A/N: There were portions of this post that were hard for me to write, because, well, I have no experience with this. That said, it was a challenge. Months ago, Jess mentioned she would like to see this in a story, and I ran with it, and this is the result. For this particular, difficult scene, I imagined the song "Lebanese Blonde" by Thievery Corporation as the theme music. Anyway, enough chitchat, enjoy! BTW, there is just one post left to this story, but I'm planning on writing a sequel.

Charlynn

Chapter Nine

It hadn't taken Ryan long to figure out what he should do next. As soon as he saw the front door to the house he had called his own for the past few years close for what very well might be the last time, there was only one place he wanted to be. Walking to his car, his pace relaxed and calm, he opened his car door with one destination in mind: the airport. The airport would take him to Seattle, Seattle meant Marissa, and Marissa meant home. Really, he realized as he backed out of his former driveway, she was the only place he could run to.

In that moment, work did not matter, his concerns about his divorce or his material possessions disappeared, and he could finally breathe easy again for the first time in months. His life was free of secrets, and, more importantly, there were no major decisions to make. Instead of having to choose whether or not he wanted to remain in his eleven year marriage or end what he knew, what was familiar, what was safe for the unknown, for a real relationship where there was a possibility he could get hurt with Marissa, that decision had been made for him. Now he could be with the woman he was in love with, and he couldn't wait to tell her.

The lines at the airport seemed never ending, the plane ride deliberate and protracted, the drive to Marissa's apartment dawdling and lengthy, when, in fact, traffic was flowing smoothly that night. Ryan just knew what was waiting for him at Marissa's place…their place: the opportunity to finally touch her, possess her, feel her, be with her on every level a man and woman possibly could. He had been craving her for so long that, in his heart, it felt as if as long as he got there and walked through the doors, he would get everything he wanted. Realistically, he knew she was working that night, that he would be alone for several hours as he planned their evening for them, but the apartment represented his safe haven, a place he would finally be able to express everything he had been feeling since their fateful flight five months before.

Using HIS key to THEIR home, Ryan pushed open the door and walked into….an empty entryway. Suddenly, everything he had been counting on, the new sense of stability and support that Marissa was supposed to provide him with, disappeared as he realized she was packing. Box after box lined the otherwise bare walls of her living room. Although the furniture was still in its usual positions, any trace of comfort, of personality, of home had been removed from the apartment and locked away inside the labeled containers of Marissa's possessions.

What he had always feared was coming true: something unplanned, spontaneous, out of the ordinary had occurred and forced him to make hasty, rash decisions, and, now, it felt as if the life he was depending upon Marissa giving him was being taken away without him being consulted. It felt as if not only was he going to lose his marriage, his home, the life he had lived for eleven years, but he was also going to lose the fantasy of his life that was supposed to become his reality.

Falling to the floor, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scanned the list of contacts. Someone, SOMEONE from the office should be able to help him find her; someone had to be sitting at their desk, avoiding their home life this late at night. Despite the fact that she would be home in mere hours, Ryan could not wait that long. He was scared, unsure, and nervous, and he needed her to reassure him now and not later that evening, which meant he was going to find her. Dialing that all too familiar number, he waited, standing up and pacing the small length of her apartment, for the click of the phone being picked up to signal his hope. When it did, he didn't even wait to hear their greeting, to find out who he was talking to for there was no time to waste.

"I need some information," he began quickly, opening the apartment door and running towards the elevator. "I need to know where a Marissa Cooper from Seattle works, and I need to know it now."

After one year of working backstage, cleaning up after the other girls and helping them get for their performances, after four years of hard work and embarrassing herself every night on a brightly lit stage, earning the respect of her boss and the freedom to make her own hours, and then after five years of managing the club herself, being in charge of the hiring, the costume decisions, the day to day details of running a business, Marissa Cooper was finally quitting the job that, while some would look down upon, had afforded her the opportunity to not only take care of herself but her kid sister as well, put her sister through college, and save enough money to go after her dream. Just as in life, the job had its drawbacks and its attributes, but, no matter what, she had been treated well, and it had made her the person she was that day.

