A/N: Realised I never posted the rest of my Rayne 'Five Random Songs' series up here. This is the second fic, inspired by 'Do I Lie?' by Alisha's Attic - it's a little angstier than I usually write. I've had comments that River's voice is a little too sane in this one, but my personal take is that this is just one of her many fractured streams of consciousness - while she's thinking all this, she's also working out who the biggest threats are among the bar's clientele, calculating the distances to all available exit routes, spotting fractal patterns in the cracks of the windows and working out whether the barkeep is shortchanging the customers. She may also be pondering why water swirls different ways depending on which hemisphere you happen to be in, and what effect having three moons will have on the local tides. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be either.

* * * * * * * *

It's a typical scenario
You say I'm insecure

And you know just how to play this girl

I watch as you cut a swathe through the bar, without even noticing the effect that you have. It never gets easier to see the other women gravitate towards you the instant you enter the room, drawn to you like the tide. My own insecurities rear their heads in all their crazy, gory glory, whispering that you could never want a skinny, sporadically crazy, too-smart freak of a girl when you could have any of these women with their bounteous assets and brassy charms.

You tell me you don't want any of them. You always say it, and most of the time I believe you, because it would hurt too much to believe anything else. The flirting, the charm that you exude, is more a force of habit than anything, a relic from a time when you had only your own immediate needs and gratifications to see to. A time when you didn't have an albatross round your neck.

You see me watching and your eyes light up at sight of me. This, at least, is real. I know that what you feel for me is different, special, more than you've felt for any of the other women who have shared a bed with you. You don't say the words, won't say them; you talk around them as if circling a dangerous predator in the middle of the room. If you said them, you'd be trapped and a part of you still resists that, still thinks that you could walk away at any moment.

A part of me is terrified that you might.

Your arm snakes out as I near you and pulls me in to nestle at your side. I sense the annoyance in the women around you as they see you stake your claim, and it makes me feel warm inside that you would do it so publicly.

"Hey, beautiful," you say, placing a kiss on the curve of my jaw, so close to my lips yet never quite there. I wonder what you would do if I turned my head at that precise moment, if I forced the issue. Somehow, I never quite have the courage to do it. Or perhaps I am willing to wait for it to happen of your own accord – if it ever does…

I turn and look at you; I stare into those blue eyes that shine with a light that only I get to see and, in that moment, I forget that I am mad at you, that I hate it when you make me question my own attractiveness, or my value as a woman and as a lover.

I sometimes wonder how long I am willing to wait for you to admit what I already know. And then you touch me, or you look at me, or you call me beautiful and mean it, and I realise I would wait forever.

And he says, "Hey, babe, do I lie to you?
Cause if I say you're beautiful
It's like magic, you'll forget it all…"