This is a different fandom than I usually write about, but that's because I started binging OITNB and I'm a sucker for lesbian love especially when one of the love interests is Alex - to be clear I'm talking about season 1 - season 5 Alex.
This follows the "you" perspective and switches between Alex and Piper's POV.
September 4, 2013
Piper
The moon is high and the sky is painted in black when you drag your feet through the wooden double doors of a bar. You are unsure of the name as the bar's sign is broken with an L hanging on by no more than a thread and the neon letters barely glowing. Right now, it says "ITCH" but there's a lot of space after the words that suggest the name is longer.
The doors squeak as you open them and they squeak again as they shut. It's a noise that would cause anyone to cringe away but you don't cause you barely notice it. You're too focused on taking in the bar's interior. Your father always said to know your surroundings so you don't get kidnapped but he also said to not jump out of a bus, so you don't hold that advice too close to heart. Then again, you found yourself in the situation of jumping out of a bus once.
The bar is small and tucked away between a pet store called "Magic Paws" and a drug store appropriately named "Drug Store." The bar doesn't get enough visitors for you to claim it is busy and overcrowded. But there are enough people for you to claim that the bar gets a good amount of business. Those who are at the bar seem to be frequent visitors; you can tell from the way the customers interact with the employees, how they ask about their day, and mention the names of children and wives. Some appear to know the employees' schedules and a part of you pities them.
Everything in the bar is lit by the gentle glow of orange-tinted bulbs that are protected by various stained glass designs. You can't tell what most of the designs are but one of them is a decorative rose design.
Pretty, you think to yourself, and the bulb flickers.
.
There are booths to your right and tables that need to be replaced on your left. You don't go in either direction and, instead, approach the bar's counter that is up ahead. At the counter, there's a lone bar stool that sits directly under a light that calls out to you.
The seat isn't dirty but you still brush it off before sitting down. You sigh and run your fingers through your hair which still smells of the salon's shampoo. Every time you smell it, it hurts to think about the money you spent so you don't. You wave down the bartender instead.
The bartender - a man who has the looks of a rich Californian - smiles at you. He grabs a glass as he approaches and starts to wipe down the inside with a rag. "You're new here," he states. "From experience, that means something has fucked up in your life and you're here to drink your sorrows away." He slings the rag over his shoulder and looks at you expectantly.
You say nothing and blink once, slowly. Your face doesn't change into that of amusement like the bartender hoped and no smile is found gracing your lips.
"Right." He nods and sets the glass aside.
You look at the wet spot on his shoulder from constantly having a rag on his shoulder. A shiver runs up your back at the thought of wet clothes.
"I'll have Alex serve you in a minute."
Although he could have easily served you at that moment, you're not mad that he doesn't.
.
The man turns away and he serves another, more friendly customer who laughs at his jokes and feeds into his bizarre stories. You think you can hear him talking about a trip to the Amazons where he caught a mean sickness.
As you watch them, your mind can't help but question just how long he's worked at the bar to be able to pin someone's problem so easily. It's a weird thought, you recognize that, but it sits at the forefront of your mind even as you watch the man laugh with the customer. But you realize the statement to have been broad enough to apply to anyone who walks in, and you feel a little foolish. All thoughts of him leave when a woman approaches the bartender and they start a quiet conversation.
". . ." You tilt your head.
The man says something to the woman and they both glance at you. You're unsure if it's you or the topic of their conversation that has the woman's face souring. Something tells you that you're the topic of the conversation when the bartender cocks his head toward you and walks away. Either way, you might've ruined her day.
.
She sighs once, rolls her neck, and looks at you. Both of you narrow your eyes at each other but the woman stops first as she seems to realize she has a job to do and customer service is a major part of it.
You glance away when the woman approaches and leans against the counter. "What are you drinking?" She asks.