Unfortunately though, her last night was not going to be peaceful or anything close to relaxing. One of her girls had called off sick at the last minute, leaving Marissa short handed and lacking a dancer. Normally, because Sunday nights were not that busy, they would just move up the other performances and close slightly earlier than normal, but, that night, there was a private bachelor party, the best man had rented out the entire club, and she would have to put on a barely there outfit and proceed to take it off while dancing on stage. It was definitely not the way she had planned to spend her final evening at work, but there was nothing she could do to change the fact that, for one last time, she would be a stripper. However, it was a small price to pay for the freedom she was about embrace starting the very next day.

She had finally picked the property she was going to invest in, turn into her life's work, and make her home. The next morning, she could call her realtor and inform her to place an offer. While she was waiting for the deal to go through, she would continue packing, planning, and preparing for her move. Even if her personal life was still uncertain, Marissa was not going to let that stop her from following her dreams and making them a reality. She hoped that eventually Ryan would be at her side for the journey she was about to take, but, if not, life would go on, she would move past him, and eventually, someday, she would fall in love again.

Until then though, it was time to fulfill her final responsibility. Staring into the lighted mirror in front her, Marissa was faced with a sight she hadn't seen in a long time. Her hair was up in a tight bun, but, as soon she would let it down during her set, it would hang freely down her back, slightly curly and full of body, giving it a saucy, seductive movement when she walked or danced. The makeup covering her naturally beautiful face was dark and alluring, giving her a mysterious, tantalizing air, while her costume in an of itself was an oxymoron. She was a sexy librarian and had been since the very first time she had taken the stage all those years before. The owner had told her she had the eyes of a child, innocent and dewy, to use that in her performance, and she would instantly be a success. She had been right. Taking one last deep breath, she pushed herself up from her seat and made the long walk down the hallway that would lead her backstage. Smirking to herself, she whispered, break a leg, Marissa, climbing the stairs and pushing open the curtain, suddenly stepping into the fantasy she would have to create.

Ryan had a bad feeling about this. It had taken his co-worker just a few minutes to search for Marissa's personal information online, his snickers before he provided him with an answer the first thing that had set Ryan on edge. The second was the name of the club Marissa worked at: Bliss. When he had given the cab driver the name of the place he was headed, his wink and smirk, the third thing that had put him on guard, had been enough to make Ryan grit his teeth and clench his fists. Just knowing what the driver was thinking, perhaps even imagining Marissa in his mind, made his blood boil. He tried to calm down, he tried to tell himself he was overreacting, jumping to conclusions, that, even if it was a strip club, she was their accountant….their costume designer….or even the bartender, anything to ease the tension building in his body at the thought of other men seeing the woman he was in love naked.

The cab had pulled up to the club several minutes before, but he was frozen in his seat. Already, still inside of the car, he could hear the pounding, pulsating music emanating from inside the dark depths of the building before him; he could feel a sense of lust and desire in the air, the dream world he had created in his mind during the flight to Seattle for he and Marissa to share crumbling quickly before his very eyes. Ignoring some rude, nonsense comment the driver made to him, Ryan tossed him enough money to barely cover his fair let alone a tip, and exited the car, his movement towards the club powerful, surreptitious, calculated, like a wild animal on the hunt. He had to be prepared for anything.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the interior of the dark building, its only illumination coming from the bright, florescent stage lights and the dull glow of the bar in the far off corner of the large space. The haze of smoke stung his eyes bringing tears to them quickly that he had to blink away; the stench of liquor was so overwhelming he had to readjust his senses before furthering his way into the club. He had to admit, it was classy. Everything was lush, the décor, the outfits the scantily clad waitresses wore, the design of the set, the high end quality of the endless liquor bottles lining the largest, best stocked bar he had ever seen. Settling himself in the back on a black velvet chair and ottoman, he sat away from the various occupants and costumers, watching their every move, looking for Marissa, and preparing himself for what he would say to her when they did see each other, eventually, once again. However, eventually turned into immediately as a beautiful, shy, blonde woman walked discreetly onto the stage just as the curtain opened to reveal the set of a library.

