She Loves Me Not //open.

[Dorian Wilde]

She loves me...

gulp

She loves me not...

belch

She loves me...

hiccup

She loves me not...

'chink!' The empty bottle hit the table with a hollow sound of protest. The young man's head lulled back until it hit the head of his chair, and he let his neck loose so his dark hair would tumble over to one side. It was long and unkempt, his face had 7 o'clock stubble, and his silk shirt was untucked and wrinkled.

Dorian was having one of those days. However, if you didn't see Dorian often, you might assume that every single day was one of those days. But the truth was that these days were becoming rarer and rarer. He was adjusting to his 'new' life, the life without her. He had Mae now, who was beautiful and fierce, and although you couldn't exactly slap a label on their relationship, it felt comfortable.

This morning he hadn't bothered shaving, but had dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a nice silver silk shirt. He'd put on his black, fitted trench coat and leather gloves and gone out. But he passed by stores with hot new women's fashion, and before he knew what he was doing, he was imagining Elliot's face replacing those of the mannequins.

Thrown into despair, he found a place that was classier than The Cave and hunkered down for the night at an out-of-the-way table where he ordered beer after disgusting beer to chase away the sweet and bitter taste she left in his mouth when he thought of her.

At least purple isn't as popular this year, he thought to himself. He was grumbling nonsense into the empty bottle as though it were a lover he were whispering secrets to. There were three more empty bottles on the table that he refused to let the waiters remove.

[Elliot is on the edge.]

It had been a long day, and Elliot could feel herself edging closer to the precipice with every step, nearing the edge of the cliff and debating whether or not to jump. She stepped into the Bistro with the collar of her dark wool pea coat pulled up around her ears to shield them from the bitter cold outside; she was exhausted enough that she didn't even flinch at the noise of the door slamming shut behind her, but instead unfolded the collar of her jacket and jammed her frozen hands deep into her pockets, to sullen to pay any mind to any of the other dinner patrons as she waved down a waitress.

The server shuffled over and showed her to a table, dropping a menu with a polite and entirely fake smile before asking the dreaded question; Just you? She nodded to hide the wince and busied herself slipping off her jacket so she would miss the attendants definite glance of pity - or worse, presumption.

The waitress shuffled off for the time being, and Elliot dumped her heavy coat on the back of her chair, left a radiating vision in white with the most fragile eyes as she picked up her menu and sighed loudly at nothing in particular. The entire day had been a disaster, and she was desperate to find a little peace. Everything had gone wrong, and her luck had never been worse, for instance, she had plans with Mae only to end up ditched at the very last minute for Rae and her father had called to say that they would have to postpone her visit home for another month, no matter how much she was aching to see him, and when she had attempted to retreat to her dorm for solace, there had been a fresh, new batch of post-it notes stuck to her bedposts, the words still ringing in her ears as she tried to decided what kind of wine she felt like drowning in; slut, bitch - she could still see the words staining her vision, and somewhere in the pit of her stomach, she felt nauseous.

It wasn't just the obvious things that had ruined her day, no, her shower had been cold and she had woken up too late for breakfast, left her umbrella in her dorm only to be caught in a sudden rainstorm, stubbed her toes three different times and gotten a parking ticket because she was out of gas and couldn't move her car before the meter ran out. She was freezing cold, sick to her stomach and incredibly tired, and yet, here she was. Mae had called to cancel their dinner plans just as Elliot had reached the Bistro, and as much as she wanted to retreat back to the school or the Penthouse and just sleep it all off, she tried to salvage her evening still, knowing that she couldn't face the searing reminders stuck all over her bedroom, and that all the boys were out for the night, leaving their apartment empty and their cellphones off. Noah was working out and Peyton wasn't sure where she was, and Kenneth was with Kellan, leaving her to dine alone and attempt to gather up all the pieces of her that had shattered over the course of the day.

Running a hand through her wild blonde curls, Elliot tried to focus on her menu, instead of all the insecure, deprecating things her mind was screaming. Whoever kept leaving those notes in her room was right, she was worthless, had to be in order to keep getting shaken off so easily by everyone who mattered to her. She was nothing special, no matter how high she carried her head, she was still pretending, and just like that, she was slipping into her old habits again, headed down the most treacherous and familiar path, completely oblivious of Dorian and his front row tickets to her breakdown. They were seated only a table apart, and yet, the pretty blonde hadn't lifted her chin high enough to notice him, or anything past her own hands for that matter. She looked so sad, the way her hands shook and she chewed on the inside of her lip, determined to regain some sliver of composure despite the way her gaze was wavering; she was nearing her breaking point, unarmed and alone.

