Chapter Text
Shane’s alarm was his worst enemy.
He groaned, stretched, rolled over and shut off the alarm clock. And then panicked because when did it get to be 7 AM?! He had to be out of the house in 10 minutes!
He dressed quickly, head pounding. On his way out of the house he grabbed a beer. Just to help with the hangover. What Joja didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Cracking it open, he walked and drank slowly, taking his time before another soul-sucking day at JojaMart.
As he woke a little more, he remembered the night before. The Saloon. The cliffs. The farmer.
What the fuck had happened? How had he ended up fucking the person in town he liked the very least?
He spent the whole day stocking and agonizing over each moment he could remember from last night.
She’d kissed him first (he thought). What did that mean? Was she just drunk and looking for company? She certainly couldn’t have any interest in him. He snorted at the thought. He was a) fat, b) old, and c) mean as a hornet. That option was out.
But then why had she met him at the cliffs? Why not stay out at the Saloon, or wander out to another guy’s place?
As the hours wore on, he recalled more, but he couldn’t be sure if his memories were entirely accurate. They were pretty fuzzy in some places. He was pretty sure he remembered the sex. And that the sex was very, very good.
But as far as what had happened after the sex, he wasn’t… as sure. He didn’t really remember making it home. Not that uncommon for him, but then again usually he didn’t spend his nights having hot, drunk sex.
His head hurt, his throat was dry, and he was done agonizing over what had happened the night before. He snatched some medicine from the Joja breakroom and took it with a cup of water from the cooler. Maybe he’d remember more as his hangover subsided.
After work, he headed over to the Saloon, half-dreading seeing her, but half-hoping she’d be there. Standing in his spot after a few beers. Persistent and annoying as ever.
She never showed.
Shane knew he should be happy, but he mostly just felt bad. He knew he’d been pretty drunk, but he didn’t think the sex had been that bad. And if she wasn’t avoiding him because of the bad sex, then…
It hit him all at once. She’d gotten what she wanted from him. He was so stupid. Stupid for ever letting it get this far, stupid for letting himself get his hopes up, for what? He’d hit the nail on the head with his first assessment of her - she was just a mean girl. Beautiful, but vindictive. He hadn’t given her what she wanted the first time she wanted it, so she did this to break him.
And even if he didn’t want to admit it, he felt a little more broken. He should have known better, but he’d spent the whole day agonizing over what had happened and at some point he’d accidentally assigned meaning to it. It didn’t mean anything. It was just sex, it was just payback, and now he could go back to drinking in peace.
At least there was that.
A week passed with no sign of her, then two. Where she used to stop at the Saloon every night to chat with the patrons, give gifts, and show off cool items she’d found, now she was nowhere to be seen. And as much as he hated himself for it, he kind of missed her annoying presence. Any time he went to the bathroom he came back hoping (just a little) that she’d be standing in his spot when he got back. She never was.
So Shane resigned himself to going back to his previous routine. Work, Stardrop. On the weekends, food, Pierre’s, Stardrop. He got drunk as often as he could, maybe even more than before. He found himself drinking at Marnie’s, in his room. He used to try to avoid drinking where Jas might see him but now he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Then he stopped going to the Saloon altogether, opting to just bring beers home and drink them alone in his room.
He realized it was pathetic to let his joke of a life fall apart even more because of a one night stand with a girl he didn’t even like. He realized it, and hated himself for it, but that didn’t stop it from happening. This was just his life now, and there was some sad comfort in killing himself a little more everyday with no one caring or bothering him about it.
That is, until he spluttered awake when someone poured water from a watering can on his head.
“What the fuck?” He jumped up. At some point, he’d passed out on the floor of his room. He looked around, wondering what had just happened.
He saw her. With Marnie. Standing in his room, looking at him with wide blue eyes. He stood, staring at her, dumbfounded and still a little dazed. He was definitely drunk. This wasn’t real, it was just a weird, drunk hallucination.
After a moment, Marnie spoke first. “Shane, what’s the matter with you? All you do anymore is mope around your room and drink beer!”
Shane turned around, clenching his fists. Okay, so this was real. His hallucinations would have used a lot more profanity. An angry knot formed in his stomach. He didn’t know how to explain himself, and honestly, he didn’t want to. He wanted her to get out of his room, and he wanted her to take the farmer with her. Just let him self-destruct in peace.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Marnie sighed. “I’m worried… What’s your plan? Don’t you ever think about the future?”
“Plan? Hopefully I won’t be around long enough to need a ‘plan’,” Shane said bitterly, snorting.
Marnie and the farmer both gasped. Jas, who he hadn’t realized was in the room at all, let out a wail and ran from the room crying. Marnie sighed again, shook her head, and left the room to follow Jas.
“Jas… I’m sorry…” Shane looked down at the floor. The anger he’d felt a moment ago was gone, replaced by the cold, slimy feeling of guilt he felt any time he saw Jas.
When he looked up again, he was surprised to see the farmer still standing in his room, watching him. She said nothing, just watched.
“What are you still doing here? The show is over. Go back to your life.” Shane tried to be angry with her, but he was still drowning in guilt over how he’d made Jas feel. The words didn’t come out as firey as he’d intended them, but they were still bitter and hard. Just like him.
Still she said nothing. She opened her mouth once, twice, as if searching for words, but closed it both times.