He watched as Marissa casually walked behind the desk and sat down, opening a book and pretending to read it while the music changed into a slower, sensual song that was unfamiliar to Ryan. It was as if he was observing a private moment that was intended for no one to see, as if he were a voyeur stalking the woman of his affections as she gave in to her lustful instincts believing she was all alone. She peered around her cat eye glasses, slipping them off when it appeared as if she was by herself, letting her hands run up to her tightly controlled hair and removing the sole pin that was keeping it in place. As her luxurious hair fell down her back, it was as if she was suddenly freed of the constraints upon her personality, and she transformed from an unsure, self-conscious girl to a commanding, flirtatious woman.

Standing up her body glided across the room, her hips subtly swaying to the erotic beat of the music as her hands found their way to the buttons of her very proper, very intellectual suit jacket. When it was free of her body, hooked on the end of her long, thin finger, she, once again, checked to make sure no one was watching her as she let it drop effortlessly to the floor. Turning her back to the audience, it was as if she didn't know they existed, and she continued to dance to the song that was loosening her inhibitions, only turning around when her shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing her seemingly innocent, simple bra, its sheer material only appearing transparent when her breasts moved just the right way in the bright, forever moving beams of light, but she refused to undress further. Instead, she moved her hands to her hair, running it through her fingers as she continued to bend to the music, kicking off her high heals and throwing her head back in ecstasy, the realistic, naïve motions of her seductive dance more intriguing than anything Ryan had ever seen before.

Once again, she checked her surroundings to make sure she was still alone, biting her lip like a nervous child, before pushing the papers and supplies off of her desk and sliding her body on top of it so that only her profile could be seen. Reticently, she ran her hands up her legs and underneath her skirt, slowly pulling down the thigh high hose she was wearing, her legs poised and positioned to be as graceful as possible. As each tanned, toned limb was revealed to his starving eyes, Ryan found himself lost in the fantasy, forgetting that Marissa was not performing to entice him but for a paying audience of strange men who knew nothing about her, the woman she was, and that what made her even sexier than the body she was leisurely revealing was the way she loved with her whole heart, the way she loved him.

Descending the large, masculine desk, she sauntered her way behind an opaque screen, the light shining into it casting a shadow over her body as she slipped the tight fitting, knee length skirt off of her ravishing, curvaceous form. She tossed the tweed clothing over the top of the screen before walking out from behind it, peaking around the sheltering form first to make sure, yet again, that no one was present, dressed solely in her lingerie with the crisp white, partially unbuttoned Oxford shirt hanging loosely on her frame. But as she moved across the stage, her hands continuing to tease and torment as the final buttons were unhurriedly opened, Ryan was snapped from the vision before him. That was as far as it could go; he could not sit by and let other men look at Marissa, HIS Marissa, as she made her body vulnerable and helpless against their indecent ideas and lustful thoughts.

Jumping up from his seat, he moved swiftly towards the bar and the woman behind it, hoping she would be able to help him. "I want her off that stage now," he demanded, his words gruff and harsh.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed before laughing dismissively, "when her set's over."

"You don't understand," Ryan pushed, following her along the gleaming mahogany as she walked away from him, "she has to get off that stage. I'll do anything."

"There's nothing you can do."

Continuing to argue and pulling out his wallet at the same time, he pointed out, "there's always something. How much do you want? I have three weeks' pay, in cash, just sitting here in my wallet. That's almost $3500, and I have several credit cards with high limits on all of them. I'll give it all to you right now if you just get her off of that stage so I can see her privately."

The exotic brunette stared at him closely for several seconds as Ryan's line of vision snapped back and forth between the stage and the bar as he continually checked Marissa to make sure her routine had not gone too far.

