Disclaimer: Like always, I don't own the characters.
A/N: Sequel to rewind, I guess you could say or at least it's basted on what happened in the fic. I just wrote this and figured I might as well post it.
Dancing and drinking in the dark
The music is horrible, 90's pop blasting thought the huge speakers and almost everybody but you are out on the dancefloor, grinding hips and smiling like they are in the fucking heaven. You watch them with envy, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol states unusually bitter in your mouth, but you keep on throwing them back anyway. It kind of makes you feel slightly better; at least you know you can feel physically.
You're not use to drinking at all, only a couple of beers at parties, but otherwise not. Now, it seems as if getting wasted is all you do. It's a way of forgetting and alcohol is the obvious choice. It's kind of cliché, and you've always been original, but now you can't really bring yourself to care. All that matters is that for a few hours he's not on your mind and you can go back to being old Mac, the computer freak, who loved life even with all its complications.
For what you've heard, Veronica is doing better than you, and you almost resent her for that. You know that's just who she is. She doesn't dwell, she uses tough love; it's over and done with, time to move on. But you can't be like that. Maybe it's because you are weak, but you tell yourself it's because it's harder for you; it's easier to forget someone you hate, than to forget someone you love. And foolish you did love him.
You don't see each other much anymore, you and Veronica. You both excuse it with being too busy, you need time to deal, to get over it and so on. But fact is, for now you can't really stand to look at each other. She can't stand to look at you because you were his girlfriend and you didn't see a thing, and you can't stand to look at her because she did see. Even though you were the one who pulled the trigger, she killed him. If nobody had known, he would still be here and people wouldn't look at you like you are a murderer and the girlfriend of a psycho at the same time.
Your heart skips a beat every time you see her or Logan or Wallace. Everybody knows that Logan and Wallace belong with Veronica and you try not to care that you not only lost him, you lost everyone else too. At least you have Parker, your bubbly roommate, and really, she isn't that bad. So she's got a brain like the size of a pea, but she's got a heart of gold, that is much larger. You like her.
A smile is threatening to spread across your face, but it doesn't, not really. It never does these days.
"Hello there."
You barely stop the loud groan from escaping your mouth, when you feel a hand on your shoulder, slowly sliding down your back. It makes you freeze, this warm touch on your cold skin.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, hon?"
You turn in your chair and don't even lift an eyebrow, when you see a brown-haired guy looking at you with a wide smirk. "You don't want your hands on me," is the only thing you say, and with slow movements, you remove it for him.
If possible, the smirk widens. "Why not? Maybe I want to be your boyfriend," he answers, a hint of teasing in his deep voice.
At this, you laugh loudly and humourlessly. "Oh, trust me, you don't want to be my boyfriend."
"How come?"
The words are out before you have any time you think about what you're saying. "I killed my last boyfriend." He doesn't say anything, so you keep on going. "One shot to the chest."
"Seriously?"
You sniff, because you really don't know what you're doing. Talking to strangers about him isn't something you've done before and it wasn't exactly like you planned on doing that. If anything, you vowed to tell nobody about it, after you saw how your parents reacted.
"Well, he broke my heart, I broke his."
It doesn't take long before the guy's gone. You hit back the rest of your drink and watch the people on the dancefloor. You see Parker in the middle of it, four or five guys dancing around her like she's the queen bee. She looks happy, spinning around in circles, her hands tangled in her long blonde hair and a smile of delight on her face.
You're completely opposites. She's light and happy, and you're dark and bitter. That probably won't ever change.
Another lock of blonde hair catches your eye and you can't help the curse, that escapes your mouth. A couple of weird-looking guys beside you sent you a look, but you only glare. At least they aren't looking at you, because you killed your boyfriend. You turn your attention back to Dick, who's, of course, dirty dancing with his own Baby. An innocent looking girl, who probably has no idea what the hell she's getting herself into.
You've seen him too many times since the funeral. Only once over the summer, the day you came by to pick up your stuff. A stupid book, some notes from school he had borrowed and two films you had watched together on a Saturday night. He didn't even look at you when he opened the door, and you felt relieved. You expected him to say something like: "Hi, little brother-killer", but he kept quiet. When you left he still hadn't said a word.
The next time you saw the blonde surfer he wasn't nearly as polite. Ass-drunk, like you, and swaying from side to side. You weren't sure he even recognized you before he started yelling, screaming drunkenly. Half of it didn't even make any sense. You flipped him the finger, yes, smart move, and just left.
It became kind of a habit. Wherever you went, he was. You bantered, screamed a little, until one day the screaming wasn't the bigger part of your "relationship". Mostly you just drank beer, sometimes played pool or dart or some lame-ass game. It was nice, because he didn't look at you with accusing eyes. Which, really, was weird, 'cause he should be the one blaming you the most.
But then it all stopped one day.
It was your fault, really. You met him on campus, more wasted than ever before, and you yourself weren't all that sober. When he saw you, he looked ready to break and for the first time ever, he actually called you 'Mac'. Something was very wrong, the look on his face was not Dick-like, and if it weren't for the fact that he in that moment reminded you so fucking much of him, you would have comforted him. But he looked so much like he did the last time you laid eyes on him, that night not long ago, and your stomach suddenly felt all weird. So instead of offering a shoulder to cry on, you ran out, puking in a bush not far from.
He hasn't spoken to you since.
You try to pretend you don't care, but reality is, you do. Not because you hurt him or whatever exactly it was you did, not because you miss to hang out with him even though you do, but because you had the chance to make something right and you didn't. You just left, ignored that a broken soul was crying out for help. And as freaking stupid as it sounds, you think maybe you're the only one that could have helped him, and he's the only one that could have helped you.
But it's over and done with. It's time for some tough love, don't dwell on it.
Still, you can't help but look back at him and you find yourself smiling slightly, when you see him staring back at you. You're pretty sure you're breathing stops for just a second or two when you see him smiling back at you, his eyes actually shining. He sends you a wink, Dick-style. He goes back to dancing with the girl, and you notice, he really does look happy. The smile isn't fake.
Maybe, just maybe, you helped a little anyway, you think as the smile lingers on your lips.
So, your best friend isn't really your best friend at the moment, but in time you'll both come around. And with her, so will Logan and Wallace. Parker is still happy, unaware of the troubles in this world and you're glad.
It'll hurt less, the aching in your heart will fade with time and his face won't be the face you see, when you look at yourself in the mirror. And one day, you'll be able to go to bed without having your clothes on, and the shower won't haunt you anymore.
One day, it's all going to be all right. And until then, you'll keep on drinking.