She's tall, you think, as it's the first thing you notice. That and just how beautiful she is. And that she's very tall. Her hair is jet black, a color that you have never seen naturally, and it's long, going well past her shoulders. Her skin is fair, her eyes green, and a large rose tattoo takes up a majority of her right upper arm. She cocks a brow and you find your voice. "Surprise me."
"Surprise you," she repeats and you're surprised at the rasp her voice has. "You look like a vodka type of person."
"Then I'll have vodka."
"Then again . . ." She looks you up and down. "You do look like a woman that sips red wine." A pause. "Leisurely."
You straighten your back and go to touch your hair on your shoulder but then remember your hair isn't that long anymore and you had chopped it down to above your shoulders at the salon. "Something tells me that's not a compliment."
She shrugs and stands straight. "One vodka coming up."
.
You down the first drink within five minutes of it being set before you. The liquid burns as it goes down your throat and you pull a face. Shit, you think but find yourself asking for another.
The second is downed in two minutes and when you set it down, you can see the waitress' eyes watching you with mute curiosity even as she compliments a giggling woman and by the third, she finally asks her question.
"You're not much of a drinker, huh?"
You say nothing.
"Rough day?" You can tell the question is from curiosity alone but a part of you thinks you hear concern underneath it all. But who's not concerned about a lone woman drinking in a bar?
The drink is placed in front of you and you shrug, finger tracing the rim.
"Well, it looks like you've had a rough day. Shitty, some might say." When you say nothing, she nods. "I see. You're not much of a talker."
You grab the glass with your right hand and chug the liquid then slide the glass over.
Her eyes study you for a minute, eyes not revealing whatever thoughts are brewing. Finally, she takes the glass and walks away. When she passes the bartender, she raises her brows in an almost "told you so" gesture.
He simply shakes his head and shoos her along.
.
You're left alone for no more than five minutes before you feel the heat of her hand by your arm. You then hear their gentle breathing and their face comes into view from your right.
"Another glass," the waitress says. She sets the drink in front of you. "Enjoy."
You stare at the glass and watch as the dew drips down the outside. You really shouldn't be drinking as the third drink is really your fifth of the day and you know you'll have a shit headache tomorrow. But you decide not to count the two you had almost two hours ago and, truthfully, you choose to act like you hadn't gone anywhere before coming to the bar.
Her mouth quirks up in a smile and she chuckles. You wonder if there's some joke you missed. "Humor me for a second," she says. She puts her hands on the counter and leans down so the two of you are at the same eye level. She takes your silence as a reason to go on. "My guess is you had a date with a man. But most after a date don't get wasted at a bar they've never been to. Some get lucky and others go home to gossip to their best friend- I'm guessing some female for you. The date was bad, I take it. Horrible."
You say nothing. Her eyes track yours as they look her over and finally notice the white name tag. Alex, you read and stare at the way the name loops. Not only is she beautiful but her handwriting is too. You meet her eyes for a quick second then turn your gaze back to your drink.
Alex doesn't need a more heavy hint than that. She nods and she walks away. "Enjoy, Kid."
The nickname throws you off. You can't be that much older than her and you dare to think you're younger.
.
.
You watch her as you indulge in a fourth drink and a fifth. You watch as she makes friends with customers and does shots with groups, gaining herself a heavy amount of tips that she shamelessly tucks into her bra. It's when you meet her eye as she downs a shot that you stop watching and force your eyes to focus on the drink in front of you. Time ticks by and soon Alex is back.
"Do you always drink with customers?"
She shrugs. "Makes time go by faster."
"Won't you get drunk?"
"I handle my alcohol really well. Part of the business." She crosses her arms and leans against the counter. "When I don't want to drink, I tend to talk. Talking always passes the time."
You say nothing for a second then whisper, "I had a horrible date." Not because you're ashamed but because of the shit-eating grin Alex does that you predicted. It always happens when someone is right about something.
The smile doesn't last long when you don't smile back. "Was it with a man?"
You nod.
"I find that most dates with a man go that way. Unless you're one of the lucky few."
"Which I'm not?"
