Get Lost, an o.c. fanfic

Summary: Berkeley Kandy fic to 'Get Lost' by Tariq. They just keep fighting, slightly confusing! R&R

Disclaimer: The characters are….wait for it…wait for it…not mine.

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Does anyone else feel like the writers keep just adding a little random cute Kandy into every couple of eps appease us? I see through it. I mean, that picnic thing was cute, but almost too cute, their kisses are cut to early. I want a storyline sob. (Not that this fic has one!) Please can't we have more than a few random kisses. But of course…I'd rather have a little cute Kandy than none at all!

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Get Lost

You know how to push my buttons

How could you miss when they're so big?

I thought I'd buried all my skeletons,

But you know where to dig,

You certainly know how to get on her nerves.

But she sure knows how to get on yours.

It's a no-win situation.

'Sandy!' you cry exasperatedly once again. 'Stop it!'

'What?'

'Oh don't play the innocent, you know what you're doing.'

'What? You mean pushing your buttons because I know I can.'

At one time he would have twisted that into an innuendo that would have had you laughing and leading him to bed. But not today; he's in a catty mood, that's why he's antagonising you.

'Something like that,' you agree.

'How could I miss when they're so big?' he asks lazily, a hint of malice in his tone that doesn't suit him.

You glare.

You know just the way to get him back.

---

She has that look in her eye. You can't explain it but it always makes you uneasy.

Your comment was meant to be funny, you think about protesting for a moment, but you know it had an edge to it. Not as innocent as it looks.

That applies to Kirsten too. She's gonna get you back.

You thought you'd buried all your skeletons when you came West but Kirsten knows where to dig.

'How's your mom?' she asks spitefully.

Your mom's a no-go zone, just like her dad.

'About as well as your dad.'

And there they go again

He pushes her buttons.

She digs up his skeletons.

It's routine, it's generally harmless. It goes in circles.

But somehow it's becoming less teasing, more something else.

I'm checking my bag,

And faces,

But you know how to spot all the cheap,

Replacements,

Always,

You rummage nervously through your bag, checking you have your lip gloss, your tissues, your keys. Why you're nervous you don't know.

Maybe it's just because you haven't been on a proper date for ages; you've just been hanging out.

Perhaps it's because things have been so tense between you for a while.

You find a condom in one of the pockets of your bag and stuff it down deeper.

You haven't had sex in a long time.

This is stupid; you're almost as nervous as for your first date. God you were scared then.

Here was this intelligent, ambitious, principled, political, comedian of a guy who wanted to go out with you, Kirsten.

Kirsten Nichol, princess of Newport Beach. Something no one here was meant to find out.

Kirsten Nichol, freshman.

Kirsten Nichol…who?

You checked your makeup again and again, practising hairstyles and faces in the mirror even though you felt stupid. He didn't know you; you could be anyone you wanted, you could be yourself. But you weren't quite sure who that was.

Sometimes the facts don't add up to who you are and at eighteen Kirsten Nichol already had several different faces. Which one to wear?

Who to be?

Even as you think it, you know they won't fool him. He's too smart for that.

He has no idea how much he'd endeared himself to you that night. When you finally forced yourself out of the bathroom you found him stood nervously against the wall being interrogated by your roommate. The sheepish, scared look on his face faded as he saw you, being replaced by one of nervous admiration.

He was nervous too, he's told you that.

---

Yeah you have. Because her going out with you is just surreal. You're a poor Jewish guy from the Bronx. You don't get to date the most beautiful girl in college.

You know she's not your average spoilt little rich girl but she's still rich. She might not care about that stuff but she was still going to know a lot about you just by looking. She'd know a fake when she saw it, a cheap shirt, a cut-price bouquet.

And that made you nervous.

You know she'll recognise them.

Always.

You know he'll see right through your charades.

Always.

I used to be able turn you on,

Now I just piss you off,

And when I said that I found myself,

You said, good, now go get lost,

You kiss her and she pulls away within seconds, you reach for her hand and it's gone, you slide an arm around her waist and she slaps it away.

God forbid you should try anything else.

A couple of weeks ago all you had to do was kiss her neck and she melted.

A number of your shirts no longer have buttons she got so impatient with them.

Everything you did seemed to turn her on. Now you only have to move and it pisses her off.

---

You really hurt him, you realise that now.

You gave in, went to apologise and got a slap in the face.

