A/N: I've had this in the works forever and finally finished it last night. I have a Finn/Rory/Colin story in the works as well. Please review I'd hate to beg but well... I ain't too proud. Iscah McKrea this repost is for you!
Writers Block
White, it was so desperately white he couldn't stand it. How on earth had he though he could write a novel? Nothing good would ever come from him. He had a
habit of fucking up anything good in his life. It was more than a habit really. It was as if he was genetically unable, biologically flawed. Perhaps he was allergic to good fortune. Then again, that was exactly why he was destined to write - certainly not the great American novel, not something that would be taught in high school, surely. Perhaps he would be a name dropped to prove just how much smarter someone was.
However, he would have to start first.
A word, any word.
Every word seemed cheap, tawdry, unfit.
He threw his pen across the room, slammed his head against the blinding paper. Sighing heavily, he pulled himself away from the table and waded through the clothes and garbage on the floor to go look for his pen.
He kicked at his leather jacket and found a pen. A different pen. He drew a line on his palm to check if it was functional and went to sit back at the table, the small work space he had cleared in his disgusting apartment. His eyes where drawn to everything but the paper, as if
he was afraid of the thin white thing.
Which, in all honesty, he was.
It stood for something, something impressive and new and seemingly unattainable...something he shouldn't have, something pure and full of
potential... The paper was her. The idea of writing a novella was her too. She had thought he had potential, enjoyed how well read he was, didn't care what anyone else thought of him.
If he was being honest, which in an empty apartment miles and miles away from Stars Hollow seemed a lot easier, he had been afraid - so incredibly afraid, of not living up to her expectations, letting her down, seeing those large intelligent blue eyes looking at him as if something was broken.
Shoving the piece of pure paper into his back pocket and resting the pen behind his ear, he walked out of the apartment.
He needed coffee.
He stood a couple feet away from a coffee cart a couple blocks away from his building, trying to decide if he really wanted to put himself through that kind of torture.
Coffee reminded him of her. How could it not? That hot brown stimulant ran through her veins. She always smelled a little like coffee…coffee and something ineffable, something he could never quite put a finger on and didn't know if he ever wanted to.
He bought a large black coffee and sat down on a bench across from a park, watching the people rushing back and forth and taking in the smell of the girl who didn't want him.
He could still hear her voice in the crowds. He had stopped searching for her months ago though. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, cruel tricks. It would run through the last things they had said to each other.
Over the bad connection of a Californian pay phone, across the country her voice soft and said, 'I think I may have loved you.'
In the cold air, standing close enough that he could feel her as she spoke,'So what do you have to say?'
In the dark of her freshman dorm,'no, no, no , no, no'
It was the no he heard most often, and as he brought the coffee to his lips he tried not to think of how desperate he was for her and how desperate she was for him to leave.
'Hey. Been tryin' to meet you,' he whispered to himself, The Pixies song bursting to life in his head with all its melancholy notes and its
descriptions of how relationships just didn't work.
It fit him too well.
He was chained to Rory Gilmore and she had whores in her bed... all he could do was pray that she had dumped Dean for some smart Yaley.
If it wasn't him, he wanted her to at least be with someone who was well read - well read and a little dangerous.
He pulled the paper out of his back pocket, and pulling his foot onto the bench, he rested it on his leg.
The paper was crumpled and looked a little grey. It had lost its pure,unattainable quality. Jess pulled the pen out from behind his ear and spun it in his fingers, thinking of how far Rory was from him…not in distance – he could be close to her in a matter of hours - how far she was in society.
Brilliant, beautiful and generations of Gilmore money and leagues of ivy separated them now. Perhaps that had always separated them and he was just noticing now. It was as if they were in an entirely different class, a different species, a subsect, never to touch her high on her pedestal.
He stopped tapping out The Pixies, and put the tip of the pen to the paper curving around his leg.
subsect