"You're here, aren't you?" Alex then asks, "What was wrong with him?" She pushes her black-rimmed glasses higher up her nose and you wonder how you're just now noticing the glasses.
"Nothing was wrong with him. He was just-" You shrug. "He didn't fit my lifestyle." Something about that piques Alex's interest as her back straightens and her chin raises ever so slightly. You watch as her eyes narrow as she studies you before she finally speaks.
"And what lifestyle is that?"
You shrug, "mine."
"Was I right about the wine sipping? Do you live a luxurious life? Travel country to country?" The question almost seems to be a joke, like Alex knows you don't have such a life. And you consider lying but something tells you she'd know.
Again, you shrug. "I sip wine but it's in the comfort of my bedroom. I have never left the country for a fun trip. It was to attend the funeral of a woman my parents knew." It's partially a lie as you did leave for a funeral but you have left the country more than once. Something about telling a waitress, who likely works minimum wage, that you have traveled for the sake of fun doesn't sit well with you. People hate the rich.
"He couldn't take you around the world then?"
You nod. "But I don't judge my lovers based on their money. My parents did and they're both cheating on each other."
Alex chooses to say naught about the new information. "But money is a nice bonus," she winks but moves on before you can comment on it. "Have you tried women?"
"Women?"
Alex nods. "Yeah."
You look her up and down, "You're coming on a little strong."
She laughs, again, but this time you're in on the joke. Alex looks back and makes eye contact with the bartender. ". . ."
"I'm not gay," you say after a minute, drawing her eyes back to yours.
Alex says nothing. She walks around the counter and pours a glass of water before handing it over to you. "To sober up. I'm not allowed to let you drive, unfortunately, but I will call you a cab so you can get home. I'll pay for the cab and your drinks."
"You'll pay? Do you secretly have a lot of money?"
She simply shrugs. "Drink the water."
You're not one for listening to other people and often prefer to do your own thing but when she puts out her hand, you find yourself handing your keys over before you realize.
She smiles. "Finish the drink while I get you a cab."
And you do.
.
By the time the cab comes around, you have gathered your stuff and are waiting by the door with Alex. She stands on the opposite side of you, watching as you open the door. She is kind enough to hold it open and watches as you get into the cab.
"Where to?" The driver asks, adjusting his rearview mirror.
You get settled and list off your address, not thinking about how Alex watches the cab driver and only goes back inside when the cab rounds the corner.
.
.
Alex
You're not much of a morning person so you always take the night shifts, which bring in interesting people. You've gotten used to them as they're frequent visitors like Joe who sits in a booth and mopes to himself. He acts like he has a thousand sins on his shoulders and has no way to get rid of them. Or Leroy who simply exists and never speaks, drinks, and sometimes you don't think he blinks.
But now and then, the wind will drag in a stray. Someone you know shouldn't be here but life and its shit has brought them. You don't pay attention to them as you're not likely to see them again. But when the door squeaks open and a blonde wanders her way in, you curse and look toward the counter where your coworker already has his eyes on her.
You sigh, fuck. You rub your forehead and turn your back to both of them. "How are the kids?" You ask a customer who happily rambles about their youngest and how he learned to bike over the weekend.
.
You try to listen, you do. You get the best tips whenever you know random facts about the frequents but your ears tune into the conversation behind you.
"You're new here," you hear your coworker say. He says some line about life fucking you over and the woman gives no response.
It's strange but a light blooms in your chest that maybe the wind will blow this woman out without any troubles and your conscience will remain free.
"I'll have Alex serve you."
And that light blows out.
You listen to the rest of the story before excusing yourself and approaching the counter. "I'll serve her?" You whisper, not caring that your coworker is talking to a customer. "I have almost eight tables."
"So now you have eight and a stool. Come on, just do it."
You both look at the woman who is watching you. You can't help the small frown of pity. "Fine," you say, rolling your neck. When you open your eyes again, you meet the woman's gaze and narrow your eyes ever so slightly. You only stop when she does it back. "I'm not sure about this one," you add before walking away and approaching her.
