Remy didn't know how to fight with people.

Her mother wasn't exactly a passionate person. Indifference (probably) ran in the family.

Or may she had a fear of showing emotion. It was the way she had been raised.

Love was a weakness.

It made you feel.

It made you hurt.

It made you act like an idiot.

Looking foolish was not something that neither of them desired.

Sometimes, Remy liked to think her mother was wrong (she rarely was). So sometimes she tried to prove her mother wrong. (Andrew was a part of that experiment.) (Her mother had been right.)

Sometimes she got frustrated and thought she was wrong. Always (and forever) wrong.

But then she'd begin to think that maybe if she had more facts, everything would make more sense and she wouldn't be so wrong any more.

Sometimes that worked.

Other times it just made her more (and more and more and more) wrong.

This had started when she was (about) seven. It was when she started getting curious. (Curiosity killed the cat. And then beat it to death for good measure.)

The first thing she had been curious about was her father. Remy really hated the idea of parents. So she had asked. It was a rather business like discussion, especially for a seven year old to have with her twenty-four year old mother (Remy had always been way too serious as a child). They had sat at opposite ends of the small table in their penthouse apartment, and she had asked her mother who her father was. This was the day she realized that you could never get a straight answer out of Lola DuGrey. Her mother blew it off, stood up, and with a look over her shoulder had said, "Darling, it was seven years ago. How should I be expected to remember?" Then she had walked away.

Remy hadn't asked about her father since.

At least, she hadn't asked her mother.

Until she was nine she had asked her grandmother, her grandfather, her great-grandmother…anyone who would have known Lola around that age.

They all pretty much had the same answer as Lola did (they didn't know), except they put it in words that were less traumatizing for someone that was still in single digits to hear.

She had preferred her mother's answer.

Sugar coating was for pussies. If you couldn't handle the raw truth, then what could you handle? (Remy couldn't handle the raw truth.)

Since Remy could(n't) handle the raw truth, that meant she was capable of holding her alcohol. And pot. (Except for when she couldn't.)

Sometimes it was a dangerous, dark game to see how much you could handle.

How much sex. (Too dangerous of a game, she stuck to safeties like Seb. And Andrew. And Jesse. One at a time.)

How much alcohol. (An impressive amount, but rarely did she go over her limit.)

How many drugs. (At one time, too, too many. Too dangerous. Too fast. Toodamndark.)

How fucked up could you make yourself? (It was nothing compared to what other people did to you.)

It'd be easier to just not care.

But she was too competitive to not put herself in the game.

The thing (problem) with this type of being stuck in this lifestyle there was always this feeling that you could just go to college and change who you were.

When you were at college the expectations that had been forced on you all your life dropped. And you believed that you would be in charge of what new expectations were foisted on you.

Remy already knew it was all bullshit.

She could lie to herself and say that when she went to M.I.T. (she wouldn't settle for anything less), that she would devote most of her time to her studies.

That she wouldn't drink so much that she'd pass out or (worse) call someone to bail her out.

That she wouldn't feel the need to get high (stress levels would be heightened in college, after all).

That she wouldn't get so bored with boys (because they were all so shiny and new).

That she wouldn't need to skip meals or throw up after big ones.

Getting away wouldn't solve all her problems.

So she was fucked because she already knew the truth.

You can't hide from who you are.

It wasn't always a bad thing.

Like, with Jesse, for example. He knew the same thing she did.

And that made it (almost) okay.

She could (nearly) be herself with him. And not disappoint him. And not have him judge her (other than thinking she was weird, but that seemed to be a turn on for him).

And soon (once his band's set was over), she could stop thinking about stupid shit like this.

And she could be someone she (kind of) liked.

In fact, she could start that now. While the last song winded down. Thinking about how his band didn't suck so much anymore now that they had found a new guitarist (a girl). Remy was kind of sad about that, she had liked to make fun of his band.

She was sure she could find something to make fun of.

Instead, when he approached her (like she knew he would), she said something stupid. Really, really stupid.


"That girl makes you guys sound good, who is she?"

That girl? When the fuck did Remy start using that expression. Normally it was her being called 'that girl'. It was a horrible (jealous) way to reference someone.

She should have said 'that guitarist'.

She was so fucked up and she wasn't even on anything.

Jesse didn't look fazed by her 'greeting', and answered her immediately. "My sister's nanny."

That caught her (slightly) off guard. Jesse just didn't seem like he had a family. Not a mother. Not a father. Especially not siblings (particularly of the younger kind). "You have a sister?" (Since when did she care?)

