Disclaimer: I do not have any rights to i The OC /i , or to Mrs. Wilde or Mrs. Burton, which is really a shame on all accounts.

Author's Notes: I doubt I've been the only to notice this, but it seems that Marissa has been going to the beach an awful lot lately. Last season, she rarely went, unless there was a part, or something, until Alex. Now, she goes almost all the time. Oh, the subtext! Anyway, her several recent visits have inspired this story. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciate!

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You never went to the beach.

You snuck our your door, a smooth as the sea whisper as you went down the stairs, and you steered a malfunctioning frame towards Ryan, towards the safe and forgiven arms that will always be waiting for you. You laid in the bed and breathed in the scent of tragedy, the one that hangs around all the bruised and beaten boys, and you made yourself get used to it. To the feel of protection.

You slithered, unbecoming of a lady but it wasn't about the consequences then, into the lives and the homes of those less knowing than yourself. You, admittedly, used people, if the faces and screams attached, the ones that populate the sands of Newport, can be considered people anymore. You worked your way into hundred foot bathrooms and glittered green pools, you fed them lies, the only ones you could think of, if only to stay there. There, anywhere, as long as it wasn't home.

You went to parties. Loud and crashing, red, blue, red, blue, a thousand colors and sounds and people you didn't know, covered in sand and sweat, granting you a moment of ignorant bliss. You smiled, and you giggled at jokes that weren't funny, and you took as many shots as you could, took anything that was given to you. Because you were Marissa Cooper, and nobody parties like Marissa Cooper, and who were you to disappoint them?

You don't go to those places anymore.

They used to mean comfort. They used to mean escape. They used to mean everything to you, these places you would run, but now you know they were silly little things, illusions, pieces of glass that fell away as soon as you realized there were better places.

As soon as you realized there was her.

A girl, with everything you ever wanted, who had the smile of the sunshine and was this close to letting you in. To granting you the key to the world you had always wanted so desperately to be a part of. To freedom.

But that girl is gone, and so are her pretty eyes and pretty laugh. You will never get to kiss the girl again, and you will never taste the sky.

You can't run to Ryan and ask him to offer you his everything, because you know it's not what you want, not anymore. You can't charm your way into a 'friends' for the weekend or the week, not anymore. You can't sit in the living room anymore, ignoring the boys and girls and all their games while you waste away with your bottles, not anymore.

You go to the beach. You sit in the sands and trace your fingers into delicate patterns, the same that sunshine girl used to make on the back of your shoulder blade, and you shiver at the memory. You watch the tides, and remember the first kiss you ever got that you know you will remember until the end, and you fight the urge to touch your lips and grin.

The beach is your home, now. It's the grave, and you're the bone, and she's the world that's fallen apart and left you stranded six feet under. It's the only place you can go to remember her and not be afraid, and it's the only place that doesn't hurt.

The beach is your place, yours and hers, and someday, maybe, if you wait here, watching the tides turn long enough, it will be again.