Remember Me

"No, I'm telling you guys, I didn't even tell her I liked them! It's a sign." Marc-Andre explained to the boys gathered in Sidney's new house. He popped open the cap on his beer bottle, and sat back into his spot on the recliner in the living room. Jordan and Lovejoy were laughing at him, their eyes pasted to the television screen as they played their recent video game obsession.

"Do you have any idea what a girl you sound like, right now?" Letang shot back at his teammate, which received a warning glare from Marc. "I'm just letting you know."

"Seriously though, man, get it together or get some ass." Jordan added to the teasing, taking a quick break from the game to take a swig from his beer bottle.

"I don't know, guys. A girl giving him peanut butter cups? That's serious business, right there." Sid chimed into the conversation from across the room.

"Fuck you guys." the goaltender retorted, leaning back in his seat.

"It's decided, Flower, we're taking you out and finding you a girl." Ben Lovejoy informed him, adding on: "Just as soon as I finish kicking Staalsy's ass."

"You'd think for a kid off on injury, he'd be better at this game." Sid laughed.

"Woah-oah-oah. When did trash talking the crippled guy become okay? Besides, if anything, I've got a disability with this game - it's my hand that's injured."

"Speaking of, should you even being playing this?" Ben asked his teammate, which garnered a shrug in response.

"They said no hockey, not no Playstation 3."



"Okay, bud. Get pickin', there's gotta be, at least, one woman willing to put out for the goalie of the Pittsburgh Penguins around here." Max told his teammate, patting him on the back at the same time as nudging him forward into the bar. Marc turned around, shooting a look back to Max that told him to back the fuck off, before proceeding his way over to the bar. Maybe if he had to go through this, he could at least get a drink and put it on Max's tab.

As he made his way throughout the usual hangout for the Penguins' players, he was greeted by a few regulars he had seen before. His eyes were roaming the room for anyone he might actually enjoy speaking to, maybe he might find a pretty girl to entertain him for an evening. But the only thing his eyes found was a curly blonde sitting at the bar, being hit on by an old guy and a whole lot of trouble.

He watched as she forced a laugh, only encouraging the man to continue on with his relentless flirting, that was no doubt not working. And that's when he noticed it. The face that was so familiar to him now, and those damn fucking eyes that he wished he could forget about. Marc was reminded of her age, and found himself walking up to the two.

"She's underage." Marc shot a warning towards the random man, who backed off almost immediately; picking up his drink and walking off.

"Are you kidding me, right now?" Alyssa groaned, about to down the rest of her drink the guy had bought her before getting it taken away mid-air. She looked at him, looking at her; shooting him a glance as if to ask 'Who do you think you are?'

"How did you even get in here?" When he got no answer, he just asked another: "Does your uncle know you're here?

Alyssa threw her head back in frustration, "My God, what are you? Forty? Either sit down and have a drink, or go away," she told him, taking her drink back and finishing it off. As she slammed the cup down onto the bar and turned to face him, Marc watched her eyebrow pop up. He was getting asked what his choice was: was he going to shut his mouth and stay a while, or leave her the hell alone?

It was his own inner debate. He knew he'd worry about his teammate's niece if he left her all alone, in a city she was new to and surrounded by a bunch of horny, intoxicated men. He was a man, he knew what they were thinking. But was choosing to stick around, and have a drink with an underage girl, the better thing to do? Wouldn't that be like he was condoning her actions? It wasn't as though he could call Pascal up, and tell him his niece was drinking at a bar. He wasn't about to be one of those guys who tattle. He knew what it was like to grab a fake ID, and sneak into bars. The only advantage he had, was that in Canada, the legal drinking age was nineteen.

"Fine." he breathed out, ordering himself a drink from the bartender and noting the smug smile curving into the blonde's lips beside him.

"So, what are you doing here?"

"Max and Staalsy," he pointed behind him to say they were somewhere in the room. Despite the fact that Jordan had a girlfriend, the guy still liked to try his luck with other girls. He'd never do anything about it, but he enjoyed getting the affection. Probably liked the idea that he still had options, if he ever got bored. "Why are you here?"

"Trying to have some fun." She put an emphasis on the 'try,' to tell him that he wasn't helping her have that fun. He just chuckled to himself, getting amusement out of the fact that he could piss her off so easily.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Chuckles." she spat out at him, which only made him laugh more at his new nickname.