'Please,' you begged when you saw him, 'please just give me two minutes. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I was mixed up, messed up. We were getting in so deep, so fast, I guess it scared me. You seemed to like me so much and I didn't really know who 'me' was…I had to find myself.'

'And did you?'

'Yeah, somewhere between the pink streaks.'

'Good, that means you can go get lost.'

Harsh.

But probably well deserved. He loved you whoever you were but you had to go be selfish; flip him off and 'go find yourself'. Cliché or what?

You still can't help being mad with him for that comment though. Where was the Sandy you knew? The gentleman Sandy who leant you his sweater when he was cold and let you steal his fries?

The brooding, bitter individual was a stranger, his scathing comments a shock.

We don't even try,

You don't even care,

I'm growing a beard,

You're shaving your hair,

All off,

You're not even trying to get along anymore and strangely it doesn't seem to matter.

You're drifting apart and she doesn't seem to care.

It seems like you want different things, the opposites that were meant to attract are now rubbing each other the wrong way.

Perhaps it's her version of letting you down gently.

Maybe you should take the hint. But you don't want to. Not yet.

---

'Ooof! It's too hot,' you complain to your boyfriend who's flopped out on the grass beside you outside your halls.

Sandy makes a noncommittal noise and doesn't open his eyes. You sit up, scooping your hair away from your neck and piling it onto your head. 'Think I might just shave all my hair off.'

'What?'

That got his attention; he's opened one eye and looks rather comic. You repeat the statement.

'Don't,' he says closing his eye again.

'You mean you wouldn't like me bald?' you question, plastering your hair against your scalp and pouting at him.

'Quite frankly no. It's a weird idea.'

'You're growing a beard and that is totally gross,' you argue.

'That's different and I'm only thinking about it.'

'Is not different.'

'Stop teasing Kirsten.'

'Who says I am,' you were, but he's irritating you now. Or perhaps it's just the heat.

'Come on.'

His tone is so patronising. Sometimes you hate the fact he's almost five years older than you.

---

You see her around campus sometimes; she hasn't shaved her hair off but it's short. Very short; a golden halo around her head, streaked with pink.

You have to admit it suits her.

You did grow that beard, just because you knew it would piss her off. And because there was no point shaving when there was no one to complain about your stubble.

Sometimes you wish you hadn't; it itches like hell at the moment. But she's seen it, and shaving it off might let her think she's won.

---

You've always had hair past your shoulders and now it's at your ears. It's weird.

But you kinda like it; it's a change.

Sometimes though, you think about the way his fingers used to run through it.
You put the thought out of your head. But somehow he keeps sidling back in. He looks ridiculous with that beard; how anyone takes him seriously you don't know. Your roommate has noticed you keep commenting on it but you can't help it.
He's doing this to bug you and you hate that it's working.

You got pink streaks because you thought he'd hate it; think it was so common, so teenage rebellion. You like to think you don't care what he thinks.

You know you do.

Get lost, get lost,

Get lost, but I just don't get it,

Get out, get out,

Get out, but I just don't go,

Goodbye, goodbye,

Goodbye, always has had the word good in it,

So get 'em out and put a foot in it,

'Wish you'd just get lost,' you snarl.

'Get lost,' he mimics.

You narrow your eyes, 'Get. Lost.'

He holds up his hands in mock confusion. 'I just don't get it. What did I do?'

'Get out.'

'Get out,' he mocks.

'Get. Out,' you repeat through gritted teeth.

He doesn't go, rocking back on his heels and surveying you with a bemused smile. He's not taking you seriously and it makes your blood boil.

You open the door and say pointedly, 'Goodbye.'

He doesn't move.

'Goodbye,' you emphasise and he grins.

'Goodbye always did have the words good in it,' he laughs, kissing you briefly before striding out, whistling. Whistling.

He's whistling. The insensitive creep.

Who you still happen to be in love with. It was a stupid argument; you can get over this; you're always arguing.

Always, these days. Your normal college spats had increased in frequency, and now this was your first big fight. Not that he seemed to notice.

Perhaps it wasn't, perhaps you're overreacting; this was just dipping your toe in. Seeing how bad it could get.

Your best friend said she would break my knees,

If I ever made you cry,

But we all know she's giving,

Your ex-boyfriend the eye,

'You better treat her right Sandy Cohen,' her roommate and best friend warns you. Kirsten's in the bathroom getting ready for your first date and you're being subject to the third degree by one scary freshman.