"Fine," she answered, her hand moving to shut off the music and turn off the lights. Over the loud complaints emanating from the private party in front of the stage, she yelled, "follow me," signaling for Ryan to walk behind her. "Our rate is normally $250 an hour for a private session, so if you want a dancer for yourself for the rest of the night, plus special compensation for me and the other girls, because we're going to have to cover for her, it's going to cost you all that cash in your wallet."

Without evening blinking an eye, he shoved the wadded up bills into her warm palm, moved into the curtained off room she showed him to, and waited, nervously, for Marissa to join him. He had no idea what he would say or do when he saw her, how to react to the revelation that she was a stripper, nor did he even know what he felt about the situation. He was, all at one time, relieved, worried, angry, proud, in love, annoyed, aroused, jealous, apprehensive, and scared, but, before he could gain control of his emotions, she was there, backing her way into the private room as she closed the curtain, dressed in nothing but her French cut, white lingerie and a gossamer robe. Instinctively, he moved towards her, slipping his hands around her hips and pulling her warm, supple body into his only to have it violently wrenched away.

"Rule number one," she responded curtly, "never put your hands on me. You're here to watch, not touch. Do you understand?"

Undeterred, he moved, once again, to stand directly behind her, just far enough away so that he was not touching her. Leaning over so his breath could blow against her creamy neck, he whispered in her ear. Suddenly, the only emotion he was feeling was blinding rage. "Well, it's good to know that even though you would let other men, any man, with enough money look at your naked body when I couldn't even kiss you, you wouldn't let them touch you."

He had never seen someone move so quickly in his life. Whirling around to face him, Marissa stood before him, embarrassed, her hands tightly pulling her think dressing gown around her exposed body while her eyes filled with regretful, apologetic tears. Too shocked to say anything else, she merely gasped, "Ryan," before backing away from him and curling herself into a right ball on the couch as she sat down, her gaze never once meeting his. Sitting down beside her, he took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Yelling at her wouldn't solve anything; becoming self-righteous and irate would not give him answers.

"I'm sorry," she finally broke the silence, refusing to look up at him as she anxiously played with her shaking fingers, ringing them together tightly, despite the pain, in order to remain composed.

"Sorry for what," he asked none too gently, "sorry that you take your clothes off in front of men for money or sorry for not telling me?"

Her beautiful, deep pools of sapphire abruptly snapped up to meet his. No longer full of misery and regret, he was taken aback by just how enraged she had become, and it was obvious he had overstepped and said something wrong.

"Don't," she threatened, scrambling to back away from him. "Do not sit there in judgment of me! Maybe I should have told you about my job, maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but did you EVER even ask me what I did for a living? Did you ever care enough to figure it out before now? And, more importantly, we are not dating! That means, I don't have to tell you everything. You're married, remember, and the fact that you've been leading me on for months when you're not even sure if you're going to leave your wife is definitely worse than me keeping this secret. Yeah, okay," she played the devil's advocate for herself, "I'm a stripper. I get paid to debase myself and take my clothes off for strange men, but not all of us have our mother-in-law to help take care of us at sixteen when life serves us a raw deal. I was a teenager with a kid sister to take care of. I never graduated from high school, there was no chance I'd be able to go to college, and I didn't want to have to depend upon the government to pay my way, so, yes, I became a stripper. It paid well, it gave Caitlyn her college education, and it's given me the life I live today. If you don't like it, well, I'm sorry, but this is who I am, take it or leave it. Do you think I like the idea that you travel so much, that even if we end up together someday, there could be weeks when I won't get to see you? Of course I don't, but I don't love you for your job; I love YOU for YOU, and I can only be with someone who feels the same way about me."

Standing up, she gave him one last glance before turning around to leave him alone, but, before she could even open the curtain to escape the suffocating tension of the private room, his gentle hand laced with one of her own, urging her to turn back around to face him.

His voice was soft and shaking, but his eyes told her he was sure about what he was about to say. "I love you, too," Ryan whispered, easing her body closer to his.