"Yeah. She's four."

Ew. That was a horrible age. Actually any age seemed to be a horrible age. "I don't like kids."

"Neither do I." That's what she had thought. "Sam is cool though." Really? "Sometimes." That sounded more like it.

She sighed, "I have a baby brother." Words seemed to slip out of her mouth without her even realizing what she was going to say. "He cries a lot."

More like non-fucking-stop.

"Babies do that," was Jesse's (sarcastic) response.

What. An. Asshole.

She'd ignore that. "Buy me a drink?" It really wasn't a question, though.

He called over to the bartender. (They were both pros at that.) "Diet coke and—"

"No rum," she interrupted him.

There was no way she was letting her mother (or him, for that matter) upset her that much.

This time Jesse was definitely fazed. "No rum?"

"No rum," she repeated.

"Okay," he was still weirded out. "Just a diet coke."

The bartender left and left them alone (in a crowded club).

Jesse was curious.

Fuck him.

"Don't look at me like that. I just don't want to drink."

Why did she sound so defensive?


And then it just got worse. "I had a fight with my mother and I don't want to talk about it."

Had he asked? (No.) It was like she couldn't shut up around him.


Silence (with a live band in the background).

And then it was Jesse's turn to say something stupid.

"Do you want to go somewhere?"

Somewhere? Like, where? On a date? (Absolutely not.) Or like hanging out? (She guessed that was okay.)


"I know a place," he told her. He so didn't.

"But we don't do that," she was thinking way too much. "Going places, I mean."

"We cold start?" Like most things Jesse said, this was phrased as a question.

She bit her lip. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't know."

Why was she thinking so much?

"Yeah, forget it." Jesse agreed.

You could do anything you wanted. As long as you placed a level of importance on it.

Going somewhere besides to fuck in Jesse's car could be big. Really, really big.

Or it could be no big deal.

It wasn't a big deal. (It really wasn't.)

"I think we should go somewhere."



Remy could have sworn that Jesse hadn't known a place.

By the time an hour had passed, and they were still driving, she began to feel like maybe she had been wrong.

But she still didn't ask any questions; she liked the mystery of not knowing.

At an hour and a half, they stopped at a gas station for gas. And Jesse picked up a pack of cigarettes, and she grabbed a Fruit2O (Strawberry, naturally). The ride after that had been as silent as it had been before the break. Well silent, except for the music coming out of the cd player.

It wasn't a bad silence. They just weren't talkative people. It was kind of nice.

How weird.

At two hours, she had an idea of where they were going. It was random. But cool. Random was good.

A few minutes later (Jesse hadn't exactly stuck to the speed limit), he pulled into an empty parking spot.

Things were really quiet when he shut off the car.

Jesse let out a short laugh; "I have no fucking idea why I brought you here."

Remy shrugged, getting out of the car. Jesse followed her. "It's Montauk Point, right?"

He nodded, leaning against the hood of the car. "My grandfather use to bring me and John out here fishing every year."

This was a weird, strange night. It was the first night they had mentioned anything beyond themselves. Siblings, friends, band members. Whatever.

The first night they had done something in his car other than fuck.

Now, they were sitting on the hood of his car, staring at a lighthouse.

The light beamed at them. Then disappeared.

"My grandfather doesn't fish." Remy couldn't even imagine her grandfather fishing. "Actually we're all pretty much athletically inept, except for tennis."

Jesse lit a cigarette, and offered her one. She declined, cigarettes weren't really her thing. Probably because Helene smoked enough for both of them. And three of their friends. "You play?"

It was weird to hear him ask questions. "No. I play rugby."

Jesse laughed. That was even weirder to hear. "You are so fucking confusing."

Remy smiled, a real smile. The first genuine smile in, like, forever. What was he doing to her? "You like it that way." She came off better that way.

He didn't deny it. The light came back again. Remy wished she didn't chug drinks. She could really use her water right now. She needed to do something. She reached over and took his cigarette, taking a drag off of it before handing it back to him.

Maybe she wasn't confusing on purpose anymore.

Maybe she just was.

"He- my grandfather- had a story about this area," Jesse said after awhile. Remy drew her feet up onto the hood, resting her head on her knees. "I wrote a song about it. Kind of."

They were both so fucked.

"What's the song about?"

He shrugged, like he didn't know. "Nothing."

"Those are the best kind," she said. When things were about nothing, there was nothing to analyze. Nothing to dissect. They simply just were. No thinking about it at all.

