Prologue: Fifteen.
Lorelai Gilmore was fifteen and on top of the world.
A fun-loving, pseudo-rebel, Lorelai spent her time causing trouble with her friends, watching movies, eating junk food, making cynical comments in class, and casually dating and promptly dumping a long string of high-school losers. Although she had done her share of fooling around, she had never let anyone go all the way. None of the boys she went out with were worth her. None could match her wit, intelligence or sense of humor. So she waited. She was having a lot of fun being single for the time being.
Richard and Emily Gilmore were out of town, as usual. After a particularly depressing date, Lorelai decided to cut it short and catch a little SNL. She made some popcorn, changed into her pink ducky pajamas, and curled up with a pillow and turned on the TV. A noise from downstairs startled her, but she soon decided that it was probably just her mother's newest maid, who actually deserved most of Emily's criticism for being loud and clumsy.
The maid was in the hall now. It sounded like she was going from room to room searching for something. Now she was outside Lorelai's bedroom. Hey wait…hadn't the maid gone home several hours ago?
The bedroom door flew open. The man was wearing faded blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. And a ski mask. She recognized the clothes…he had been at the restaurant that she and the boy had been at earlier that night. She had felt like he was watching her. He had left the same time they did…
These things ran through her mind, but the knife in his hand soon pushed all conscious thought away. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, which seemed impossible since she was sure that it was all in her feet. Her hands were cold and her mouth went dry, and she swallowed down vomit that had somehow managed to creep into her throat.
All of these weird feelings would forever be imprinted in her mind. For as long as she lived she would still feel the man's touch, smell his odor, taste the blood in her mouth from where his fist forced her lip to split over her teeth. Two months later the pounding heart, cold hands, and sick feeling would return as she sat in the doctor's office staring at the results of the pregnancy test. This time the vomit would end up in a kidney-shaped emesis basin held in the hands of the quick-thinking nurse, and a box of Kleenex would absorb the tears previously unloaded into her pillow.
A/N: In case you didn't notice, Christopher WILL NOT EXIST in this fic (throw a party!) Please review and make suggestions. This has the potential to be a long one if there is interest.