Playing Games

A/N: To put it simply, I need help with this story. I haven't had a beta in forever, and I'm pretty intent on improving this story. This is a rough second or third draft (not NEARLY finished!) and I would adore if those of you who are interested would care to let me know what could be worked on, because I know there's plenty of room for work. Thank you! :)

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Sunny days climbing the monkey bars, laughing while we zoomed down the slide. Playing four-square on the warm pavement, jumping rope and playing hide-and-seek between the trees. Those were the good old days. When it was girls against boys, and everyone had a secret crush but wouldn't admit it.

We hated each other as little kids. All glares and jeers and nasty laughs at each other's expense. I remember you bullying me around. Hands on my shoulders, and then you shoved me and I was falling, your snidely shouted, "TAG!" ringing in my ears. And when I hit the ground, you just stood there and smirked while my face burned with shame. I never gave to bullies on the playground, even the ones who were four or five years older, but somehow I could never hide my real face from you.

It was once you'd seen the outcome of your actions... that's when you would run. Your eyes lit up and suddenly you were halfway across the asphalt, looking over your shoulder to see if I'd taken the bait, whether or not I was going to come after you. I don't know why you looked back when you knew. You could hear me, velcro shoes pattering across the ground while I yelled your name and tried to burn a hole into your sweatshirt with my eyes.

"I hate you so much!" I would scream, and you just laughed like a clown because you loved hearing it.

You would always let me catch you, eventually slowing down so that I could sprint to cut you off, and then there we stood, a scrawny six-year-old radiating fiery hatred and her playground love, smiling a Joker-like smile of triumph.

"What was that for?!" I growled, small body shaking as I did so. Small vocabularies amounted to a limited resource for seething insults, and we hardly knew how to use them anyway. But I knew you could see the anger and tempest in me, my fists clenched, eyebrows knit over flaming eyes that wanted nothing more than to reduce you to a pile of ash.

Yet somehow, that fire could never touch you. I was a challenge, an equal to be defeated, not a lesser being that you could throw down for giggles. And with that knowledge, you would smile just a bit, an evil sort of thing, and the next thing I knew - "Loser!" - I was being shoved once more, this time my back hitting a chain-link fence, and I was shrieking at you again, turning and sprinting after you while you sped across the playground into the afternoon sun.

Such passion, even at such a young age.

It's been so long since those rowdy hours of recess and exhilerating confrontations on the blacktop. We've added years to our experiences and done things we never thought we would do. We're different people with different lives. We still have that inner passion, but it's been refined, honed into a sharp-edged weapon to match our increased skill over its use.

Thirteen years later, we cross paths. Now we're playing on different turf. The sunlight is replaced with strobing lights, the asphalt and play equipment with a mutual friend's parents' house. Laughing children with jumpropes and basketballs have morphed into laughing adults, holding plastic hurricane cups full of beer and dancing closer than any of us would dare get to one another in school.

You're on the other side of the room, talking to the girl I assume to be your girlfriend, judging from the way she's clinging to you like shit to velcro. A simple scan of your eyes around the room allows me to catch your gaze, and you smirk when you see the look I'm giving the woman by your side. I raise an eyebrow in defense, letting my eyes bore into your for just a moment, before turning away and heading for a more isolated corner of the room. Tom Collins and I need some alone time.

It's not a surprise in the least when I watch you squeeze past two frisky females to reach my sacred little spot against the wall.

"What're you up to?" you ask after a long moment of silence, a cocky sort of smile on your face.

Heat, bubbling and molten rises up in my stomach and I get the irresistable urge to whip my hand out and leave a stinging red mark on your face. Instead I return the smirk with a slight sneer, "Playing tag."

You raise your eyebrow and lean against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "Aren't we a little old for that game?"

I shrug and take a sip from my drink. "As far as I can tell, we were playing before we knew how."

That seems to strike something familiar in you, and I'm suddenly on the receiving end of a genuine, adoring smile. "I think you're right," you laugh, and for a moment you just stand still, smiling and looking me over as if to compare me to the little girl I used to be. That moment ends too soon, and you chuckle and shake your head. "I'll see you around, alright?"

I smirk and nod slowly, watching you turn and make your way out from my corner, when you stop. For just a moment, you turn, give me that evil smile, and say, "Oh, and just so you're aware.... you're it."

I just shake my head and watch you melt back into the crowd to go look for your girl. I realize that nothing's changed. After all these years, you're still a bully, and I still hate you.

Really.