'Cause Love Is A Selfish Thing

Frustration never seemed to get any easier to deal with even though I'd dealt with it far too many times in my life. Maybe it was because this time around, I had anger and sorrow piled on top of it. I found it hard to believe that all three emotions were targeted at one person, along with having another person for only one of them. It still just felt like frustration though. Like an endless struggle to get up hill only to find the top was simply an illusion and that there was so much further to go. In hopes of getting the slope to level out, I had called Alex countless times. None of those times did he answer. I was starting to feel the way I imagined Oliver was feeling the longer I went without answering him. At that thought, I shook my head. I refused to think he was or would ever feel hopeless. He lived in his own world where he made sure everything was perfect and deluded himself into thinking everyone was content. He probably just thought I hadn't talked to him in so long because I had other things to do. However, I knew that Alex was ignoring me because he was still angry with me.

I had never had the problem of him acting as if I wasn't filling his voicemail and begging for him to just listen. I really was in his shoes at this point, and I wanted to apologize profusely for the week I had done this to him. It was agonizing. It took all of my will power not to give my explanation in a message because it would be better for him to hear it right from my mouth. Plus, it was more likely that he would delete it than actually listen to or read it. Which led me right back to my frustration.

Somehow I managed to not get sucked into the dark hole of despair that was opening at my feet. Of course I could thank my best friend for that. After telling her what had happened, she had known exactly what I'd felt. She knew how absurd it was for Alex to make the assumption he had. She wasn't keeping my mind off it because she didn't think it was right to bury it somewhere to explode later. She was just making it easier to deal with, encouraging me and promising that he would be stupid not to come around soon. Every time we saw each other, she started with asking if I'd made any progress and then comforting me when I'd respond negatively and slightly bitterly. She'd always push me to text him while we were doing whatever it was we were doing. Her optimistic outlook on it was the only thing keeping me from completely giving up.

Talking with her about Oliver was entirely different though. She thought that my tactic of forgetting about him was weak and bound to backfire. Her take on it was that he wouldn't keep letting it go and would probably start stalking me out right. I didn't want to hear it though, and not just because I was afraid of those possibilities. I didn't want to mess with what I was doing now, which was pretty much nothing. I didn't want to talk to him and risk being convinced again that I should stay with him. Plus, the thought of seeing his face again both enraged me and made me want to vomit. I wasn't making any progress with that situation, but I wasn't complaining when I didn't have to deal with him.

All I really wanted to focus on was my best friend's wedding. It felt like it was years in the making, decades of planning rather than only months. I was almost expecting to be busy with it until five seconds before she pushed me down the aisle in front her. But nearly everything was done only days into May. RSVPs were in, dresses and tuxes were fit to perfection, the cake was ordered, catering and decorations were being handled by the venue. Everything that needed to be done was done. I hadn't stopped moving when it came to this since we'd started planning in January. I'd thought we had started late and had worried it would all go unfinished. I had apparently taken on all of the worries Hadley should have, because she had been confident it would all work and was thrilled to prove it to me. So all that was left to think about, since she was refusing a crazy bachelorette party, was the rehearsal dinner and then the wedding itself. Three weeks felt like a lifetime to look ahead at, but were going to be nothing to actually get through.

My mood was all over the place, changing almost seamlessly with every new topic of conversation. All of this while all I still wanted to do was sleep. It warranted a trip to a doctor to see what the hell was wrong with me, or at least my brain. And this resulted in leaving with a prescription for sleeping pills and another appointment for a later date. Before I was even out of the parking lot, my phone rang.

"What'd he say?" Hadley asked the moment my greeting left my mouth. How she figured I was done with the appointment, I have no clue. But she had been concerned for me, so she was quite possibly just checking in because she had waited long enough.

I sighed, glancing briefly at the slip of paper shoved haphazardly into my purse on the passenger seat. "He thinks it's a bout of depression, just messing with my hormones or whatever. But he wants me to get a few days' of chemically-induced, well-night's rests to see if maybe my schedule is just messed up and my body's trying to fix it on it's own. If that doesn't work, it's on to anti-depressants. I am so not looking forward to that," I admitted with a shudder. Sure, I hadn't always been the happiest person. But I'd never pictured myself taking something to numb how I was truly feeling if I was down for longer than normal. More than anything, I hoped this first course of action worked.

"Well, it makes sense that it would be depression!" she exclaimed like she was angry with herself for not thinking of it. "With everything that's been going on in your life, it would be a wonder if you didn't get a little out of sorts because of it. There's nothing wrong with taking something for it though," she tried to convince me.

"No need to jump the gun, my dear. Sleeping pills first, anti-depressants if this doesn't work. I'm supposed to direct my attention on this right now and see if I'm more refreshed than I've been," I told her. I knew she was only trying to make me feel better about the possibility that I would have to start popping pills for a problem I didn't think I had. I just didn't want to think about it. For me, it was better to put all my effort into this one task and hope it worked.

