Monday.
If you happened to ask her what woke her up so early on that Monday morning, she would be inclined to tell you that it was the sound of the heavy rain hitting the roof above her.
If you happened to ask her what woke her, she would never admit that it was the gnawing in her stomach that signalled the day which woke her. She'd go to her grave with that knowledge tucked safely away in the furthest corners of her brain, never admitted to anybody – not even her mother.
No, it wasn't the guilt.
Of course not.
It was the rain.
Rory Gilmore turned her head to look at the bed beside her, filled with another person. A man. A man that she'd loved. She had loved him, hadn't she? At some point? At least in the slightest?
No. Her brain's answer was short and bitter. Of course you never loved him. He's just a replacement. A temporary distraction.
She never wanted to hurt anybody, least of all Jason. He wasn't a bad man, he was even a great friend of hers at one point.
But one drink had led to another, one kiss had turned into more, and somehow, overnight, their friendship turned into something more. At least on his part. She just agreed numbly and tried to keep a smile on her face, tried to keep her voice cheery.
She'd been numb for almost two years.
Since the last time she'd seen him at his book signing where she'd kissed him and then felt the fear creep into her, she'd been completely numb.
She'd lied and said that she was in love with someone, knowing it was the only way he'd let her go.
He had too much going on with his life, she'd reasoned with herself as she drove home to an empty apartment, the tears already flowing down her cheeks and making it near-impossible to see the road. If I'd stayed and we'd worked things out, I would have just been a distraction he didn't need.
She could lie to everybody else, but she couldn't lie to herself.
She hadn't left because she didn't want to be a distraction.
She'd run in the opposite direction because the kiss they'd shared had awakened the feeling of love that she'd spent years suffocating. She'd run in the opposite direction because, despite how much she loved him and he loved her, their track record was almost as bad as her addiction to him, and so she'd left before either of them could break each other's hearts.
How stupid she'd been.
With the knowledge that the day was going to go one of two ways, Rory rolled onto her side, turning away from the body sleeping soundly next to her and looked out of her bedroom window at the winter day.
Raining, she thought, how ironic. If that doesn't symbolise today…
Her thoughts trailed off as the strong arm of the man sleeping behind her wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into his chest, into the warmth of his body.
Even in his sleep he still loves me.
What a mess I've made.
As delicately as she could she extracted herself out of his arms and got out of the bed, her bare feet silently sliding through her apartment as she left the room.
That's what she did best – run.
The coffee machine greeted her like an old friend as she flicked the switch and got her favourite mug out of the cupboard above her.
She rarely used this mug, but it seemed fitting for the day and she couldn't help but let a flicker of a smile light her features just for a moment as she traced the writing before it disappeared back into the shadows and the gnawing feeling returned.
THE SUBSECT BY JESS MARIANO
CRITICS ARE CALLING HIM
"THE NEW HEMINGWAY"
When she came across the mug, she'd been stalking the Truncheon website, dying for just a photo of him to help her get through the grieving stage.
She bought three of the mugs – one for herself, one for Luke and one for Loralie who, despite her once-hatred for Jess, had begun to get along great with him and drank from it whenever he went home to visit them.
Through one of their weekly phone-calls, Loralie had mentioned that he'd "accidently" tried to smash it but she'd caught him before he completely knock it off the bench. Apparently the guys at the bookstore had done it without mentioning it to him and they'd sold so many to his fans that he couldn't stop the production of them.
He'd never been one for vanity, it's one of the things that she loved most about him.
The coffee machine steamed, signally that it was done and brought her out of her memory, just in time for the same pair of arms from ten minutes before to re-wrap themselves around her. "Good morning, baby."
Trying not to jump and let him know her mind was a million-miles-away, she put on a cheery voice that sounded fake, even to her ears. Like always, he either didn't notice or he pretended not to. Rory was starting to suspect the latter. "Morning!"
He pressed his lips against her head before he moved around her to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and leant back against the bench.
Despite refusing to look at him, Rory could feel his eyes following her as she fixed herself a coffee and made her way over to the small table that held her laptop and a number of different books and journals, all screaming at her to be read so she could process her article for the paper.
There was no way she was getting any writing done that day.
"So … you said you were going to see your mum for the next few days?"
His voice told her he knew that she wasn't going to see her mother; they both knew that she wouldn't leave halfway through the week to go back to Stars Hollow, she only did that on the weekends.
But, despite both of them knowing that she was lying, she turned her eyes up and took a sip of her coffee, buying time and steadying her voice. She'd never been a good liar. "Yes, I should be back by Sunday."
He nodded once, his eyes turning cold in front of her. He thought there was someone else.
He was right.
"Okay. I guess I'll have a shower and then get out of your hair so you can pack."
She knew he was hoping for her to ask him to stay until she left, but she couldn't bring herself to. She hadn't wanted him there in the first place, he'd turned up unannounced and she'd let him in without a word.
As horrible as it sounds, the only reason she hadn't shut the door in his face the night before was because of the Chinese food he held in his arms.
