Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. Don't Sue. You won't be gettting much.
Summary: Some types of pain don't hurt physically, then again pain is pain no matter the form. Dark Trory. AU. ONESHOT.
A/N: A little thing I had in my head. Reiviews are schaweet.
"So Mary, Got any plans for the weekend? Besides going out with me?" She rolled her eyes, like she did at every othet little comment he made. Her locker slammed. Thank God It's Friday. Cheesy as it sounded, it was true.
"Nice try, Bible boy. I have a date with Dean tonight. Grandparents are out of town." Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"And where will your mother be during this 'date'?" Tristan said making air quotes.
"Around. Don't worry, full supervision at all times." She skipped off down the hallway, in a way that made Tristan shudder.
"If He Cancels, I'm free. You know my cell." Tristna yelled after her. She turned and stuck her tongue out at him.
He had fallen, hard.
The front door was open. Not Much, but enough to make him worry. It was only 23 degrees outside and as he rushed up the walk way he wrapped his leather jacket around him tightly. He pushed slightly on the door and stepped inside. Silence. Another step. Silence. That was not a good sign.
"He's using you! Can't you see that? He wants to get in your fucking pants! That's It!" He stepped closer, fists clenched. She was almost backed up against her book shelf. She needed an escape. A way to bring him down.
"That's not true, Dean. You know it. Tristan has no feelings for me." The book connected with his head and he stummbled backwards.
Rory dashed for the bathroom, grabbing her purse as she did. She had never run so fast in her life. She slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Just in case.
"Rory...?" His voice broke the silence that covered the whole entire house. A few steps more. He heard a faint sound coming from down the hall. He looked into her room. Several books laid open with crumpled pages and some torn. This was not good.
The noise grew louder as he went furhter down the hall. A closed door.
Her back lay flat against the door pushing all her weight on it. His flat palm slammed against it making her jump everytime. His screaming reverberated through her head. He was being violent.
"DAMN IT! OPEN UP THIS GOD DAMN FUCKING DOOR RORY!" Water flooded her eyes and she couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears streamed down her face, bringing her mascara with it.
"Go." Her voice was shaky at first, "Go home Dean." Again, "Dean Go home." More pounding still, "DEAN, GO HOME!" A few more fists slammed the door. Silence. The front door slammed. He went out with such force when he slammed it, it popped back open.
Before he knocked he put his ear to the door. The water was running, and he could hear her faint sobs.
"Rory...?" He waited a moment, saw the door handle jiggle slightly, and then he turned the knob and entered to find her clothes strayed everywhere and she was only in her matching strawberry shortcake bra and panties. A trail of blood went from her thigh and gathered at a small pool around her left foot. She had intentionally, hurt herself.
The Caller I.D. mocked him. Mary Gilmore. Ha. He almost considered not answering it. She was supposed to be on her date with The Bag Boy. That's what shocked him. Something MUST be up.
"Mary, to what do I owe this wonderful phone call?" Silence. Then she sniffed. He could tell she was crying. For godsake, he had made her cry when he kissed her.
"Sorry." Dial tone.
Wrong. This was all wrong.
He drove fast. Twice the normal speed limit. He needed to help her. Not for some petty satisfaction, because she held his heart. And he was a good guy. Deep down.
Her head was in her hands and she was staring at the now blood stained floor. He kneeled beside her and took her face in his hands.
"Did he hurt you?" His eyes were so fierce that she had to glance elsewhere.
"No. No," She stopped and glanced at her inner thigh, ashamed. "He would have if I didn't make it to the bathroom." She paused again pulling away from him slightly. "I did this-" She looked up at him, "To myself." He reached up and turned off the faucet.
"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" A tiny nod. Lord, she even looked beautiful with mascara down her face, and blood at her feet.
Tristan left the room for a moment and reemerged with a towel. He wiped up around her feet and then all the way up her leg. Five cuts lined her left thigh, some still scabbed, others scarred over. Her other thigh had seven. A perfect line. He stood and looked through the medicine cabinet. He leaned over her and lightly touched a q-tip to the fresh cut running it along the length. He blew ever so slightly on it.
She was ashamed. He could see in her eyes. She looked at him and attepmted to stand up. She fell back onto the toilet seat. His hand rested on her shoulder keeping her steady. Without a word he lifted her up wedding style and carried her to her bed. He laid her down and covered her with the warm blankets.
He began to walk towards the door but, "Stay with me tonight?" He nodded and removed his leather jacket. Laying beside her now, he kissed her forehead.
Some types of pain don't hurt physically, then again pain is pain no matter the form.That was his theory at least.
A/N: This is a one shot. and it didn't turn out how I had in mind but I still love it. reviews are still good. THANKS!