"I know, I know. Keep a positive perspective though, and everything will be all right," she assured, keeping her cheery demeanor.

"I know," I agreed. "Look, I'll be there in a little while. I'm going to pick up this prescription and then run home to change. If you want to talk about it then, we will," I promised her, guessing that she would want to comfort me more than she had to.

We said goodbye before hanging up, and I threw my phone on top of my purse. The silence in the car was pressing but I dealt with the weight until I made it to the pharmacy. This wasn't the prescription I was worried about getting, so my head was still high when I walked right to the back of the store. I kept a smile on my face while the order was filled simply by thinking of it working. Hadley might do a good job at making sure I acknowledged my problems, but I wasn't her and I tried not to think about them while I waited. My grin when I was handed the white paper bag containing the little, orange bottle was as genuine as it should have been.

And when I turned around, it was lost completely. It was like the first day I had met Oliver all over again. Of course I wasn't expecting anyone to be directly behind me, so it was inevitable that I would run right into them. The bag in my hand slipped from my fingers, my eyes following it while I realized there was no way I could pluck it from midair before it landed. When I saw it hit the shiny tiles of the floor, I automatically recognized the shoes it landed next to and my breath caught in my throat. My eyes crawled back up the body before me, taking in the designer suit and the snow white button-up. His thin lips were turned up at one corner in a smirk and his hazel eyes were full of satisfaction when I met them. He ran a hand over his Kennedy-esque, perfectly combed blond hair before bending down to pick up my prescription.

"It's been a while, Clarke," he stated as if he thought it really was no big deal. I had gotten to know his moods well though and could tell that he was furious underneath it all. He held the bag out to me, stretching his arm across the space I had hurriedly put between us.

Like he was a dog ready to snap and lock his jaw around my arm, I snatched the bag from him. Just to make it so I didn't have to look at him anymore, I shoved it into my purse. "Yeah, well, you hit me. I shouldn't have put up with you as long as I did. But I will never tolerate being fucking slapped by a man," I spat at him. Wherever this vehemence had suddenly come from, I welcomed it. It was much better than being terrified of him.

"Language, sweetheart, language," he scolded, his smirk growing at being able to reprimand me in some way. "You know it was only an accident. I explained that all to you. And besides, you look perfectly fine," he claimed, still sounding like everything was as right with the world as it should be. He reached out again, obviously planning to sweep a lock of hair out of my face.

Instead of flinching in terror as I had come to imagine myself doing had I ever gotten this close to him again, I swiftly ducked out of his reach. The counter I had just been standing at to get my pills was already digging into my back, so I couldn't go very far. I sidestepped to have an advantage and crossed my arms tightly over my chest. "It's been a month and a half. The bruise has faded, but only after I had to spend time hiding it with too much makeup," I responded, acid dripping and sizzling through my voice. Hidden by my arms, my hands turned into fists and my fingernails dug into my palms. "Don't give me bullshit about accidents either. You slapped me because I put someone above you. The other bruises were no accident either. I'm just- I'm done, Oliver. I'm done lying and pretending like you're enjoyable to be around only because I'm scared." I felt like I grew an entire foot finally saying these words to him. They were virtually nothing and were easy in theory. But they carried a lot of weight and brought a ton of relief when they left me. If he wanted to do something worse than he already had, he could certainly try.

He didn't even seem to be able to think about it for those first few seconds. All he did was stare at me, his mouth slightly ajar. I was almost expecting him to be frozen, to be able to reach out and push him over without any of his muscles reacting. It was something I could wish for. Once what I said actually sank in, he reached out yet again and attempted to grab my arm. "No. You don't want to talk about this, but it deserves more than you just walking away," he claimed, desperation seeping through.

I stepped away again though, even further to the side than before, knowing exactly the tight grip he would use on me. "There was never anything there to talk about. You threatened and forced me into this, and I was foolish enough to be a coward. Don't ever try to contact me again," I demanded, and put enough distance between us before I walked passed him to get to the doors.

I felt wonderful as I strode outside into the pleasantly warm day. I hadn't been able to properly enjoy the weather change until now, and the sun was fantastic on my face as I got into my car. Everything seemed to fit back into place with me standing up to Oliver. But the further I got to home, the more I thought. And the more I thought, the more terrible I felt. I wanted the high to come back, to last as long as I needed it. It was quickly diminishing though because now that my largest fear had left me, the logic surrounding it was finally able to break through. I hated this part about being so brave and making the steps I needed to be happy again.

I had spent the passed three months fearing that Oliver would do physical damage to me or to Alex, leave more bruises than he already had. This was just what I had led myself to believe would be his punishment for me going against him. But what he had done was so much worse. I had been so scared of getting rid of him that I thought I could do nothing but pretend to be with him. I had decided I couldn't get back together with the man I loved even though I wanted to more than anything. I had refused to tell Alex any of this because I thought it would be better for him and for my mental state. But my mental state had been shot long ago and now Alex was mad at me because he misinterpreted something I wouldn't tell him. Keeping the truth from the person who would have cared to hear it the most because of fear was worse than actually hurting me. Maybe that had been his plan all along. I wasn't sure if I should hate him or myself.