She seems hell bent on pointing out every difference between you;

Your respective ages; 18 and 22

Backgrounds; uber-wealthy Newport Beach, CA and humble Bronx, NY

Hobbies; nothing even vaguely similar

Past relationships; both long; a huge part of your lives, both ended badly

It certainly wasn't inspiring you with confidence.

'Kirsten might appear the real controlled tough-cookie but she's not. And I swear, if you ever make her cry I'll break both your knees,' the girl threatened.

You bobbed your head up and down in hasty agreement wishing Kirsten would hurry the hell up. You could barely conceive having a date with this girl, you weren't about to make her cry. As if she would anyway.

---

You're crying over him. You can't quite believe it.

It's been weeks and you hadn't cried but then you heard his voice and it set you off.

Your best friend is offering to make good on her promise and break his knees; you can hear her; they're outside your dorm, arguing.

He doesn't know you're in there, at least you guess that. If he'd know you're pretty sure he wouldn't have just shared a choice piece of information about Jimmy.

'I warned you Sandy, I warned you, and I said you'd get hurt if you hurt her,' your roommate had said. 'You guys are all the same, Kirsten doesn't deserve this crap.'

'Just like she doesn't deserve you messing around with her ex?'

'What?'

'Don't act all coy; you were giving Jimmy the eye even before they broke up. Am I seriously meant to believe you didn't follow that up after they split?'

'Sandy!'

'I'm right aren't I? I think I have a knack for it.'

'No you're wrong, Jimmy and I just happened to get along well.'

'Too well.'

'What's that meant to mean? You're hypothesising, you have no proof.'

'I'm training to be a lawyer; you think I'd make an accusation like that without proof?'

'What?' you ask opening the door so forcefully it slams back against the wall. 'What?'

'Sandy's being stupid,' your roommate interjects quickly. 'He's just mad with me because I wouldn't let him talk to you. I wouldn't let him hurt you again and he knows I'm gonna get him.'

You listen to the stream off excuses from her mouth without really hearing the words.

'Shut up,' you say and she stops in shock. 'Just shut up.'

There's a chilling silence in the hallway.

'Is it true?'

'Of course not,' she explodes.

Sandy just looks down and you know it is.

'Sandy?'

He nods, slowly. You can't believe this.

'Kirsten, listen to me,' she's whining, 'come on. This is me. Sandy's trying to get back at me, at both of us. I'm your best friend, I wouldn't do that. You're going to believe him after everything? You can't trust him over me; you can't choose him over me.'

'Best friend or boyfriend,' you muse.

'Ex boyfriend,' she spits.

'Ex best friend?' The question sits in the air.

You look at her. You look at Sandy.

You know she's lying. You know he's not. But you don't want to believe it.

'I'm sorry Kirsten. I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault. What happened?'

'I didn't want you to know this; I thought it was nothing; me overreacting, until she said 'Jimmy?' one too many times on the phone to be coincidence. At least until he was here one night when I came to see you. Of course he passed it off as being there waiting for you. But you'd been broken up for weeks by that time. Plus, he was wearing a towel. I'm sorry.'

You turn back to your friend, angry and hurt. She's gone.

It was true then.

Sandy's still stood there as you lean back against the corridor wall and slide down to a sitting position. He sits beside you.

He's there when you put your head into your hands and begin to cry.

He's still there when your supposed friend comes back drunk and lays into you about how much she loves Jimmy. How much you fucked him up.

What about how much he fucked you up? You loved him. You didn't want things to end the way they had, didn't expect them to go that badly. And you certainly didn't expect your best friend to be his sympathy shag.

He's there when she moves out.

And you're glad.

Cause nobody's perfect,

Nobody's right,

Best we can do is,

Try not to fight,

About it,

'Nobody's perfect Kirsten,' he yells. 'You don't have to try and be perfect for me, you are already.'

You wish you could try and listen to the sentiment but you can't. 'I want to be perfect. I want it for me. What is wrong with that?' you yell back.

'You really want to get into that?'

'Stop copping out.'

'I'm not. I'm just saying you should listen to me here.'

'Oh because you're always right. Not. Why do you always have to be right?'

'I don't, I just am.'

You can never tell when he's teasing and when he's just being arrogant.

'Nobody's right,' you argue back, knowing you're gonna lose this argument. He'll start talking about morals and ethics and you'll have to cheat and kiss him to shut him up.

