The sun was about to set, and it shone across the ocean.

It glistened and sparkled in one's eye, and showed many things.

Wonder.

Romance.

And for some, their bleak future.

The girl with the flaying brown locks was standing on yet another balcony.

One other than her own.

She looked at a man with short, black hair, standing within a sitting area and said,

"I can't take it anymore, Oliver. I just can't"

And she started to sob horribly.

"Yeah, it's okay Marissa."

He laid and arm around her fragile frame, and led her into the sitting room.

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They were in the Newport Beach Hotel, and were sitting on a leather couch, until Marissa got up.

She walked over somberly towards the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle.

A bottle of Tequila.

And she took that bottle of Tequila and walked back over to the couch, tears still streaming down her face.

She cracked it open and took a long, hard, sip.

She coughed.

Then Oliver had a suggestion.

"These will make it go away faster."

He held up a bottle of pills.

Marissa hesitated, and frowned.

"Are you sure?" she said.

Oliver nodded.

And despite her instincts, Marissa grabbed the bottle with shaky hands, and popped a pill in her mouth.

That's when it got bad.

Real bad.

Marissa hazily looked at the ceiling and exclaimed,

" If I could kill myself, right here and now, I would do it."

Oliver gave her a look and walked across the room towards the cabinet and pulled out a box.

He brought the box, an old cardboard one, over and said,

"Open it."

"Okay.." she said.

And that's exactly what she did.

She looked in awe, and also in fear.

She was confused.

She didn't know what to do.

Inside that box, contained a gun.