"We can't do this," she sniffled, unable to hold back her tears. "You're married, and I…."

But that's as far as he let her get. Cutting off her words, Ryan delicately joined their lips together. Skin on skin, mouth on mouth, their two separate worlds exploded into one, and from that moment on, they knew they would forever be connected to one another. No matter what happened with their relationship or where their lives would take them, neither Ryan nor Marissa would ever be able to forget the other. What they shared meant too much.

"I'm not married," he finally explained pulling away from her, breathless, "well, at least, I won't be soon. Theresa and I….we're getting a divorce. I love you; I want to be with you."

Before Ryan could say anything more, she was in his arms in an endless embrace, both of them never wanting to part again.

It was late. Sitting alone in the dark living room of their otherwise empty and depressing apartment, Ryan waited for Marissa to return from work. After she promised him that she would not get back on stage, that she would be home as soon as she could close the club, he had agreed to leave and go back to the apartment where she would join him as soon as she could. There was something she wanted to tell him, share with him, explain, and it was important that he understood everything about her before they took their relationship any further. With one last kiss, she slipped the money he had paid too see her alone back into his pocket and sent him on his way. Now, hours later, despite her reassurances, fear and doubt were starting to creep into Ryan's mind once again.

Sure, she had promised him she wouldn't strip again that night, but would he be able to handle the idea of her doing that for a living night after night, imagining the woman he was in love with, the woman he hoped to make his girlfriend and eventually start a family with taking her clothes off for any man but him? And, if not, if he couldn't accept it, where would they go from here? How could they have a relationship together if he couldn't respect her independence and choices? Plus, there was still the unexplained boxes littering the apartment. Why was she packing? Where was she going? When was she leaving? Why hadn't she told him about it?

Snapping him out of his thoughts, he heard her key unlock the front door. Silently, he sat there, merely watching her as she moved effortlessly towards him, a relaxed, confident, content smile resting regally on her gorgeous face. "It's okay, Ryan," she reassured him, taking his hand and pulling him to walk down the hallway with her. "Trust me, everything is going to be fine." He couldn't help but chuckle at how well she could read him. "I know," she continued, stopping in front a room he had never been into, one that he assumed was simply for storage, "you have a lot of questions, and we have a lot to talk about, but, first, there's something I want to show you."

Pushing open the door, she indicated that he should walk in first. The moonlight streamed brightly in through the one, lone window in the small, spare room, making it so that it was not necessary to turn the lights on, and it reflected off of the dozens of full length mirrors on the walls and ceiling.

"What," Ryan turned to look at Marissa was who carefully watching him from the doorway, "what is this?"

"This," she answered, gliding into the room effortlessly and twirling around like a little girl with her hands up, spontaneously, in the air, "is my dance studio. Do you remember that dream I told you about on New Years Eve, the one that I was ready to go after?" He could only nod positively in response, already lost in her words and expressions. "Well, this is my dream," she explained the room, "dancing. No little girl sets out wanting to be a stripper when she's innocent and full of fantasies for when she's an adult, and I was no different. I wanted to be a world famous ballerina, and what any Newport daughter wanted, she got. My parents immediately enrolled me into every dance class I requested, and I loved it. I was graceful, elegant, and, when I was dancing, everything around me disappeared and I was in heaven. It's the most amazing feeling in the world, performing, but, when my Dad committed suicide and there was no money left, the dance lessons stopped, the magic went away, and my dream came crashing down around me. I was supposed to study ballet, perform in The Royal Ballet at The Royal Opera House in London, become a world wide sensation, but, instead, I had to fight for my life and my little sister's future. So, I took a job at a strip club, working behind the scenes until I was old enough to dance on stage as well. It was tacky, low class, and demeaning, but, sometimes, when the right note was sounded, when the lights blinded me from seeing the audience, when I got lost in my performance, I was back on that ballet stage again, and I knew that I would never be able to give up on dance forever. But, now that I have enough money saved to go to college, I'm too old to study ballet, but that doesn't mean I can't teach it. My dream, Ryan," she told him with pride and enthusiasm in her voice, "is to open up my own dance studio, to share my love for the art with a new generation of little ballerinas, and hope that, someday, I'll be able to sit at The Royal Opera House in London and watch one of my former students reach my former dreams and their own. That's why I'm packing. Tomorrow morning, at 8:00, as soon as my realtor opens the doors to her office, I'm calling in my offer on a property that I want….us," she admitted, blushing slightly, "to share, to build a life together there." Approaching him, she leaned their foreheads together as her timid, hopeful eyes searched his, their lashes brushing together. "Talk to me," she pleaded with him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Ryan didn't know what to say in response to her tragically beautiful story, and the fact that she wanted to share her new dreams with him, that she saw them together building a life from scratch as a couple, it meant more to him than everything else in the world other than the fact that she loved him. Exhaling slowly, he moved his hands to cup her face, bringing her lips to his. "You're so beautiful," he breathed into her mouth before melding their essences together. The embrace they shared said everything he couldn't and more, and, in that moment, they both knew this was their moment, the moment they had been waiting for, needing, craving, fantasizing of since the day months before when he had, for the very first time, kissed her.