Jesse looked over at her, "The ones about nothing?"

Remy nodded, drawing her sleeves over her hands. Winter was going through a warm spell. A faux-spring, pretty much. It'd be gone in a week. Or less. Maybe more. It was a bit chilly, but bearable. It was nice.

He flicked his cigarette down onto the pavement. Silence. He reached over, cupping her head with his hand. His fingers burying in her blonde hair. Then he kissed her. It was a lot slower. A lot more gentle than any kiss they had ever shared before. He tasted of smoke. It was so Jesse.

They broke apart, Jesse lit another cigarette.

The light was back on them.

"Maine has some cool lighthouses," he spoke up.

That they did. "Have you ever been body surfing?"

That was almost random. Almost.

Jesse eyed her strangely, "What?"

"Body surfing," Remy repeated. "It's really big in Maine." She sighed. "My mother and her friends use to go every summer, until I was eight…I think. At Long Sands in York, they had stands to rent a body surf board, like, every ten feet."

He liked kind of amused. "Did you ever body surf?"

She shook her head, "I'm not going to answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because then you'll ask me how I was at it, and I'm not going to answer it." Because she had been bad. Embarrassingly bad. Like choking on salt water every single damn time bad. And she had kept going back.

Remy never had been one to bow to failure easily.

It was almost ten years later and she was just coming to terms with it as it is.

Jesse shrugged, "I don't really ask questions."

She laughed, "You've already asked me, like, fifty tonight." She was exaggerating. But only a little.

He sighed. He probably didn't like her pointing that out. Oh well. "Should you be home soon?"

What a question to ask after driving her to a place that was (when abiding the speed limit) nearly two and half hours away from where he lived. Over three from where she did.

"That's fifty-one."

Jesse sighed again.

"You have nothing to worry about," Remy finally said. If Lola got worried about her not coming home (and Remy couldn't think of the last time that had happened), or even mildly curious, she'd call her cell phone. But her mother had Avery this weekend, which means she was probably at one of her parent's houses, because they wanted to see the child.

Good for them.

It was better he cried over at their houses, than at hers.


More silence. Jesse flicked down his second cigarette. This could get boring.



"Can we go have sex now?"

Was that blunt of her? Probably.

It didn't matter with Jesse. He could take it.

He shook his head, amused. She amused him. It was different. Most of the time she either turned on guys or confused the fuck out of them. Or both.

"Now who's asking questions?"


"Do you want to get laid tonight or not?"


Jesse slid off the hood of the car, and offered his hand. She took it.

They were both in way over their heads.

Oh fuck.

Remy (most likely) would never admit it. But (this thing with) Jesse freaked her out. (A lot.) Enough that she ended up going to a Larchmont party (She swore that wasn't the reason, though). Ironically (Jesse would love this…), it was her friend Jess's party. It was just like any other party (or at least that was what she was going for).

She was kind of trashed (that wasn't a good thing). Helene was kind of (in the way that meant really) pissed at her.

That was enough to make her want to have another drink.

So she grabbed another one. And chugged.


Remy really hated it when people greeted her.

She'd rather they say what they were going to say and get it over with.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Remy couldn't even remember if she cared where Makon had been.

She probably should. Since they were friends and all.

"People have been asking the same of you." That was true.

Makon took her drink from her. She decided (right then) that she hadn't missed him. "You?"

She really couldn't help flirting when she was kind of trashed (or ever, she guessed).

"Always." He finished off her drink, and slid down the couch. Closer (closer, closer) to her.

It was just another party.

She reached over and tugged on the ends of her dark hair. "Liar."

"Never," and he was close. Really really close.

And Remy would be stupid to not see what was coming next.

Because it wouldn't be the first time it had happened.

It was how she earned her reputation, after all. (And some- most- of it had been earned.)

Kissing Makon was just something to do. (It never went further than that, because it was Makon.)

It probably (most likely) made her a bad person. To find no big deal to make out with her (male) friends, when she was bored. Or drunk. Or high. Or just plain horny.

And she had gone after Jesse because she was bored with all of them.

But Jesse wasn't here.

And her and Jesse weren't in any sort of (exclusive) relationship.

(Even if they were, it's not like that had ever stopped her before. Kissing someone while under the influence of anything wasn't cheating.)

So, this was perfectly fine.

Then why the fuck did kissing Makon feel so (so, so, so) wrong?

Remy was weirding herself out.

She pushed him off of her.

And then she left.

She was so, so, so fucked up.

To Be Continued...