The Only Exception

Alex Gaskarth was drunk.

He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but he was able to deduce it probably happened some time after he traded Stella Artois for not shots of Jager, but the whole bottle. Alex didn't like the idea of moderation. The "too much of a good thing" mantra never crossed his mind—until the next morning, of course, when his head felt like someone had been banging on it with small mallets the whole night and his mouth was dryer than the Sahara in the summer.

It had all started that morning when he had called Sunday after deciding that he was going to take her to the movies. He liked movies, she liked movies, and Alex was sure it was going to be a great day. But to his immense irritation, she had apologetically informed him that she was going to San Francisco with Amber later on in the day.

So Alex had proposed that he come over and they do something at her house before Sunday's she-dragon of a friend arrived to steal her from Alex. But Sunday had next said, also contritely, that her parents were getting the floors redone and that they were having small conniption fits every time she even considered walking on the floors. There was no way Alex would make it in the door and up the stairs without being slaughtered by Mrs. Phillips.

Irritated and feeling rather oddly rejected, Alex had turned to Jack with suggestion of an evening of drinking. Jack had accepted, but once Alex had become quite seriously inebriated, he had decided to call it an evening and to Alex's immense frustration, he had simply gone to bed.

The combination of a day without Sunday—Alex was beginning to find days like this very difficult—and alcohol made Alex a nearly intolerable person and certainly one who was not going to take no for an answer when he put forth his next idea to Sunday. He had texted nearly everyone in his address book before he had found a party that sounded like a good idea to him; it was being hosted by a friend of Sean Foreman, who had been a good carouser the few times Alex had partied with him.

But finding a new venue for his alcohol consumption was only part of the problem. His next goal was convincing Sunday to go. "And I'm not taking no for an answer," Alex mumbled to himself as he sloppily made his way towards the front door of Zack's house as he attempted to pull his shirt over his head. It didn't want to cooperate though, so he merely decided to wait until Sunday's more coordinated hands could assist him.

The thought that there was a possibility of one of Sunday's parents answering the door and denying him access to their house and daughter as soon as they saw the state that Alex was in didn't occur to him until after he had rung the doorbell. So all Alex could do was stand there stupidly, still shirtless, and hope that his beautiful friend was the person who answered the ring of the bell.

Luck loved Alex Gaskarth, there was no doubt about that. She smiled on him once again when Sunday answered the door, far enough for Alex to see into the living room and discover that her parents were not there.

"Sun!" Alex grinned lazily as he walked into her house and hugged her. "I haven't seen you aaaall day long."

She laughed, though she was inwardly thoroughly confused by several things (the first being why a shirtless Alex was hugging her). "What are you doing here, Al?" Sunday asked as she disentangled herself from his grip and shut the door.

"I need help," he declared as he pulled his shirt out of his pocket. "It won't go on."

Her eyebrows slid together in utter bewilderment, but Sunday took Alex's shirt from him and situated it so that he could easily slip it over his head. She then helped him insert his arms into the remaining two openings, and while doing so, she caught the scent of his breath. "What have you been drinking?" she demanded as she took a step back.

"Everything," Alex admitted with his drunken grin as he swayed on his feet. She opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but Alex cut her off as he added, "I'm going to a party, Sunday! And you're going to come with me." And then he grabbed her wrist and began pulling her up the stairs so that he could find a dress for her to wear. Her cotton shorts and baggy t-shirt wouldn't do, he decided, not at all.

"I can't go to a party, Alex," Sunday protested as they walked into her room. "My parents aren't going to be home all night, and they—"

"That's perfect!" Alex countered, "That's when you definitely go to a party, when they're not going to be home all night long."

It took Sunday a minute to catch the gist of what he was saying, because in his excited state, his words became more slurred and it came out as, "Hat's burrect! Hat's when you defin-fin gotta part."

Still, Sunday was hesitant. "I don't know, Alex," she shook her head, "You don't seem like you should be going out tonight either."

