A/N: I really hope you guys like this chapter. It may be my favorite thing that I have ever written.

Ryan climbed the ramp to the lifeguard station and watched Marissa's hardened gaze studying the roll of the waves. She had a death grip on the bottle in her hand, and he had watched her lower it to her side and then place it back in her lap at least ten times already. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn't do it. He wanted to beg her to stop, but he knew that an addict only stopped when they were ready, when they felt like there was something worth saving in their lives. He couldn't force her to feel that way about him, about Jada, about Newport, about herself. He had to wait for her to come to the realization that she was worth it. He just hoped that she could.

Lowering himself to the floor beside her, he rested his arms against his up-drawn knees and waited. There were no words needed, nothing seemed appropriate. She didn't look at him when he turned his face, only continued to study the bottle in her lap. She might never speak, they might watch the sun come up in silence, but they would do it together. Ryan was determined that she would know she wasn't alone. What she chose to do with the knowledge was up to her.

Withdrawing a cigarette pack from his coat pocket, he offered it to her. He knew, from his mom and brother, that rehab upped ones cigarette intake by about a carton a week, so he was sure to keep a pack on hand for her at any given time. Trey had always said it took the edge off, at least a little bit.

She smoked two before words tumbled past her lips, her eyes drifting back to the ocean. "Do you know why vodka is my favorite?" He lit a cigarette of his own and rested his head against the building behind him. He didn't need to answer her. "Because it's the feels the most like love," she breathed, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.

She stood and walked to the railing, resting her elbows there as she explained to the sandy beach, more than to her companion. "It burns inside of you the first time, and it's not smooth like rum or champagne. But when it hits your stomach, it spreads this warmth that makes you tingle, smile, no matter where you are or what's going on. It makes you feel like maybe you're not alone." She closed her eyes against the lifting wind. "And then it turns in your stomach, and it brings this pain that can only be extinguished by mass amounts of vomiting while your best friend holds your hair back and promises you that you don't need it anyway, that you can have fun without it. Even though you know she'll be the first one to shove you back into the pool tomorrow night."

Ryan tilted his head and inspected his shoe. The bottle was full, he couldn't smell it anywhere. He was fairly sure that she hadn't taken anything, though his eyes rested on an eight ball she had seemingly forgot about, and he worried. But this wasn't cocaine – not this even-toned, slow-musing Marissa. This was her, pure and sober. And he wanted to hear more.

"When it takes you over, fills you up, it gives you this empowering sense of invincibility, like nothing can touch you. You're always safe. You can do anything, fly if you wanted to." She shook her head and let a cynical chuckle escape her lips. "And, at the same time, you know you're completely powerless, vulnerable, open. You know that you don't really have control of anything anymore, that you're a slave to it. It is everything you desire and despise all at the same time."

Her voice began to shake, and he watched her body language shift, crumple, as her shoulders sagged and her head drooped. "And it doesn't matter if it lifts you up to the sky or it slams you down into hell, you still want more. You can't get enough of it, because in those moments, when it's inside of you, you know you're alive. You're not just going through motions or playing some part – you feel real.

"And the best part is that you know it's never going to leave you – that when you need it, when you really don't have anything else to lean on in the whole fucking world, that bottle is gonna be right there." Ryan felt himself gasp as she turned and pierced him with her sapphire gaze. The look was paralyzing, determined and clear."It's just waiting for you to need it." She let the tears flood her face as she lifted the bottle in her hand and threw it against floor of the tower, watching it shatter.

Standing, Ryan moved toward her and wrapped his arms around her convulsing shoulders, rocking her back and forth as she cried, wailed, into the stillness of the night. "But it doesn't need you, Marissa," his voice cracked. From the moment he saw her, sitting alone, visibly fighting temptation, he had shut his mind down. His heart was going to have to work for him now, because it was the only part of him that he trusted. "I need you," he whispered into her neck.

When her sobs had melted into small sniffles, she pulled back, her arms locked around his neck. Surveying the soaking mess that his dress shirt had become, she placed her hand over the tears and bit her lip. "I thought I was strong enough," she hiccupped.

Ryan smiled and pulled her closer. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marissa. You wavered, that makes you human. But you didn't jump," he put a hand on her cheek and tilted her face until her eyes met his. "And that makes you pretty amazing, in my book. And I know addicts, right?"

She gave a slight laugh, which only forced another tear from her eyes. Wiping her nose, she looked up, feeling as though a wall had come crashing down between them. "I wanted to call you today, but I couldn't. I didn't want to interrupt you at work with all of my problems."

He rested his forehead against hers. "There is nothing in my day that can't be better with an interruption from you," he told her.

His eyes drifted to her lips, and without thought, he kissed her. It wasn't hungry or needy, but soft and assuring. Marissa opened her lips, took his tongue into her mouth, and let the warmth fill her stomach. She felt invincible and vulnerable. But she felt one emotion that all of the drugs in the world never gave her, happiness. Pure, innocent, unadulterated joy.

When he finally pulled away, there was a smirk on his lips that went all the way to his eyes. "Better than vodka?" he asked.

Marissa pulled his face close to hers and nodded. "It's real," she sighed against his lips.

And Ryan agreed. He understood her, better than she thought he did. Not just because he came from a family of addicts, but because he was one himself. Try as he might, he could never quite break away from the need, the hunger, the longing for Marissa Cooper.