[Dorian Wilde]

He closed his eyes, and they stayed closed for a long time. When he opened them again, he knew he was having a nightmare. Only it was strangely pleasant. He felt extremely distant from everything in the dream. Elliot had come in, and to his delight, she looked miserable. Serves her right. If she were with Dorian, she wouldn't have that pout on her lips. Intrigued, he leaned forward to play witness to the rest of this strange, strange dream.

Figuring that in a dream, you could change your entire personality, Dorian pondered what he would do. He didn't need to think long... the drunk boy stood and joined her at her table, knowing he'd be unwelcome at best, and resented at even better.

"Why hello," He greeted, sitting down heavily upon the chair opposite her, "it's certainly a small world." His words and his world slurred, and he couldn't tell if she was prettier when his vision was blurry. Maybe it was better that she was surrounded by a thick haze.

_{[/writer's block. pretty pretty please!][/suck] - I've been working on this post for hours!}

[Elliot is on the edge.]

Scraped and sober, toes dangling dangerously over the edge, Elliot could have honestly cried at the sight of him. As he slid into the adjacent seat, the shock of him left the girl reeling for a heavy moment, too taken by the sudden and violent rip in the universe, by the way that the earth beneath her was resolute on it’s attempt to open up and just fucking swallow her whole, to form words right away.

Eventually, she gathered the most essential parts of her back together and rested her chin in her hand, curling manicured nails against the bone of her jaw. Elliot laughed dryly then, a noise that sounded like disbelief - like a motion to surrender. Truthfully, she was feeling a little too terrified and lost for her own comfort at this point, bare in the face of the enemy, and so the blonde chose to cling fiercely to the little bit of composure she had salvaged, determined to keep her flaws hidden, especially in the face of Dorian Wilde.

In all honesty, she had played this moment over before in her head, the moment in time where they would cross paths again - though in the daydream stolen in her most inopportune moments, Elliot had admittedly looked much lovelier then she did at present, with a divine glow to her skin and a confidence in her step that she could so rarely mirror in real life. In truth, in Elliot's dream, she had looked much more like a duchess than the broken doll that sat before him now. She was weak and broken and all her wounds were showing past her attempt to veil all the scars away.

"In all the old familiar places, hmm?" Though still thick with venom and cynicism, the true mark of defeat, her voice had been injected an almost sing-song quality on top of it all, leaving her sounding dreamy and far-off, someone very different - and much happier - for just one lingering second. The first thing she had said to him in days, weeks, months - how long had it really been? Did he know? She should have? - and it wasn't even her own original thought. It was a song, one very near to the girl, and only now, with Billie Holiday in mind, could she suddenly appreciate the bitter irony of the whole scene they had played themselves into. In all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces, she hummed to herself for a moment, something much more charming making it's way into her smile as she moved through the familiar lyrics, doing her best to keep from succumbing to the urge to kick Dorian violently under the table until he decided to leave the poor girl alone so that she could fall to pieces properly.

"Sorry," hardly, "But that seat's actually taken," she finally gestured at the chair he occupied with a whimper, doing her best to sound exasperated instead of insecure. She tried to appear like this boy was just a nuisance to her, instead of humoring that part of her that still, in the midst of a hapless breakdown, just desperately needed him.


-- this is a dreadful post D;<

[Dorian Wilde]

"Oh, is Eiji coming?" He settled back in the chair, making himself even more comfortable. He didn't look like he was leaving any time soon. The drunk boy sniffed, "I haven't seen him in forever. Would love to say 'hi'."

He was being an ass. They both knew it. But after what she did to him, she deserved to get the rough end of the stick. The best part was, Elliot knew what she deserved. And what amused and infuriated Dorian was that she would just brush it off. Nothing visably affected her. But he'd learned to dip his words in acid, so that they would burn into her later. It was a skill he was refining, taught by the devil herself.

He motioned to the barkeep to send his next drink to his new location, and he tapped the table top to get Elliot's attention (in case it had wandered since his previous taunting).

"You know you're a lot sexier without that stick up your ass," He'd never been this vulgar before. Not around her, "but I suppose that's how you like it. Sorry I never delivered." His sneer had bite to it. Fire, ice, and alcohol. A combination that left him feeling elated at the moment, but later he would reflect on his actions and hate himself. But in this dream-like state, he felt invincible. And it was a refreshing feeling to have around the girl who had the ability to crush you as no one else had.

[Elliot is on the edge.]

"The only thing you need to know about my dinner plans, Wilde," and she hated the was that his name still cut at her. "Is that they don't concern you." Elliot forced a sharpness into her words that was as foreign as it was false. She knew the uncertainty and strain of her foregoing day would still be evident in her eyes, and desperate to keep her guard up around a familiar enemy, the only thing the blonde could think to do in her defense, was bite.

