leave. Walk straight out." Convinced that three hundred dollars would ensure the girl's obedience, Alison shrugged into her red coat and snapped, "Like right now!"
The woman smirked and then shuffled over to Emily's table while fumbling with the two bills bound for her apron pocket. Alison casually walked out the door clutching her book tightly. After closing the door, she allowed herself to turn around. Somehow, the glass wall separating her from the swimmer gave her a false sense of security. She couldn't leave without at least seeing her face.
As the waitress scuttled away toward the back of the coffee shop after delivering the note, Emily stared down and appeared to unfold the napkin. Almost immediately, her head snapped up and she scanned the room. As Ali pulled the hood over her dark hair, she held her breath. Her heart stopped when Emily spun around and quickly caught sight of her. Well, Emily caught sight of the infamous red coat. Alison hesitated one moment just to study the flustered and scared brunette. It wasn't her favorite look, but it was all she was going to get. When Emily's face transformed from confusion to determination, Ali turned and practically flew to her car. As she flung open the door, she heard Emily scream as she came peeling out of the restaurant, "Stop! Who are you?"
Frantic, Alison slammed and locked the door while simultaneously ramming the key into the ignition. This wasn't the first time she had to make a quick getaway. When the engine roared to life, she glanced in her side view mirror and saw Emily less than ten feet away. Jerking the car into drive, she stomped on the gas pedal and kicked up gravel as she sped away. In her rearview mirror, she could make out Emily staring at the back of the car. Before she turned the corner, Emily whipped out her phone and typed quickly. When the brunette disappeared from view, Alison pulled down the hood of her coat and steadied her breathing as she tried to relax. It felt like a train had torn through her lungs and nicked her heart. The logical, calculating side of her couldn't believe she'd tossed away three hundred dollars to tell Emily one simple thing. Whatever. She yanked off the wig and threw it in the passenger seat. It was done.
After driving a few miles, she slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder of the two lane road. Even if Emily intended to follow her, she couldn't immediately take off after her. She wouldn't leave Paige stranded. Quickly, she hopped out of the car and stalked to the back of the midnight blue Ford Focus. She knelt down in the dirt and began scratching the license plate. She carefully pealed off a few pieces of white film, which distorted the real numbers and letters on the plate. An "8" had been disguised as a "3", an "E" as an "F" and the remaining five characters as completely different letters and numbers.
Whenever she followed the girls, she always changed the license plate number. Her friends were smart enough to trace it. If that happened, it would lead back to a friend of CeCe's and Alison couldn't let that happen. She protected CeCe as diligently as the four liars. This time, the number she faked would point them to a random college student living in Philadelphia.
Crumbling the strips of sticky film in one hand, she slid back into the leather seat of the car and breathed a sigh of relief. Oddly, she couldn't help but smile. Although Emily may never know the note was from her, she had said it—she had taken the chance. For now, that was enough.
Thanks so much for reading! Stay tuned for Part Two. Let me know what you think!