Most of the time you love how clever he is, other times it's incredibly irritating.

Although it could be worse; he does know when to shut up being intellectual and just have sex.

---

'Let's not do this Kirsten,' you say. Recently you've begun to hate arguing with her. Usually you love arguments, perhaps that's why you want to be a lawyer but with her it's different.

These days every argument is dynamite.

You never agree. The best you can do is just try not to fight about it.'

About everything.

Get lost, get lost,

Get lost, but I just don't get it,

Get out, get out,

Get out, but I just don't go

Goodbye, goodbye,

Goodbye, always has had the word good in it

So get 'em out and put a foot in it,

Here you are again.

Different day, same old argument.

But it's a little more serious this time. She isn't glaring at you in a way you know she'll apologise for later, you aren't laughing, mocking, kissing her on the way out and whistling because you know you won't get halfway down the hall before she calls your name.

'Get lost!' You yell. It's you this time. You watch as she stumbles backwards in surprise.

'Get lost?'

'Yes. Get lost.'

'I don't get it Sandy.'

'Really? Fine, get out.'

'Get out?' she stutters in disbelief.

'You heard. Get out.'

'I'm not going anywhere.' She may only come up to your chest but her eyes are flashing angrily, she's standing her ground.

'Fine, I will,' you say, turning away.

'This isn't goodbye Sandy,' you hear her say desperately.

You don't turn round.

'Goodbye Kirsten.'

You don't listen to the sound of the sob catching in her throat.

You pretend you can't hear her tearful whisper.

'Goodbye always did have the word good in it. I don't know why.'

You've really put your foot in it this time; you made her cry.

She said 'Are you blind boy,

You don't want to be with me,'

I said, 'I'm out of sight do you know?'

And she said, 'Yeah but I can still see you,'

'You don't want to be with me,' she says, 'are you blind? I'm not your type.'

This isn't the first time she's said it. You've had this argument in many guises and now you're kind of tired of it. It's as if she's trying to make you dump her.

She won't listen to reason; she doesn't hear you anymore when you say that you do want to be with her. That she's perfect. That you love her.

You're pissed off, you're tired; you lash out, 'Fine; if you're gonna be like this…'

'What do you mean by that?'

'That you've been a bitch recently.'

'Oh well thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

'Ugh Sandy just…just get out of my sight.'

'Feels like I already am,' you say, not moving and she glares,

'I can still see you.' Her tone is threatening.

Very funny,

Very cute,

We could have done it,

But what's the use,

In trying?

Anyway, trying.

'Oh very funny,' you say scathingly, because he's not and he thinks he is.

'Oh very cute,' he responds, his tone just as sarcastic.

Suddenly you lose the momentum of the argument. It's too hard to keep fighting, but it's too hard to make up.

Is it just too hard being together?

Perhaps you could have done it, if you'd both been more patient, less stubborn, not complete and utter opposites.

But what is the use in trying when things are like this?

'We could have done this Kirsten…' he whispers.

You know he's thinking it too. Accepting it. 'What's the use?'

'In trying?'

'In trying,' you agree and you know it's over.

Get lost, get lost,

Get lost but I just don't get it,

Get out, get out,

Get out, but I just don't go,

Goodbye, goodbye,

Goodbye always has had the word good in it,

So get 'em out and put a foot in it.

'Get lost,' you hear her shout, 'Just go get lost,' and you're shouting it too.

'Get lost yourself.'

Even though you don't really understand why.

'Get out,' he spits and you throw it right back at him.

'Get out! Get. Out.'

But neither of you are going to go anywhere yet.

Suddenly there isn't anything else to say. There's nothing left, nothing that hasn't been tainted, ruined by the constant arguments.

What happened?

You don't know.

You don't know either.

You stand looking at her. She looks at you.

He looks at you. You look at him.

It's quiet but you're both still angry.

You shake your head. 'Goodbye Sandy.'

You nod. 'Goodbye Kirsten.'

He's turning away when he adds his spiteful parting shot, 'Goodbye always did have the word good in it.'

'Like good riddance?' you ask.

So it was all out now, every little bad thing raked up as ammunition They hadn't just put their feet in it, they were six feet under.

---

Hey, I hope you enjoyed this. I'm well aware that it doesn't really make any sense, none of the arguments match up, there's no chronological order or anything. I just wrote down what came into my head for each verse. Ah well – it can stimulate your imagination. Please review.