Alex altered his previously at ease expression into one of complete and total disappointment. "You're not going to come with me?" he asked, hoping that his eyes looked extra sad so that maybe she'd be tempted to agree to accompany him.

Sunday sighed and tried to look away from his face, which was currently reminiscent of a sad puppy dog who had just been scolded. "Well..." she heaved another sigh, wondering why he was acting so strange. Normally at the first sign of uncertainty from her, Alex would abandon whatever plan it was that had caused the vacillation in the first place. But he still looked firm in his desire for her to go to a party with him.

"Okay," Sunday finally relented. "Why not." She wasn't very excited about it—she'd never been to a party, but she was sure there were going to be people and that meant interaction—but she decided she'd try it out. For Alex.

He smiled and eased forward, his lips landing on hers for a quick second. "I love you, Sun," he grinned before he turned around and started digging through her closet.

Sunday didn't return his smile though. For a few days now she had been considering what kissing Alex would be like, and it hadn't lived up to her expectations to be truthful. He tasted horrible, a bad combination of different drinks, and there was no emotion at all in the action. The most unsettling thing was the cocky, arrogant smile he had given her after he kissed her though.

And he didn't love her. They were friends, yes, but he didn't love her. And Sunday didn't think she loved him. Or... did she? Was she supposed to?

"Why did you have to make things so complicated?" she demanded angrily as she dropped onto her bed, sighing in disgruntlement. She had been having such a pleasant night as she watched Animal Planet with Pepe, and then Alex had to arrive and erase any sense of contentment. That in and of itself was unsettling as Alex usually made Sunday feel completely relaxed.

"Here," he said, completely oblivious to her small outburst. He had walked out of her closet and thrown a dress at Sunday. "I'll go wait downstairs."

Once he was gone, Sunday pulled on the black dress that he had thrown her. She felt a little exposed, as the dress was one of the rejects that she rarely worn due to its slightly low V-neckline, spaghetti straps, and length (it fell a bit high on her thigh). But Alex knew parties. He wouldn't let her look ridiculous.

So Sunday gave her wavy brown hair a quick comb through with her fingers before she pulled on a pair of silver sandals and grabbed a dark turquoise cardigan. Just in case.

"You look pretty," Alex smiled when he walked downstairs. Even drunk, Alex thought Sunday was one of the most beautiful people he knew.

She gave a small chuckle, feeling as though this was the Alex that she knew. The Alex that always tried to convince her of something that Sunday was quite positive was untrue. "Let's get going," she declared as she dropped her cell phone into the pocket of her cardigan.

Normally, Sunday had no qualms about getting into a car with Alex. That night, she was terrified. She had nervously clutched the sides of her seat throughout the entire drive, and several times she had to remind herself to breathe in and out slowly. He was horrible that night. He swerved a lot, honked at people for no reason, and quite frequently seemed to be distracted by the most random things.

"That was..." Sunday trailed off, unable to find an adjective to describe the most disturbing ride she had ever taken in her entire life.

Alex ignored her. "Come on," he hurried her, sounding somewhat impatient as Sunday emerged from the car.

Frowning at the order, Sunday took her time walking over to Alex, hoping that it would bother him. She knew she didn't want to be there the closer they got to the house looming in front of them, and as soon as they stepped in the door, Sunday was so petrified she found herself unable to move. It was only Alex's arm around her waist—a new development about which Sunday was still trying to decide how she felt—that kept her from standing as still as a marble statue in the doorway.

"I don't want to be here," she whispered to him, her fear evident.

"Calm down," Alex shushed her, picking up a random red cup. "Just drink. It'll help."

So Sunday took a drink, and instantly, she wished she hadn't. Whatever was in the cup tasted disgusting and burned her throat as she forced it down. "That's awful," she coughed as she tried handing the cup off to Alex.

"Just finish it, Sunday," he snapped. He was scanning the crowd for Sean but was having trouble locating him and was finding himself a little irritated with Sunday's difficult attitude.