Dorian's presence encouraged something violent in Elliot, a colorful fury that left her wanting to chew glass, to burn and destroy and scar herself until the nausea faded and the guilt withdrew to worsen and boil in some darker corner of her mind. He managed to reflect the most unsightly parts of her, the wickedness that came so naturally to her blood and the comprehension that she would never completely be able to shake that warped part of her.

Her lip curled at his words, repulsion obvious in her poorly-disguised sneer. Truthfully, she still wildly unaccustomed to the callous way he spoke around her, above her, even though deep down she knew it was just another sign of the change that had shook the both of them and even worse, one that she would just simply have to endure. These were simply the prices people were forced to pay when they let things fall apart.

“Who are you here with?” Because the probability of them both being out to dinner, in the same café, alone, was so unlikely that the irony threatened to kill her. “Mae?” The idea of them - of her sister and her ex - together, made her immediately choke back something spiteful. She told herself that she didn’t care, she didn’t, but still the picture was just as lethal every time it was conjured to the surface of her mind, leaving her stumbling in it's wake. It was a testament to her insecurities, just how nervous she was that he could possibly say yes, yes I am meeting your sister here, even though she knew perfectly well that the fortunate sister was out for the evening with Rae already.

A waiter blew by their table, heading for the kitchen as Elliot reached out and touched his arm, causing the boy to stop mid-step. He smiled politely, as if to ask, yes, what can I help you with?, and in light of Elliot's own expression, a heavy mixture of pleading and persuasion, he seemed eager enough to comply. She asked for a bottle of wine with the most charming smile, more than thankful as the server simply nodded in recognition and returned to his path. In the back of her mind, she was sure that someone was going to ask about her age sooner rather than later and find out that it wasn't even near the legal standard, but for now, she had gotten lucky - and even better, as Elliot lifted up her menu once more so that she could do her best impression of someone actually interested in reading it, she decided quite suddenly that before the night was over, she was going to abandon Dorian with the dinner bill.

[Dorian Wilde]

Like it or not, Elliot was wrong. Dorian decided to stay for dinner. It might help him sober up, although truthfully he loved his current state. He could at least use it as an excuse to stay.

The edge to her voice when she asked him who he was at the Bistro with sent an all too familiar thrill through him. He wanted to call it envy, he wanted to imagine that she still wanted him. He smirked, the demeanor cruel.

"Mae?" He strongly considered feigning it, but something stopped him, "No, I'm afraid Mae is busy tonight," his voice caressed her sister's name with almost as much affection as he once used with hers. He gestured to the table they just so happened to share. "I'm here with you tonight, Elliot." The same tongue that had tenderly spoken before now hardened into something that could cut. She could call him by her surname all she wanted, it was sort of hot how she tried to make it sound bad. Wilde like the writer. Wild because he was free. Of her.

When she ordered the wine, he smirked. He seriously debated whether or not to rat her out to the server, but he was classier than that. Besides, he didn't want anyone suspecting his own ID was a fake. Not that they'd checked his - the five o'clock shadow made him look legal. Maybe they'd let Elliot get away with it because she was with him. Who knew. They wouldn't kick him out - he'd already been drinking and it was a little too late to tell him his money no longer worked at their bar.

His mind was going in circles, and he was paying attention to pretty much everything but Elliot. Had he realized what he was doing, he might hope it irritated her to be ignored. But he was contemplating the cup size of the female bartender who'd just started her shift. When Dorian had it in his mind that he was going to be a disgusting bastard, that's what he became. He probably wouldn't snap out of it until tomorrow afternoon where he'll wake up from a raging head-ache.

[Elliot is on the edge.]

"Your fat ass is sitting at my table, but you are not with me." because she had to make the distinction once and for all. The poor girl was losing ground fast, the acid in her tone giving way to the raw apathy that she could feel weighing in the depths of her bones. The last time she had a day like this, she had ended it with a plane ticket to Paris, and while she had been running from the ghosts of another boy that day, Elliot was sure that if Dorian kept up the way he was for much longer, day break would surely find her packing her bags once again.

"Oh, yes," she feigned a look of interest, like realization suddenly dawning, "I forgot she had her appointment at the VD clinic tonight. Herpes sounds like it can be quite the bitch." There was no symptom of humor in Elliot's expression as she leaned back in her chair, crossing bare, sun-kissed legs and pushing aside the menu, giving up the facade that she was going to order something new tonight. The blonde took a moment to study Dorian, trying to consider her options at a point where all she wanted to do was surrender to all the things that were desperately weighing on her weary mind.