Breaking their embrace, he stepped away from her only enough so that his eyes could ravish her entire body, taking in every nuance, every detail of her figure as his hands slid from her face, down her arms, and onto her torso, the moonlight bathing her in an aura of purity and grace. Slowly, their gazes locked together the entire time, he unbuttoned her shirt, clasp by clasp from the bottom to the top, sliding it off her delicate shoulders and letting it fall to the floor when he was finished. Returning his hands to her waist, he lifted the silk camisole she had been wearing underneath her blouse, leaving her in nothing but her jeans and bra when he was finished. Still, their eyes remained linked together in an almost desperate look of shared, unbridled passion. While one hand slipped the straps of her lingerie down to rest on her upper arms, his other hand unfastened the front clasp of her bra, the silken material falling off her body to leave her aroused, vivacious breasts exposed and defenseless to the night air and his welcome obsession. Running his hands down her body, he stopped them at the waist line of her pants, unhooking the buttons, freeing her from the constraints of, yet another, piece of clothing. With his help, the jeans fell to the floor, pooling around her bare feet until she, without looking, kicked them away. Finally, he removed the final piece of material keeping her body from his possession, slipping her panties off her round, firm derrière and pushing them off her body completely.

Even as she stood in front of him completely nude, Ryan still never broke his gaze away from hers. Just as he had done for her, he felt her hands slowly start to unbutton his shirt, sliding it off of his powerful shoulders to reveal his signature wife beater. That, too, was quickly shed, as she pulled the thin, white tank top over his head, tossing it aside before deftly moving her hands to the edge of his pants. Instead of removing them right away though, she ran her silky smooth fingers gently around his waist, teasing and taunting him as she dipped the tips of them inside the confines of the jeans to toy with his boxers. Before her actions could get too carried away though, she slipped her hands back outside of his pants and unclasped them, their loose fit helping them to slide right off. When he was standing in just his underwear, she hooked her index fingers into their waist band to slowly, inch by inch creep them off his muscular frame, revealing him slowly.

Finally, they were both completely exposed, their bodies vulnerable to the others hands and desires, but, just like before, they kept their gazes fixated on each other. Blindly, they felt their lover's body, letting their fingers explore every inch of each other, arousing their need to a level neither had experienced before, that neither could imagine experiencing with anyone else. Eventually though, the simple embraces of their hands were not enough, and, wordlessly, their eyes communicating for them, they joined together, once again, their mouths blending into a seamless, never-ending fusion of both of their senses. Supporting each other, their bodies fell to the ground, and, with their eyes opened for every powerful, beautiful moment, Ryan made love to Marissa long into the early morning hours, their reflections dancing back at them in the many mirrors surrounding their coupled bodies.

