Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Even the basic plot isn't mine. It's based of a musical titled "Mary Lou" (only in Israel ;)), with a change of some things to suit the plot and characters better. Title of this chapter is, erm, borrowed from an All Saints song going by that very same title.
A/N: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story. Some characters are not where they are supposed to be or not how they're supposed to be or not in the place you're used to see them at. You'll see.
War of Nerves
2003
He has been counting; it's been 229 days since she left.
He felt pathetic. But that's what he became when she left. When she left him. That how she left… him. Closed, paranoid, pathetic.
He was empty. He was nothing. He was never this empty… never this full of absolutely nothing, nothing at all.
After his father died… he felt so alone. No one, not even Lane, was able to help him through it.
And then she came.
Like a strong gust of wind, she blew him away. Like a hand with a healing touch, she made his pain go away. Like a yellow brick road, she leaded him somewhere safe. Somewhere real.
And then she took off, and he was thrown back to the pile of crap he was used to living in. To the wrong road, to his unsafe, surreal world, dwelling in his pain, hiding behind a mask that was there to help him shield from those he knew would take advantage of his sudden sheer vulnerability.
Everything around him was going right. Lily and Sasha's club was blooming, along with their bank accounts. Lane was still the same, the same same that she always was, that never got into any shitty situations or serious trouble. Everything was marching down the right lane, running straight through traffic lights, driving smoothly through the bumpiest roads, without even getting a ticket. Ever.
And only he was stuck in place. Always. Trying to move forward, but getting stuck. Having to use U-turns to bring him back to right where he started, right to where he wanted to escape from.
And her? He had no idea. Did he care? He cared. He really wished he didn't care, but he did care.
And then, something hit him.
Literally.
"Jess!" Her voice echoed in his ears, way louder than it was supposed to be. "Focus!"
She lowered her book after hitting him in the head with it, looking at him. She was sick and tired of this, of him being such a mop because of a girl. And not only because she wasn't the girl, but she was really - well, kind of – just wishing he would finally come to his senses.
"Sorry." He muttered, and she sighed.
"Have you heard anything I said?" She asked, and he replied with a sigh. "Anything at all?" She asked, her tone, heart and mind walking on the thin line between despair and frustration.
"Fine." She sighed, piling the book on top of the rest of the books she had brought with her. "It's your grade, anyway. I don't see why I even bother." She stated, standing up, taking the books in her arms.
He lifted his arm and held it before her, trying to stop her from proceeding. "Lane…" He tried. But he was never good with trying. "I'm sorry, okay?" He told her, and the harsh look in her eyes immediately softened. It only took her a few seconds to give in to his charm.
"Whatever." She tried to sound tough and rolled her eyes, sitting back down. "But if I catch you staring at the wall one more time…" She starts, pausing for dramatic effect. "I might make you repeat everything I said. Or write it 150 times on that very wall. Or leave. It's your choice."
"Just sit." He begged. "Please?"
She wordlessly picked up the book she was holding earlier and threw it at his lap. He replied with a glare. She knew this glare. She knew that underneath the glare, his eyes were actually smiling at her. And she knew it's the closest thing she'll get to him being actually happy around her at this time.
She looked so different. About seven years older than she actually was. Her pale skin was emphasized by ridicules dark eye shadows and a fiery-red lipstick that her supposed manager made her wear. The smooth hair that usually fell straight on her shoulders was up in a very tidy bun, pinned to her head in a way that made it pull and ache. Her body was covered by a limiting gray business suit that didn't exactly flatter her thin figure, and her delicate legs were carried on high-heeled shoes that were very uncomfortable to walk in. The noise it made as it met the floor drove her nuts.
"Kirk." She called rather dryly, examining her figure in a body-length mirror.
"Yes?" The guy came behind her, examining her head to toe.
"I don't like this." She stated, wiping some imaginary dust from the fabric of her skirt.
"But it looks fine." He told her. She spun to him, looking in his eyes.
"I don't like it." She repeated.
He shook his head and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her, causing her to unwillingly look at the mirror again. She let out a small gasp of surprise, and tried to keep herself from stumbling down her heels.
"It fits." He explained. "Deal with it."
"It's not me." It was her time to explain.
"Well, it's you now." He gave her a small, mocking smile. One that irritated her way beyond belief.
"It's not me! Not now, not ever!" She exclaimed, and he just shook his head as he looked at her.
She did her best to not fall apart. "Look." She started. "This is not me. This was never supposed to be me." She took a deep breath. "Where I am isn't where I was supposed to be, and you know it, you always did."
She felt like she was about to pop. "You came to me. You told me I have talent. You told me you'll make me big and… what? I'm standing here in a sleazy, supposedly expensive hotel, when my job is to look around, mingle and look for dirt about the who's and what's who are staying here?!" She asked, trying very hard to keep her calm.
The past few months haven't been what she expected. Not at all. Instead of writing about what she wanted to write, or becoming an intern, learning about the wonders of being an overseas correspondent, she was set to be a gossip column writer, without getting the smallest credit. Not that she was proud of it, but at least something for doing her job would've been helpful. She really couldn't have been happier.
Yeah. Right.
"You thought your way in was going to be easy?" Kirk asked her, perking a half-amused eyebrow.
"I never thought it was going to be this! I'm writing a freaking gossip column for a local paper that didn't at all require me… getting away! This is not what I came here for!" She felt like she was on the verge of tears.
"Well, that's what it is." He told her, sternly, leaving the room.
She was remained in the dressing room, looking at her reflection. She wasn't able to recognize the one she saw there.
Her Cellphone rang. She tried to stable herself as she walked to her bag, which was rested on the floor, and took it out, going back to stand in front of the mirror.
"Hello?" She asked. A small smile came to her lips as she heard a familiar voice. "Hi, mom." She said warmly into the phone. It was the warmest tone she had used in days. "Everything's okay. I, uh, don't have much time to talk, I have work to do, but…"
She had work to do. Ha.
Her throat held in a mocking laugh that was waiting to come out.
She nodded into the phone. "Okay. I'll talk to you later."
She laughed weakly; a laugh that carried her mocking laughter with it.
"Are you sure everything's okay?" Asked her mother from the other line.
"Yup." She tried to sound as confident as can be. Her 'profession' required a whole lot of faking, and it eventually got to her. Still looking at the mirror, she saw the reflection's eyes watering. Her eyes followed a tear that was making its way down her cheek.
"Everything's fine." She answered. She was so confident in words, but it was nothing like she felt inside.
It such short time, she became something different. She felt like a fraud.
She noticed her reflection slowly breaking down to the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest through the very thick fabric of the skirt she was wearing. Tears were still streaming down her face.
It was heartbreaking.
Too bad her emotions weren't working straight ever since she left.