She could just move to another table, but in truth, the boy across from her seemed to set on his game to give up that easy- he was obviously out for blood. And if this were any other night, she might have been up to the challenge, sharp and amused enough to take an eye for an eye, but tonight, her wit was long lost somewhere between her trashed dorm room and ticketed car, along with most of her pride.

The waiter blew by again, hardly noticed save for the bottle of red wine that stood alone on the table and had certainly not been there just a second prior. Reaching for the bottle, Elliot thanked God for small miracles upon seeing that the waiter had already opened it. She couldn't imagine letting Dorian see her wrestle weakly with the treacherous cork had it been left unopened. Pouring herself a tall glass, the blonde took a long, greedy drink, completely wretched and in frantic need of a shield.

"Look," extracting her attention away from her wine glass for one powerful second, Elliot leaned forward over the table, her eyes narrowed, but not altogether irritated. She knew that one more wrong word and she was going to fall to tears; and she just couldn't let him see her like that anymore. "I've had a really, really long day, and I just can't do this Dorian. Any other night and you can tear into me with your heart's content, but all I'm really equipped to handle tonight is about six more of these." Gesturing to the wine bottle, the blonde was obviously waving her white flag, wearing an expression that was much more melancholy than malicious.

"Just," she was struggling for the words, trying not to reveal too much. She was already balanced on the edge of an ugly breakdown in the middle of crowded restaurant, and she didn't need to make it any more discomforting by allowing Dorian any more ammunition against her than he already had, "let me lose my mind peacefully, please?"

i suck.

[Dorian Wilde]

Dorian waved off the clarification. Sitting with her. With her. What difference did it make? Oh yeah, the former meant he was free to kick her ass verbally whereas the latter he would be making goo-goo eyes across the table at her. Alright, agreed.

Then she moved on to give an explanation of her sister's whereabouts. VD? Herpes? Dorian choked on the drink he had finished ages ago. Wonderful. So Dorian was going to be a Herpes-infested werewolf soon. The boy took the wine the moment it touched the table and left her hands, and he guzzled back a couple mouthfuls. The clash with the beer he'd been ingesting for a good two hours made his stomach squirm and his tongue protest, but he managed to return the bottle with a little grace.

Shaking his head and wiping his mouth off elegantly with the corners of a napkin, Dorian almost looked like himself. If that blurry fire in his eyes were a little sharper then he could be mistaken for no one else. Then she was practically begging him to leave her alone. He gave her a toothy smile.

"Oh right. I forgot that I'm at your beck and call. I'll just wait until it's convenient for you before I let you know how I feel. Don't worry, I'll just wait for your text," He extracted his phone from his pocket and waved it. His thumb hit one of the buttons, and he saw that he had a message. It was an hour old, from Kenneth asking if he wanted to play Xbox. He pocketed the device. "I'll bet you think the world revolves around you. I'll bet you think your day was worse than mine, and that the only reason I'm here is because I'm crying over you." He laughed, as though he had no idea what he was talking about. As though this wasn't exactly what he was doing.

"Do you feel powerful, thinking you can drive a man to this?" He gestured to his silver shirt, though obviously refering to his repulsive attitude. "I'll let you know this has nothing to do with you."

He sneered. He growled. He clawed. He lied.

[Elliot is on the edge.]

Elliot was always in disguise, always carefully poised with her familiar masks in place, and she was always fighting tooth and nail to keep her class about her becauce beneath that generally placid and elegant demeanor, Elliot was frenzied and hot-tempered, selfish and jealous and vehement, and as she looked across the table at a hissing Dorian, she let the facade slip a little, hard pressed to find a use for sophistication in the company of dogs.

"If it has nothing to do with me, then quite blaming me." Her lips curled, barring teeth as she snatched up the bottle of wine and set it close against her edge of the table, as safe and protected as Elliot herself wished she could be.

Looking up at Dorian with her snarl still intact, the girl tried to picture the two people they had once been, but to no avail. Those nights counting stars were just out of reach, and they had grown far too bitter since then.

"I don't know what the fuck you're doing in here!" She finally cried, exasperated, confused and dangerously close to defeated. "And the only thing that I feel, is fucking tired, so quit taking your tantrum out on me." Elliot emptied her glass in one gulp, refilling it without missing a beat and returning the bottle back to it's sheltered spot beside her empty dinner plate.

"None of your drunken rambles are going to get to me," even though his words were already setting in, searing her skin and setting fire to her veins, "nothing you can say is going to make me feel any worse than I already do, so just give it a goddamn rest."

They were a pitiful sight, something reminiscent of a married couple that hadn't loved each other in ten years, stuck together until death parted them and just going through the motions. She gripped the wine like a lifeline while he snapped at her, neither of them possessing the sense, or the strength, to simply walk away.