Title: Cliché
Author: Alse
Part 4: Side Alley
Rating: PG-13 and very suggestive 
E-mail: alsepang@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: It is a widely known and indisputable fact 
that Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon belongs only to Naoko 
Takeuchi and whichever companies and their franchises she
has assigned whatever copyrights of merchandise, television, 
film, etc. to. This story was not written for profit on the 
writer's part and was never intended to be used for any such gain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

     I spent most of the next day closeted in 
my room with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign 
hanging on the door, staring blankly at 
the ceiling. Of course, I could not spend 
the whole day in there without someone 
getting suspicious and that was the least 
I wanted, so I forced myself to stroll 
down to the Crown Café sometime in 
the afternoon. I needed a change of 
scenery and I knew that my mother 
would be getting both suspicious and 
worried if I continued to stay in my 
room. There was no way that I was 
going to let anyone, least of all my own 
parents, come anywhere near the truth. 
It was difficult to go it all alone, though. 
I had no one to talk to. Sean knew of my 
"feelings", as he put it, but he didn't 
know how deep they ran.

     I looked in the mirror and grimaced. 
The dark smudges under my eyes called 
for liberal application of foundation to 
hide them. I ignored the rest of the 
beauty products on my dressing table, 
since I hardly used them unless I was 
going out for special occasions. I then 
threw on a white, long-sleeved shirt and 
fitted jeans, picked up my purse and 
walked out of the house.

      The Crown Café has always been a popular
hangout for high school kids. Andrew 
and Lizzie's parents own it and it's 
considered a safe place to hang out. 
They serve the usual café stuff and have 
an area for video games.

      I didn't know why I was there. I felt like
a child as I sat quietly in a booth at the 
back, absently stirring my chocolate 
milkshake, shoulders hunched as I let 
my glance sweep over the cafe. I had 
rolled the sleeves of my shirt to my 
elbow for a more stylish effect and my 
chin rested in the palm of my left hand, 
propped up on an elbow. 
   
     The high school girls around wore 
make-up, some of them awfully Gothic, 
but they had the air of innocent gaiety 
and lack of jaded sophistication that 
comes later with adulthood. I knew that 
despite my simple attire, lack of jewellery 
and plain face sans make-up (okay, I 
admit to lip gloss, but that doesn't really 
count, does it?), I was more mature than 
them all.

   What hurt was that everything had a 
memory. I had argued fiercely with *him* 
in this very booth, both of us trading 
barbed insults meant to wound as deeply
as possible. There at the video games, 
we had had another of our insult-
infested spats, which ended with me 
socking him one in the jaw and storming 
out. Ah, but I had felt distinctly satisfied 
then, though my knuckles had suffered 
too. He had sported a beautiful bruise 
on his cheek the next day at school and I 
gained fame for having a mean right 
hook. Even the chocolate milkshake 
carried memories. I had dumped one 
half-drunk milkshake in his lap one day
in retaliation for a particularly cruel jab 
that had hit too close to my sensitivities. 
The counter, too-

      "A dime for your thoughts."

     I wanted to scream with frustration. Was 
there nowhere I could go without his 
showing up and tearing me up inside? I 
lifted my eyes very slowly, hoping that
this was just a bad dream, the kind that 
doesn't let you go...I noted the khaki 
pants and black polo shirt before raising 
my eyes to the face above he collar.

       Darien Chesner stood by my table, 
looking down at me. I forced myself to 
meet piercing, inscrutable dark blue eyes 
set in an emotionless, but 
heartbreakingly, breathtakingly handsome 
face.   

     "May I sit here?" he asked softly, eyes 
on my face.

      I forced myself to look away and reply 
calmly, with a gesture. "It's a free 
country." 

      He slid into the seat opposite, facing me
directly. There was a brief pause before 
he spoke again, conversationally. "You
looked rather introspective just now.
Dime for your thoughts?" 

      I answered frankly, "I was just 
reminiscing over old times."

     "You mean, like the times we used to
quarrel?"
   
      That's all he'll ever see me as-- the little 
girl he argued and fought with all 
through his childhood and teenage years. 
I suppose I should be a bit grateful that 
he actually wants to remember me. At 
least he'll never have the chance to laugh 
at me or pity my having fallen hard 
for him. 

     "No," I lied, sounding a little surprised 
and masking the hurt at the blow he had 
dealt. "I meant that looking at the high 
school kids here reminds me of all of us 
when younger. Make-up doesn't show 
that a person is more sophisticated, nor 
does it always make us older. We didn't 
understand that when younger."

     "Do you sometimes wish you could turn 
back the clock...and change the past?"

      I considered that briefly. Would my 
being more civil to him have given me a 
better chance? No. He despised me. 
Anything I could have done in the past 
would all have come to naught. I was 
and would always be nothing to him. It 
had always been that way and a change 
of heart on my part did not mean a 
change of heart on his. I blinked back 
tears and sipped furiously at my 
milkshake before answering.

      "I don't think there would be any use."

      I felt his eyes bent closely on me, almost 
as if every question he was asking was a 
test. "Why not?"
 
       The gentle, conversational tone proved 
my undoing as I lost my composure, 
aware that I was speaking bitterly, but 
too far gone to control it.

       "Nothing I do will ever change what's 
past. Even if I walked back in time and 
tried to do things differently, the same 
thing would still happen and I'd still be 
hurt, still be where I am today." I 
stopped, realizing that I had said too 
much. 