When I finally made it home, I found myself slamming my car door shut with ferocity and flinging my bag onto my shoulder. I shoved my key into the front door's lock, barely caring how violently I opened or closed it. I made my way through the kitchen even though no one was home -but mostly because no one was home- and pulled the glass bottle from the freezer I had put there after my first shopping trip. Then, it had simply been to celebrate with the girls that I had settled in so wonderfully. We hadn't even drank a full glass from it then though and it would be perfect for drowning my sorrows now. Heading to my room, I rummaged around in my purse for my phone with my free hand. I found it just as I entered the room and I kicked the door shut behind me, shrugging my purse off my shoulder to land on the floor next to the bed. I was still torn on if I wanted to call him or forget about this whole thing, but I found I had already dialed his number as I fell to my bed.

It rang several times, too many for me to care to count. "Just. Fucking. Answer," I demanded between clenched teeth as if it would really make a difference. Maybe it had.

Just as the r was rolling off my tongue, the other end of the line picked up. "What?" Alex asked, not bothering to hide the distaste in his voice.

My heart automatically sank. "That's the perfect way to greet the girl who loves you," I told him sarcastically. I just hoped it hid all the pain that had taken over my body. I wasn't ready to give in completely just yet, but I twisted the cap off the bottle in my other hand. I locked the cold glass between my knees, trying to hold off as long as I could.

"I've been questioning if you really do love me anymore. So yeah, I think it's a pretty accurate way to greet you," he replied, and I could practically see him nod with that justified look on his face.

My fingers around the neck of the bottle itched to pull it to my lips. I refrained a little longer. "You can't help but be pissed, and I get that. I want to explain everything to you though. I wasn't sleeping with Oliver. Please, just let me tell you what was going on," I pleaded. I didn't care how pathetic I sounded. It seemed like the only way to get through to him.

He sighed, and I almost believed he was breaking down. "We're coming home tomorrow. I just think it would be better if this happened face-to-face, after the show," he said.

If what happened? That didn't sound as promising as it should have. Why couldn't I just spill my guts now and then see each other on good terms tomorrow? Before I could make any protest or beg anymore, he had hung up on me again. I wanted to stare at my phone in disbelief, but it was entirely pointless. I threw it onto the pillow and finally lifted the bottle to my mouth. Vodka was the worst of all liquor. I was so sensitive to it's burning taste and I would instantly be able to tell if it was in any mixed drink. That's why I loved it. It was so strong and I couldn't hold it very well. It scorched my throat now like breathing in desert air would do without water for a week, making its way down to my stomach. It made me physically feel how I currently felt mentally. The worst of them all and the best of them all rolled into one clear liquid, pooling in my belly.

After a few ragged swallows, I was already feeling the buzz. I knew I shouldn't be doing this only to forget about him. There were much more important things to be doing. I had to get to Hadley and Marshall's. Prep Daniel on how to make all of our girl friends swoon over how adorable he was in his tux. Tell Hadley that Lisa had called me this morning to say she would be thrilled to come to the wedding. Give Marsh a stern talking to about how if he left my best friend, he was ruined only to laugh about it all because we'd probably still be drunk given that it was a Friday evening. I couldn't bring myself to stop getting drunk all by myself though.

Through my haze, I suddenly remembered the pills I had gotten today. Fighting back the memories of what else had happened at the pharmacy, I swung my legs onto the bed and rolled onto my stomach so I could dig through my purse. Once I'd torn through the paper bag and had the orange bottle in one hand and the vodka bottle in the other, I shimmied up to my pillow. I struggled to get the cap off and dumped the pills onto my nightstand. Now seemed like the most opportune moment to see if they would work. I had already downed a fourth of the vodka and I popped two of the little blue pills into my mouth with yet another swig. I let my head lull onto the pillow and let conscious thought escape me for a while. Without it, I knew I wouldn't think about him and I wouldn't let what had been wedged between us fall onto me.

Time passed without a problem. The sun slanting through my windows changed angles as the hours wore on. I think my phone rang a few times, but the only thing I moved for was another pill and to dribble vodka into my mouth. At one point, I found myself being surprised at how light the glass bottle seemed to have gotten.

Alex. Alex. Alex. It came on all of a sudden. His name ran through my mind when I knew it shouldn't be. It was slipping through all of my hasty efforts to keep it away from me in the moments I knew he wouldn't speak to me. It was doing this because I was fading. How many pills had I taken? How much vodka had I actually consumed? I hadn't meant to overdue it. I just wanted to forget about him and our problems for a few hours and sleep it off with the help of this stupid prescription. But I had let myself continue to drown myself in drugs and alcohol, and I was pretty sure I was dying.