So Sunday drank it. She stayed by Alex for an entire hour as he introduced her to random people and was introduced himself to many others, a large percentage of them girls. The entire time Sunday was silent at his side, and this bothered Alex.

"I'm going to go find the bathroom," Sunday intoned, sensing his impatience. She might not have been perceptive to the feelings of most people, but for some reason, it felt like Alex was as clear as an open book. And she didn't like that he was growing angry with her.

Although she usually felt safe at Alex's side, there was no where in the large house that Sunday felt comfortable. So she decided to go get herself a glass of water before she decided what her next move was; she felt like it was along the lines of calling Amber, explaining the situation, then begging her friend to come pick her up. But she still didn't want to leave Alex when he had asked her to come. Either way, she was counting on the water to calm her down.

What she didn't count on was another person being in the kitchen. Or that person being a guy. Or that person trying to talk to her.

"How do you know Andy?" the guy asked.

"Uh, I don't," Sunday admitted after she took a large drink out of her cup. She fixed her eyes on the small beads of water sticking to the stainless steel bottom of the sink.

"Oh," the guy said. "Well, I'm Steve. Nice to meet you...?"

"You too," Sunday said, changing her attention to a window. She didn't realize that the guy was waiting for her to supply her name, but she did tense up immensely when he stepped closer to her.

He followed her gaze outside to the stars that Sunday was focusing on before he added, "I don't see any stars in the sky tonight."

Sunday's eyebrows knit together. "How can you not?" she demanded, now feeling irritated herself. "Sirius is right there, and the Little Dipper—"

"The most heavenly body I see," the guy grinned, "is standing right next to me." And he stepped closer to Sunday once again.

She took a nervous deep breath and glanced towards the window again. She was nearly pressed up against the fridge now, and this guy was uncomfortably close. "Did you know the most massive stars live the shortest?" she inquired. "One of the most massive is called Eta Carinae, and it's located around 8,000 light years away. And it... What are you doing?" she squeaked as a hand wandered to her lower back.

"Enough star babble," the guy insisted. "I don't want to spit out any more pick up lines."

"Hey, douchebag," a voice interrupted, sounding quite livid.

The guy glanced over his shoulder, at which point Alex decided to hit him. His shot—lucky again—landed straight on the guy's jaw, and as the guy was recovering, Alex grabbed Sunday's wrist and yanked her from the kitchen. He was feisty, yes, but he also knew there was not a very good chance of him holding up in a fight while intoxicated. Or sober, for that matter really.

"You okay?" he asked Sunday.

Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I want to go home right now," she insisted, "And either you'll take me, or I'll walk every step of the way."

The tears that escaped to her cheeks were somewhat sobering for Alex. "Okay, Sun, I'll take you home," he agreed. They were outside a moment later and spent ten minutes standing by the car as Alex tried to force his eyes to focus so that he could insert the key into the ignition.

"Oh, give it to me!" Sunday snapped as she stomped to Alex's side of the car. He was surprised by her sudden assertiveness, but he relinquished the keys and fell into the passenger seat.

Technically, Sunday didn't know how to drive. But she had been a passenger long enough to figure out the basic techniques, and it wasn't hard to make her way home as it was very late and not many cars were present on the roads that Alex directed her to.

When she parked in her driveway, Sunday escaped from the car before Alex, and he had to hurry to keep up with her. He had been preparing to follow her into her house, eager to fall into her bed for a night of cuddling, but Sunday stopped at the door and turned around. "Good night, Alex," she announced, sounding cold. Too cold for Sunday.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"Good night," she repeated, sounding no less resolute.

And then it clicked for Alex: he wasn't welcome there tonight. "Oh," he said, trying process her new attitude. "Okay then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He made his way back to the car, glancing back before he got in to see whether she was still on her porch.

She wasn't.

Sunday had slipped into her house as soon as Alex had begun his retreat. She was near tears, near sobbing, and she didn't want to cry in front of him. She couldn't. He wasn't her Alex.

Alex Gaskarth was drunk.