"That's a new one." he smirked, only trying to rub it in a little more to see if she got more angry. His drink arrived, and he milked it, knowing he was going to end up being the designated driver by the end of the night, unless more of the guys met them there like they said they would.

But while he took a sip, it seemed like he was watching Aly take ten. There was something about the sight in front of him, that told me she was a trainwreck waiting to happen. The more Marc tried to get her to slow down, the more she drank, and the more he threatened to call her uncle, the more pissed off she got which led her to drink. There really was no winning, and part of him wondered if walking away would benefit them both.

"You act like you're so messed up," he muttered underneath his breath, more to himself than her. But she heard him anyway, and her face told him he had just said something he shouldn't have - again.

"Don't act like you know me," she shot at him, screwing up her nose while looking at him. "You don't."

"I'm sure I can guess," he challenged her, and she spun on her bar stool to face him - almost toppling over, but steadying herself just in time.

"Okay, try. But if I win, you leave me alone," she quirked an eyebrow, watching him to see if he'd take the challenge.

"And if I win, you let me take you home - now." They stared at each other for a good few seconds, and then shook hands to make the deal official.

"So tell me," Marc watched as the pale blonde rested her chin into the palm of her hand. "What is it you think you know about me?"

"You grew up in New York, probably one of those girls like from that television show, Gossip Girl, or whatever it's called. You probably received everything you ever wanted, and let me guess..." he studied her face to see if he had gotten any of it right. She just sat there though, watching him tell her these things. Her face didn't change throughout the list. She'd be a good poker player, if she needed a career choice, he thought before continuing. "You were the popular girl. You enjoy it when people pay attention to you, and you think making a scene and ruining other people's lives is 'fun'. You're cynical about life, so much so, that you just don't give a damn. You don't care who you hurt, as long as you have fun in the process." She laughed and he stopped talking, quirking an eyebrow curiously at her. "Am I right?"

Alyssa curled a piece of hair around her finger drowsily, leaning her head to the side, and listening to Marc telling her these so-called 'facts' about her life. She couldn't get over how wrong he was, and part of her wondered if it was a bad thing this was the type of impression she was giving off to people. She thought about his question. Was he right? Well, who knew at this point. Maybe that was who she was now. And if that's who he thought she was, might as well not burst his bubble. "Cheers, you win." She lifted her glass, but when Marc never lifted his, she clinked his glass sitting on the counter anyway. Downing the shot, she slammed the glass onto the bar and then turned back to Marc.

"So, let's go."



The more she thought about it, the more it pissed Alyssa off that this guy thought he knew her. That he thought she was so readable, and such a cliche, that he could predict her entire life story. "My brother died when I was eighteen, did you know that? Did you guess that?" she slurred, trying to squint her way through the blurred and hazy vision taking over her world around her. Her body swayed as she was guided towards the sports car parked in the parking lot. "And next year, I'm going to be older than him. How fucked up is that? When you grow older than your big brother ... that's just, fuck ... It's just not right." She pressed herself up against Marc, and all he could think was how she smelled like beer and his mother's garden, and how odd that combination was to him. But more importantly: he still enjoyed the smell.

"You're drunk," he told her, trying to get her to stop saying things she was going to regret saying in the morning. There were things he didn't want to know about her, and that was one of them. He didn't want her to tell him while she was intoxicated, and unknowingly blurting it out. He wanted her to knowingly confide in him, if that's what she wanted to do. He preferred knowing that people had enough faith and trust in him, that they could tell their entire world to him without fear of him running his mouth, or laughing in their face.

"I am not." She spat stubbornly, just as he pushed her into the passenger's seat and put on her seatbelt for her. He was leaned over her body, clicking the belt in place when he felt soft and nimble hands run through his hair. Then there was a giggle, before: "You have soft hair."

"Well, thanks." Marc pulled away, closing the door and walking around to the other side of the car.

"Have you ever thought about it?" she asked immediately once he made it into his seat.

"Thought about what?"

"Death. And life." He looked over at her as she breathed onto the window and drew squiggly lines with her fingers mindlessly. "It's like your life is insignificant, unless you die tragically." She rambled, and he noticed her writing 'Dalton' on the window. "Like, if you kill yourself, you're immortalized forever because people will always talk about how you were that kid that hung himself, or slit his wrists and you were found dead. Dead and lying on the floor by your little sister, who admired you. Who fucking worshipped the ground you walked on." Her hand fell, and Marc quickly turned the car on, switching gears and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Why don't we listen to some music, eh?" His hand reached out quickly, fingers stumbling with the buttons on his sound system, flicking through the radio stations.