Now he was getting fed up. Just the sight of her reminded him of that stupid, drunken night, and how he’d let her mess with his head. He closed his eyes and swayed for a moment before speaking. “Look, can you please just go? I’m sayin’ please. If you’re just here to gloat, or tell me how easy it was, or whatever, can you just not? Trust me, I know. I know.” His voice broke just a little bit on the last words.
She turned and walked to the door, but didn’t leave. Instead, she closed it and turned back around. She opened her mouth a third time, took a deep breath, and finally said something.
“You never called me.” There was hurt in the words. She sounded small. “You… you could have called me.”
Called her? The fuck was she talking about? For starters, he didn’t have her phone number. Secondly, she did not ask him to call her. Ever. What she’d done instead was annoy him into having great sex and then avoid him for weeks. Well, not exactly avoid him, but stop being annoyingly everywhere he was. She didn’t get to come in here and sound hurt by him. She didn’t get to come in here and act like he’d done something to her after what she’d done to him.
His drunk mind had a hard time forming a response, but eventually he slurred out, “Dunno what you’re on about,” and then stumbled to his bed and fell onto it face-first.
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, very aware of the fact that she hadn’t left.
When she responded, she had hardened back into the angry farmer he was familiar with, and he couldn’t help but be grateful for the change. Angry, he could deal with. Angry was his thing.
“You’d really rather live like this?” He didn’t raise his head to look at her, but he saw the shadows on the ceiling gesture toward a pile of empty beer cans, then at him. “This is really what you want? I… I get it if you weren’t interested, or whatever, but I just wanted to help you. And instead, when I try, you try to destroy yourself even more than before. I know I can’t fix you or anything, but you never even called. You didn’t even acknowledge me. I couldn’t get a text with just the letter ‘k’.” She laughed sardonically, bitterly.
He took a moment to take in what she’d said. He took another to consider it. He took a third to be absolutely, no-holds-barred dumbfounded. He felt rage well up inside him. How dare she come in here and act like she had any idea what he wanted? How dare she come in here and act like she’d done nothing wrong? Yeah, he was a self-destructive asshole, but she couldn’t come in here and insist he’d been the one to hurt her. It was just patently fucking false and he was certainly willing to set her straight.
He sat up in bed, back to the wall so he wouldn’t fall back over. Yoba, he was drunk. The room spun just a little bit. He waited for it to clear, focusing on the farmer. She was bristling, getting ready for a fight he hadn’t even put up yet. He took a deep breath, trying to make sure he could get the words out without slurring them too much.
“I don’t see where the fuck you get off coming in here to accuse me of wanting to live like this, acting like you wanted me to call you for help whatever bullshit you’re over there spouting.
“Since we’re remembering what happened very differently, let me give you a reminder of how things went down between us. You spent everyday for three weeks bothering me, trying to talk to me, buying me drinks. I wanted none of it and went down to the cliffs. You went to the cliffs because you have to make my life a living hell, then you kissed me. We fucked, which was admittedly a drunken mistake on my part, and then you absolutely disappeared. This is the first time I’ve seen your fucking face since that night and I’m just gonna repeat that I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about when you come in here with your fake righteous anger about how I never called you. Why would I even have your fucking number? It’s not like we’re friends. You got what you wanted off me. Now get the hell out of my room.”
Each word burned coming out, like they were soaked in poison. He didn’t want to admit to her that she was part of the reason he was living like this in the first place. That three stupid weeks of seeing her face in his spot everyday made it impossible to go to the Saloon when he knew she wouldn’t be there. He didn’t want to hear her side of the story. He just wanted her to leave.
She did not leave. She made a frustrated screeching sound, stomped over to him, and put her face directly in his. “You’d have my number because I fucking gave it to you. I honestly don’t know what you think I’d be here to gloat about.” She barked out another bitter laugh. “Do you think your dick is so fucking good that’s all I wanted off you? A drunken one night stand? Do you think I’d bother someone for three fucking weeks straight just for some drunk sex, no matter how good it was? Do you honestly fucking think I’d need to do that? For Yoba’s sake, Shane, you are a thickheaded fucking pig. So, yeah, sit here and pretend like you never had my number. Pretend like I’m just some bitch who wanted to prove a point. If you want to write that night off as, as you put it, “a drunken mistake”, then I guess I’m just about done here.”
She whirled around, hair brushing Shane’s face. He sat there, dazed, thinking only that her shampoo smelled nice. She grabbed his phone off the nightstand, where it had sat untouched and charging for… a long time. He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d looked at it for more than the time. Not like it ever rang.
“You’re telling me you never checked your fucking phone? Not for weeks? I was drunk but not drunk enough to make up writing you that note.”
He said nothing, confused. He reached for the phone and she shoved it in his hands, snorting. He unlocked the phone and saw that the “Notes” app was, indeed, open. And there was something typed out on the screen.
You can hate me anytime you need a break from hating you. Followed by a phone number. Her phone number.
“When did you…?” He looked up, eyes wide with shock, just in time to see the door slam behind her. He backed out of the note and realized that it was written weeks ago. On that night.
He was an asshole. He realized that when he’d reached for the phone, she probably thought he didn’t want her to look at it. She probably thought he was trying to cover for himself.
He thought back to that night and could vaguely remember her saying that they were drunk and telling him to read the note in the morning. If he’d just remembered that one sentence. If he’d just been a little less drunk. If he’d just looked at his phone.
Sighing, he dropped the phone on the bed, rolled over, and tried to go to sleep. At least he was used to the knot of guilt that had formed in his gut when he read the messages. At least now she could find someone better than him. Anyone else would be.
And at least now, after today, he knew he really had nothing to live for.