This was heaven; this was a feeling Marissa could get used to and, yet, never tire of. Resting with her head on Ryan's chest, their breathing finally returning to normal, her body was completely on top of his as he held her tightly to him. Not wanting the moment to end yet, willing sleep away, her fingers traced senseless patterns onto his glistening chest.

"Can you believe everything's that has happened in the last 24 hours," she giggled, realizing it herself as she reflected back over the past day. "We had our erotic, almost kiss on the beach, our conversation in the airport, you went home to California and chose me, I had my final day at the club after ten years of working there, we survived our first real fight….as a couple, and, last but certainly not least, we made love for the first time."

"And the second…and the third," Ryan added, grinning at the thought. Tilting her face towards his, he kissed her lips softly before agreeing with her. "Yeah, but I know what you mean. It's weird," he continued, becoming lost in thought, "after months of really nothing happening, of just….existing in this sort of strange, intimidating uncertainty, everything has changed so quickly. To think, what if Theresa hadn't of figured things out?" As Marissa moved to sit up, resting her elbow on his chest to look down at him, he never noticed her change of position and kept talking. "What if she hadn't been waiting to confront me when I walked into my office? What if she hadn't of asked me for a divorce? Would we still be here? Would this still be happening?

"What do you mean she asked you for a divorce," Marissa demanded, sitting up and moving away from his body. "I thought YOU wanted the divorce, that YOU chose me?"

"I did…I do want you," Ryan answered her quickly, reaching out to bring her back into his arms. Marissa could see him visibly flinch when she pulled away.

"But you didn't chose me," she surmised, standing up and reaching for her discarded clothes. With them in her arms, she turned, once again, towards a still very much naked and exposed Ryan lying on her floor. "Who asked for the divorce?" When he didn't say anything, she knew the answer, but she needed to hear him say the words anyway. "WHO ASKED FOR THE DIVORCE?!"

Dropping his gaze, he responded, his voice nothing but a shell of its former self. "She did."

"Get out!"

"Wha…what," he gasped, shocked. Standing up, he moved towards her, fear laced throughout his entire countenance. "What do you mean get out? Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? What about us? Marissa, I love you!"

"And I love you, too, Ryan," she sobbed, "but I don't want to be your second choice, your consolation prize. I thought you had picked me, that you had weighed your options and realized that our relationship, that I meant more to you than the stability of your marriage, but I was wrong. You only came to me when Theresa wouldn't have you any longer!"

"That's not how it is," he argued with her. "I didn't even get a chance to think about what I wanted, who I was going to chose. As soon as I got home, she was there, confronting me, demanding a divorce. She didn't even give me a chance to get my things or to talk to her about her decision."

"And instead of then thinking about what you wanted," Marissa pointed out, the hurt evident in her tone, "you just did what was easy; you came to me without even listening to a word I said to you at the airport, because you're afraid to be alone. Well, I'm sorry, Ryan, I want….no, I deserve more than that. Please, just leave."

He didn't though. As Marissa turned her back on him and got dressed, she could feel his presence behind her, and, she knew, if she looked up into the mirrors, she would be able to see him, too. Finally dressed, her heart and vulnerability hidden away behind a shield of regret, she turned back around to face the only man she had ever loved in her whole life.

"Marissa," he began, taking a step towards her until she held up her hand to stop him. "Can we….I don't know….talk about this?"

"We have done nothing but talk for five months before tonight," she dismissed his request. "Words cannot fix what your actions broke, Ryan. Go back to your wife; go back to Theresa, to the constancy and steadiness she provides you with, go back to a life without risk, without fear, without really living. I don't want you anymore."

Leaving him alone in the room, she walked passed him and entered her bedroom, closing the door and locking it securely behind her. Sliding down the wooden surface, she sat silently against the door waiting to hear what he would do, and, just like she suspected, not even a minute later, she heard her front door being shut for the last time by Ryan Atwood. Once again, just like always, she was alone, but, unlike him, at least she wasn't a coward.