Night,
and a few shots of bourbon, could do strange things to a man's mind.
They could change it, for instance. They could take his normal,
everyday thoughts and twist them around to be their opposites. They
could make him want he didn't think he wanted. They could make him
want to see people that he spent most of his time avoiding. People
-- no, *the* person -- he spent a great deal of effort not looking
at, not thinking of, not talking to.
And so on that night in April, Sonny Corinthos knocked on the door
of an apartment he had never been to before.
She answered the door in a long, silky burgundy robe, and what looked
like a lacy bit of a thing underneath. She only hesitated for a
second before asking, "What are you doing here?"
"You expecting somone?" he retorted, and entered without
her permission.
Oddly, Alexis didn't comment on his barging in. "I wasn't expecting
anyone. That's why I'm not dressed," she said acidly.
"Oh, you're, you're wearing something," Sonny said, drawing
a hand over his chin and looking her up and down. "The good
doctor's not coming over?"
Alexis rolled her eyes and closed and locked the door. "Not
tonight." She and Cameron hadn't been secretive about their
relationship, but she wasn't aware that Sonny had kept up with her
love life.
"What about your daughter?"
"She's staying with Ned for a couple of nights. He asked if
he could have some one-on-one time with her." She already missed
Kristina even though she'd dropped her off at the gatehouse just
two hours before, but truth be told, she was glad to have an evening
to herself. Work had been hellish all week. Every client seemed
to be whinier, clingier, and worse-tempered than the last. She and
Ned had fought again, Kristina had been an insomniac for four nights
in a row, Jax wasn't around to hear her complain, and even Cameron's
sweet kisses hadn't helped. Alexis needed time alone.
Except here was Sonny Corinthos, sitting down on her couch without
asking first and taking a drink from her glass of Syrah. *Do I put
up with his bull**** for the next twenty minutes?* Alexis asked
herself, knowing whatever he'd come for, it wasn't good. They'd
done nothing but avoid or antagonize each other for too long, now.
*No. **** him. He needs to go.*
"Sonny, get out right now," she said in a tone of voice
that made most people, even Luke Spencer, even Edward Quartermaine,
hell, even Carly Corinthos, shut up and take notice.
But not Sonny. Oh, no. Her iciness just seemed to inspire him to
talk more.
"Why? You already said you're not doing anything," he
mumbled, taking another sip of her wine.
"I said I wasn't *seeing* anyone, but I *do* have plans. I
was going to sit in my nice, dark apartment, with a couple of candles
lit," she said, gesturing at the tiny flames scattered around
the room, "and put some relaxing music on and drink some good
wine." She crossed to the couch and snatched the wine glass
from Sonny's hand. In one gulp, she downed the remainder of the
smooth liquid. No way in hell was she going to let Sonny Corinthos
finish her wine.
He didn't seem to notice that she'd taken the glass from his fingers.
"There's no music playing," he said.
"I was just getting to that when you -- Sonny, what are you
doing here? Why don't you go home to your wife and child?"
He met her eyes. "Don't wanna," he said simply.
Against her better judgement, Alexis sat down next to him and tried
to show some sympathy. "Did something happen?"
He shook his head. "No."
Alexis dropped her sympathy act. "Then get out!" she half-yelled
and made a motion to rise. Sonny stopped her with a hand on her
forearm.
"Wait, wait. I came to talk to you."
"About what?!" She wondered if she could force him out
physically. Probably not, though she'd start trying in two minutes
if he didn't leave voluntarily.
Sonny shrugged. "I'm not sure." He looked uncertain. A
very unusual look on him. He was dressed impeccably, as always,
in a silk shirt and dark grey suit. But something was out of whack.
*Well, obviously,* Alexis said to herself, *he showed up at -your-
apartment.* She wondered what was going on.
"Why don't we talk anymore?" he asked her. He hadn't taken
his hand off her arm. He brushed his fingers up and down there,
burning her skin through the silk robe.
"Because we hate each other, Sonny," Alexis reminded him,
as if he could have forgotten. "You're not drunk, are you?"
"No. I've had a few drinks, but I'm not drunk. I just felt,
I dunno," he shrugged again, without lifting his hand from
her, "like I wanted to see you. We used to see each other all
the time. I just was thinking today, how long has it been since
I talked to you? Really talked. A long time."
"Years," Alexis concurred.
"I don't know why I wanted to start talking tonight. Sometimes,"
he sighed, "you just start thinking about things, you know?
About your life, and the choices you've made."
Alexis took a deep breath. She thought she knew what this was. "Sonny,
we were friends once. It's natural to experience regret over friendships
lost. I understand that. But you can never go back. *We* can never
go back to being friends again."
"Because you hate me?" he asked, his hand clutching her
arm lightly, as though he needed to hold onto her to hear her answer.
"Yes," Alexis answered truthfully. She couldn't help but
think to herself, as she looked at his dark hair and dark eyes and
amazing, masculine body, how much she had loved him, once. It was
amazing how some things changed. "Don't you hate me?"
Sonny raised his eyes, considering. She had frozen him out, called
him names, defamed him in the press, accused him of multiple heinous
crimes, slapped him, screamed at him, tried to bring him down a
dozen times. "Yes," he answered. "I do," he
admitted.
"Then you know why we can never be friends again. We can never
go back."
He took in all of her then, her liquid brown eyes glowing in the
candlelight, her rich chestnut hair hanging loose to her shoulders,
the cream of her neck, the tops of her breasts where they rose slightly
above her dark red teddy beneath the lapels of her robe. He glanced
down to see her long, long legs revealed where the robe parted.
He gripped her arm through the silk a little tighter, and he realized
why he had come.
"I don't want to go back to how it was," he said in a
whisper. "Maybe we can never be friends again. Maybe we'll
always hate each other. But maybe there are things we still need
to be to each other. Things we still need from each other."
"What could we possibly need from each other?" Alexis
scoffed.
"This," Sonny said, and untied her robe with one hand
as he straddled her on the couch. Alexis threw her head back to
look, shocked, into his black stare. "This," he said again
as he locked his mouth to hers.