When she didn't ask him to stay, he nodded once more before he put the bottle on the bench and made his way into the bathroom, the door slamming a little harder than it usually did behind him.
Rory took a moment to watch the closed door before she opened the lid of her laptop and typed in her password, her eyes flicking over the email that she'd read over one hundred times.
Dear Rory,
I know that we haven't spoken in a long time; in too long of a time. Not since the night of the book signing, a night that I think we would both rather forget than rehash.
And please, I hope you understand that, if I'd had the ability, I would have written you a long time before this, it's just taken me this long to unclear the writer's block and figure out exactly what I needed to say.
It's taken me this long to write, because I needed a wake-up-call that I got recently. So, I hope you don't mind that I'm writing you now, or that I got your email address off your blog. I know it's meant to be used only for enquiries about work, but I couldn't think of another way to contact you apart from asking Luke for your number, and I didn't want him to know that I've contacted you. At least, not yet.
Lately I have grown up an incredible amount. I know that you're rolling your eyes, but please believe that even I know how ridiculous and cliché that sounds. It doesn't make it any less true, and I hope that you'll believe that I'm not the immature seventeen-year-old boy that I once was, nor am I the man you met in the bookstore three years ago.
If you give me the chance, I'd like to reintroduce myself.
I don't have a clue where in New York you are, or what you're up to apart from the things I read on your blog-page. It's great, by the way, you should be really proud of yourself – and I thank you for your great review of my book, even if it was over-the-top enthusiastic and too in my corner; you shouldn't write bias reviews, people will buy my book and hate you for recommending it.
So, despite following your blog like Alex Forrest, I can't seem to pinpoint your location and can't "accidently" run into you at a coffee shop somewhere down the street from your house, despite all of the times I've dreamt of such a scenario.
Last time I was home – who ever thought I would be referring to Stars Hollow as home? Taylor would have a heart attack if he even had the thought – your mother mentioned that you're seeing someone, and I wish that I could say I only wish you well and have happy thoughts about that, but I can't. Because one thing I always promised was that I'd be completely truthful with you.
And the truth, no matter how brutal, is that I am not happy.
I'm not happy that you've met someone, or that you've decided to start seeing him.
I'm not happy that you came to the book signing because you left too soon and didn't give us a chance.
I'm not happy that you left the blonde douchebag and decided to go to someone else rather than coming home to my arms.
The point of this email, Rory-Lee Gilmore, is to say this-
My life has changed so much in recent months, I've realised that if you don't appreciate things while you have them they slip right through your fingertips and you don't get another chance to appreciate them.
If you don't tell someone how you feel while you have the chance, horrible things can happen.
I don't want something horrible to happen to either of us without knowing how we feel. Without knowing if we could have ever worked out. Without knowing that, if we gave us a chance, we maybe could have made this work.
So here's the truth:
I cannot come to your house and surprise you with flowers or Thai food. I cannot bring you a bag of coffee or put pen-to-paper and write this letter down for you like you deserve. All I can do is send you an email and tell you that I miss you.
I've never gotten over you.
I am still in love with you.
I don't mean to cause disruption in your life, or cause you pain, I never did, despite my constant ability to cause it.
All I want to do is to see you.
To hold you.
To kiss you.
Even if you decide it's for the last time.
If you turn up, I'll know that you want to try.
If you don't, I'll know your answer and leave you alone.
I swear.
Love always,
Your Jess.
Listed below was an address to a small coffee shop she'd spent the last week Googling on repeat. It was only twenty minutes from her apartment.
She couldn't help but wonder if that meant he lived within such a small proximity to her.
She couldn't help but hope.
When Jason came out of the bathroom she didn't notice, not when he got dressed, not until he was standing right behind her and he coughed to signal his arrival.
She snapped the laptop shut, a movement that would have made even the most innocent person look guilty and felt the blush rise to her cheeks.
"I'm going now," he muttered, bending down and kissing her hair.
I have to do this now.
"Jason, wait-"
His retreating form stopped and he turned around, his eyes holding such a look of defeat it only made the guilt chip deeper at her. "You don't have to say anything, Loralie. I know that we're over. I've known it since the first day we started. I know that you never wanted this. I know you only agreed so I could take your mind off of him, but I loved you so much that I didn't care … Don't feel guilty, I'm as much to blame as you are. You may have used me as a distraction, but I let you."
She stood speechless, waiting for him to continue.
"I've always known you loved someone else, I just didn't know who. When we first got together I knew you were running, I wondered from who, but I've learnt that it's not who, it's from what. You're running from your feelings for this guy, and neither of you deserve that. If you have a chance at happiness - at real happiness - than why would you run?" he shrugged his shoulders, a small smirk appearing on his face. "For the record, if he's the one, you deserve it. Don't run just because it's scary."
Without another word he was out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him.
And that's when she realised that somehow, in the past weeks, all of his things had disappeared out of her apartment and suddenly the guilt that was crushing her was lifted off her shoulders.
Twenty minutes to shower and do her makeup and she was out the front door.
On her way to greet her past.
On her way to see the love she'd left behind.
On her way to start a new life.