"Don't take me back to my uncle's, okay? I don't want them to see me drunk." Her voice, almost pleadingly, echoed in his head as Marc tried to figure out what was the proper thing to do. She looked like a mess, and he couldn't even deny that fact, despite how good she still looked to him. He sighed, and took the road that would lead down to his house.

Throughout the drive, the two were silent for the most part. Every so often, Alyssa would slur some incoherent sentence and Marc would acknowledge it as if he understood. They were almost back to his house when he heard her loud and clear: "You know what people say about guys with flashy, or big, cars?" Marc chuckled, knowing the saying but not responding. She continued anyway, "That they're compensating for a lack of something else." Through the corner of his eye, he spotted her turning to look at him as he drove across an intersection. "Is that true for you, too?"

He almost choked on his own spit, and had to refocus his eyes onto the road ahead of him so he wouldn't kill the two of them. Had she truly just asked him that? "You need to work on your conversational skils," he told her as his answer. But when he turned to look at her, she was busy drawing 'yes' onto his car's window.



Marc turned his steering wheel to pull his car up the driveway to a large, two story home. It was the type of home that deserved a picket fence, Alyssa thought. A picket fence and shutters around the windows. It seemed too perfect. The white siding, and the big pillars outside the front door. She found herself wondering what the inside looked like; whether Marc had designed it based on magazine photos from Ikea, or if it looked like another bachelor pad.

Once he brought her into the house, and sat her on the couch, he told her to sit still and went to get her a glass of water. While he was in the kitchen, Marc-Andre took his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number of his teammate. "Hello?"

"Hey Duper, it's Flower." he said into the phone. "Uhm, this is gonna sound really weird, but if you're looking for Alyssa, she's over here."

"Oh thank God. Wait - what? Why is she at your house?" His voice sounded like Marc was going to get a beating in the next practice. He cursed himself for even trying to do the right thing. This was going to get him knocked out by his own teammate.

"I - uh - I was at the bar with some of the guys, and she was there." There was a frustrated groan on the other end of the phone, and Marc started to wonder if this was a regular thing. "I didn't want to just leave her there... I'm sorry if I overstepped, or whatever. She said she didn't want to go back to your place, so I took her back to mine."

"I'm sorry about this, Marc."

"Non-non, it's okay." he tried to make his teammate feel better, by pretending it wasn't anything to worry about. That he didn't mind doing it - even if now he was going to have to watch over a drunk girl.

"I'll come and pick her up."

Marc's eyes darted towards the clock on the microwave, telling him it was a little one in the morning. "No. I mean, you don't have to. She can stay here - she's pretty much sleeping on the couch right now, anyway. I don't want to make you come all the way here right now."

"Are you sure?"

"Oui, it's fine. You can pick her up in the morning when everyone's got more sleep."

"Merci, Marc-Andre." Marc heard the sign of relief from the other end, and he was glad he could help him out in some way. He could only imagine what else Alyssa had been putting him through.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow." Marc hung up the phone, and took the glass of water back to the living room where he saw Alyssa curled up on the couch. He placed the cup on the coffee table in front of her, and was about to go to bed himself when he heard a small voice stop him.

"Where's your bathroom?" He could tell through her voice that if he didn't tell her immediately, she was just going to find the closest thing to her that resembled a bucket.

"First door on the left, down the hall." He heard feet padding on the floor, and he followed suite. Marc stood at the bathroom door, watching the frail girl hunched over a toilet, hurling into it. It seemed like such a sad scene: an innocent looking girl, coughing up into the toilet as her body curled around it defensively. As Marc watched, he didn't know how he could help. "Do you really have to stand there?" he heard her ask just as her head turned to look at him. He noticed some wet strands of hair, and almost felt his own stomach churn.

"Sorry," he apologized, his voice quiet as he turned away and she went back to resting her head on the side of the toilet seat. "Would it make you feel better if I told you the seat your head's leaning on is clean?" he asked her jokingly. Marc received a look that told him now was not the time for jokes, and he excused himself to grab her an extra shirt.