.
You lean against the counter and ask, "What are you drinking" but you don't get an answer. Rather, you watch as the woman takes in your height and looks at your hair before staring at your arm for a long second. It's when her eyes begin to trace your tattoo that you raise a brow.
"Surprise me."
"Surprise you," you echo and ignore the way her eyes widen ever so slightly. "You look like a vodka type of person."
"Then I'll have vodka."
.
Strike one - caving too quickly.
.
You hold back a sigh and decide to tease her. "Then again, you do look like a woman that sips red wine. Leisurely."
Her back straightens and you watch as she touches her shoulder before some type of realization occurs. You look at her short hair. "Something tells me that's not a compliment."
You shrug. "One vodka coming up."
.
You don't stick around to talk after delivering her first drink. During her second, you flirt with a woman who giggles at every word you say and normally you would eat that shit up but this time around your eyes are drawn away every time the woman so much as moves. You can't help the curiosity that you know you shouldn't have.
"Oh, Alex. You're so funny," the stranger giggles to you but you don't feed into it.
"Sorry. I have to go," you don't wait for a response and give the woman at the counter her third drink of vodka. This time, you stick around and say, "You're not much of a drinker, huh?"
She says nothing.
"Rough day?" You ask.
She shrugs, traces the rim of the glass, and watches her finger to occupy her eyes.
"Well, it looks like you've had a rough day. Shitty some might say." As expected, you get silence. "I see. You're not much of a talker."
You watch as she grabs her glass and chugs the liquid down faster than you've seen some of your friends do. The glass is then slid toward you but you don't take it. You stare at her, study her.
.
Strike two - she doesn't talk to those she's not familiar with.
.
". . ." You take the glass and walk away, raising a brow as you pass your coworker.
He shakes his head at you and shoos you away with his hand.
.
You take your time filling up the cup, hoping that the woman will lose interest but when five minutes pass and your coworker looks at you strangely, you return to the woman with a new glass. This time, you place your hand by her arm and lean over on her right. "Another glass," you say and set it down. "Enjoy."
The woman watches as the dew goes down the cup and you wonder what could have possibly brought her to the bar. It's then that you catch the faint smell of fresh shampoo and notice the nails. It causes you to chuckle.
"Humor me for a second," you say. Your hands go on the counter and you lean down to look into her eyes. "My guess is you have had a date with a man. But most after a date don't get wasted at a bar they've never been to. Some get lucky and others go home to gossip to their best friend - I'm guessing some female for you. The date was bad, I take it. Horrible."
She says nothing. You track her movement as she looks you over and her eyes settle on your nametag. Your eyes meet for a second before her's lower back to the glass.
You get the hint. "Enjoy, Kid," you say despite knowing she's probably younger than you.
You go on to down drinks with customers, only stopping at the counter to deliver more drinks. As you drink, you're handed money that you tuck into your bra. You're downing another shot when you look over at her and catch her gaze for no more than a second.
Here we go. You set the glass down and reapproach the counter.
"Do you always drink with customers?" She asks, finally seeming open to some type of conversation.
You shrug. "Makes time go by faster."
"Won't you get drunk?"
"I handle my alcohol really well. It's part of business." You cross your arms and lean against the counter. "When I don't want to drink, I tend to talk. Talking always passes the time." You think she's going to give you the silent treatment but she talks.
"I had a horrible date," she whispers.
A grin finds your face before you can stop it but it drops a second later. ". . . was it with a man?" You ask.
She nods and you feel relief.
"I find that most dates with a man go that way. Unless you're one of the lucky few."
"Which I'm not?"
"You're here, aren't you?" You then ask, "What was wrong with him?" Your glasses begin to slip off your nose and you push them back up.
"Nothing was wrong with him. He was just-" She shrugs. "He didn't fit my lifestyle."