      Darien's dark blue eyes flashed suddenly.
"What do you mean, hurt?" His eyes 
bore straight into mine and he leaned 
forward slightly.

        I stood up swiftly, breaking off eye 
contact. "I'm sorry. I have to go now." 
This was getting too personal.
    
      As I walked out, I mentally gave myself 
a thrashing. Way to go, Serena, I thought 
sourly. Why not just open your big mouth and 
tell the guy you love him? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

       I was halfway down the street, heading 
for the park, when a hand laid itself on 
my shoulder. I knew who it was and 
hurled a fierce condemnation to the 
skies. Why me? I'd recognize the rose-
scented cologne anywhere.

       "What is it now?" I didn't bother to 
keep the irritation out of my voice and 
went on walking.

      "I want to apologise about-about what 
happened just now. I didn't mean 
anything-I'm sorry." 

       I stopped. Darien Chesner was 
apologizing to me? How times had 
changed. "It's okay. I'm just having a 
bad day, I guess." I turned reluctantly to 
face him and saw that he was holding 
out a coin. "What's that?" I asked 
curiously, looking at it.

     "It's a dime. I owe you a dime for your 
thoughts, remember? I'm paying up 
now." There was a smile in Darien's 
voice. 

       I responded by laughing, though 
determined not to look into his eyes, 
which I acknowledged were my 
Waterloo. "Okay." I took the coin and
froze as our fingers touched. There was
no mistaking the shocking bolt of 
electricity. My eyes flew automatically to 
his and our gazes locked. 

      Before I knew what was happening, he 
had pulled me into a side alley (yeah, 
how convenient). Then he swiftly
brought his mouth down on mine and I
was lost to the world, the touch of soft 
warmth caressing my lips tenderly,
repeatedly. He pulled me closer to him 
as I slowly responded in kind and ran 
my fingers through his soft, dark hair. 
His tongue traced my lip gently and then 
plunged passionately into my mouth 
when my lips parted instinctively. The 
feel of his tongue brushing softly in long, 
tender strokes, sent fire through my 
veins, melting my bones. My eyes were 
fast shut, but I could see every plane of 
his handsome face in my mind as I ran 
my fingers along the sharp, defined line 
of his jaw and over his cheekbones. I 
felt him tremble under my touch and I 
luxuriated in the feel of his skin under 
my fingers.

      When the kisses grew fiercer and more 
passionate, I knew I had to stop. This 
was wrong, never mind how right and 
perfect it felt. He belonged to another 
girl! I pushed him away, shaking my 
head and trying to catch my breath. I 
raked a hand through my hair, which 
Darien had loosed of its ribbon so it fell 
to my waist, and tried to get my bearings. 

     "Sere?" His eyes were so soft and deep, 
and he had this boyish, adorably 
confused look of wonder on his face as 
his breath came and went in short, 
ragged spurts. I wanted to kiss him 
senseless again, but instead, I turned tail 
and fled.

       I dived into bed as soon as I got home, 
seeking refuge from the terrifying 
emotions crashing relentlessly over me. 
Casting an eye on the clock, I discovered 
that I had spent three full hours out. 
Using quick mental arithmetic, I came to 
the stunning conclusion that I had been 
making out very intensely with Darien 
Chesner for at LEAST half an hour. 
Aargh!  

       'You kissed another girl's boyfriend!' I
screamed at myself. 'What did you think 
you were doing? You made out with him in the 
middle of town like a lovesick teen! For 
goodness' sake, you're almost twenty-three! How 
are you going to face him again? When's the 
first flight out to Boston?'
Try as I might, I couldn't get that kiss 
out of my mind. I've been kissed before, 
of course, but never with that depth of 
feeling. You enjoy kisses with good 
kissers, but there is never that sizzling, 
fiery bolt of electricity that makes you 
weak in the knees and makes the world 
spin and tilt madly on its axis. Darien's 
kiss had felt like that from the moment 
our lips met. And his touch! Reliving the 
moment sent waves of heat and pleasure 
spiralling through me and I burrowed 
further under my covers, curling into a 
ball. The experience had been incredibly 
intimate.  If I hadn't pulled away-  

      I sat up with a jerk, horrified. Anything 
could have happened-and neither of us 
would have had the power or will to 
stop it. Blood drained from my cheeks. 
Then I caught sight of my reflection in 
the mirror and nearly fell out of bed 
trying to get to the mirror as fast as 
possible.

       Was that really me? I looked flushed and 
dishevelled, silver-gold strands of hair 
tumbling haphazardly about my shoulders. My eyes 
were enormous and a rather deeper blue than usual. As for 
the rest of me-well, there was ample evidence of a wild
and very intimate make-out session. My lips were
still swollen and vividly crimson from the 
passionate kisses. My blouse was well 
wrinkled and half tucked out, the top 
two buttons undone and leaving a 
plunging v-shaped opening. As my best 
friend Mina would have put it, I looked 
like a woman who had been totally and 
thoroughly kissed.

      I buried my head in my hands and 
groaned. I had dashed through town 
looking like *that* ? That explained some
of the weird looks I had seen on other
people's faces.

      I struck the bed in frustration. If 
anything, matters had been complicated 
further by what had just transpired 
between us. I hurled some more fierce 
opinions to the skies. *What* was I 
going to do?