Author: Ozluv04
Title: Shiver
Disclaimer: You know the drill: All belong to ASP and the WB. I own nothing.
Warning: Mild Spoilers through 6.04 Always a Godmother, Never a God.
A/N: This is an experimental fic, told in second person voice. I know, an odd choice, but I really wanted to get across a sense of urgency. It once again revolves around Rory's decent. But this ones a little different. Enjoy and feedback welcome.
It's like a shiver. Unremarkable except in the way it pulls you. It's not under your control. It's not your choice. She smiles and you tremble. And you hate yourself because you gave her the power. You let her wind her way into your life with a smile and a stream of incessant chatter. And she has you now. Every little piece of you. But she doesn't want it.
She wants him. Because he's like a drug. Intoxicating. Offering freedom, offering adventure, offering every thing she never wanted. Until it was offered with a careless smirk and lazy drawl. She takes it without thinking. She doesn't think at all anymore. She's drowning in him. You're drowning in her.
You pull away. The violence of it startles you. Without her you twitch. This must be addiction. You ignore the rumors: stealing yachts, dropping out of Yale. She couldn't have fallen that far. Of course not. But the first paper is out and you can't find her byline.
She's gone. So very, very gone. And you should be grateful. You can move on now. You won't run into her by chance. She won't call you to make a study date. She won't stand in front of you looking perfect. Being perfect. You can return to normal.
But normal is overrated and you want her back. Even if you can't touch her, even if she's not yours, even if she's his. Just to have her here. That can be right. It was right. Because without her it's all so wrong.
You make the call, only to find the number has changed. That must be your heart sinking, funny you thought it was already sunk. You think it must be a sign. You've dwelled long enough. That girl in Chem lab is nice. You ask her out.
She smiles and laughs and twitters about like a butterfly. You try not to check your watch to often. You mention the Marx brothers and her eyebrows scrunch together. You suppress a groan.
That night you can't fall asleep. You call the number again, but the operator's cold voice is the same. Frustration creeps through your veins. You dig through your agenda searching for an unused number. Paris isn't happy about being woken up at 2:00 a.m., but she tells you what you need to know.
The drive feels endless, even though the roads are deserted. You think you've lost your mind. But you're pretty sure you lost that a long time ago. You haven't seen her in months. You're not sure you'll recognize her. She may not be the person you remember. It doesn't matter, because you're there.
You're hands are shaking as you knock lightly on the door. You think for a moment she won't answer. But the door opens and she's standing there rumpled and confused. She's still Rory. She sees you and she smiles. "Marty?" You don't suppress the shiver.