Her lifestyle, you wonder, and your interest is noticeably piqued. "And what lifestyle is that?" You ask and really hope you don't regret it.
"Mine," they shrug.
"Was I right about the wine sipping? Do you live a luxurious life?" You ask. "Travel the country?" You have a teasing tone as you ask but you're serious. You want to know. You glance at your coworker, he wants to know. But a part of you knows you shouldn't ask these questions as each answer puts her more in the light. You'd smile and nod and let the words drip off like you do the other customers but your coworker has big ears.
"I sip wine but it's in the comfort of my bedroom. I have never left the country for a fun trip. It was to attend the funeral of a woman my parents knew."
You nod. "So he couldn't take you around the world then?"
The woman nods. "But I don't judge my lovers based on their money. My parents did and they're both cheating on each other."
.
Strike three - her parents suck.
.
You say nothing about her parents. "But money is a nice bonus," you wink and ignore the way her pupils dilate. "Have you tried women?"
"Women?"
It's a sudden topic change and you know that but you have to ask. "Yeah."
"You're coming on a little strong." She shifts in her seat and you laugh.
You look back at your coworker who nods at you. A feeling sits in your stomach but you push it away and take a breath.
"I'm not gay."
It takes everything to not whip your head around and look at the woman like she's crazy or with the surprise that eats at you. Right, you say nothing and walk around the counter. There, you pour a glass of water and don't think much about the doubt in your head about her sexuality. "To sober you up." You give the glass to her. "I'm not allowed to let you drive, unfortunately," you lie, "But I will call you a cab so you can get home. I'll pay for the cab and your drinks."
"You'll pay? Do you secretly have a lot of money?"
You shrug. "Drink the water." You don't let the command hang between the two of you for long as you put out your hand, pleased when she gives you the keys. "I'll get you a cab," she says. "Finish your drink."
And she does.
.
Strike four - she listens all too well.
.
You know after strike three that you should stop counting.
.
You don't engage with her as you get a cab and wait with her by the door. You make a point to keep your distance by settling yourself on the opposite wall of her with your arms behind your back. Your hands are hidden from view so no one sees how you pull at the back of your clothing. You're not an asshole though so you hold the door open for her when she leaves. As you do with most lone women, you watch as she gets into the cab to make sure she doesn't wander off and end up on the news tomorrow.
"Where to?" He asks.
Your eyes are on the cab driver when you hear the woman list off her address and some part of your brain stores the information away.
.
The cab is around the corner when you finally decide to stop watching. A man pushes his way past you and you watch him approach the counter where he takes the seat of the woman.
". . ." Your eyes find your coworker's and he calls you over with a come hither motion. You sigh and roll your eyes before approaching the bar. "Yes?"
"Yes," he mocks. "Well? What do you think?"
"About?"
"Are you stupid today or done one too many shots? The woman," he sounds annoyed and you lift your brows. "The woman who was at the bar. The blonde."
"Oh, her." You shrug, "I don't know. I don't think anything about her. I don't even know her name." Your hand taps the counter once and you go behind it to grab the broom. "I'll sweep if you'll start kicking the drunks out." You can't help but glance toward the door.
"You didn't think anything about her? Aren't you supposed to be the smart lesbian or something?"
"I don't have to be a lesbian to be smart."
"Yet you are and that's another one of your valuable assets."
You two stare at each other before he smirks and you sigh. "As I said, I don't think anything about her. She's just a sad woman who went on a bad date. Nothing special."
"Yes but-"
You interrupt, "no buts." You hope he gets the message but he never does.
"I don't know why you're being so uptight. You set up the meet despite your feelings."
"My feelings?"
"Come on, Alex. By now you'd have her pushed up against the alley's wall and fuck her to oblivion. But not this time."
"Look, Aydin, I took her keys so yes, I will be seeing her again. I don't plan to fuck her in the alley and don't plan on doing much else than giving her the keys. What happens will happen but for her sake, I hope nothing does and I hope to never see her again afterwards."