I'm standing in the poolhouse, unpacking my things. I stop for a moment, wondering if I've done enough unpacking for tonight. I scan my surroundings, taking in my new 'home', and my glance falls on the clock. 9:30. 4 hours since Mom was here. I can't get her face out of my head—or, more accurately, the look on her face. I've only rarely seen her use that look on anybody—let alone me.
I wonder now if we can ever go back to what we were. Go back to being ElectraWoman and DynaGirl. I have this horrible feeling pounding in my gut, telling me that we won't; that nothing will ever go right again. That my life is in shambles. Which it is.
I know now that Grandma will never brag about me again. Never. I'll no longer be the hidden ace she pulls out from up her sleeve to try and redeem Mom's actions. No longer be the angel-child; the great white hope. There'll be no more bragging about Rory, who was valedictorian when she graduated from the prestigious Chilton Academy, and now attends Yale. Now, it will come down to, oh, yes, Rory. The one who lives in the poolhouse.
Pathetic. I whisper the word to myself as I sit down on my bed. Pathetic. That's what people will think when they hear the name Rory Gilmore. A rueful smile plays across my lips as I remember how, this time last year, I worried about people connecting my name to the word whore. Perhaps now I'll be known as Rory Gilmore: the pathetic whore. Certainly a different title from my previous one—Rory Gilmore: the golden girl. The town princess. The girl who could do no wrong.
I flop onto my back with a sigh. Rolling over, burying my face in the pillows; I don't realize I'm crying until I feel the wet cotton underneath my cheeks. I sit up, feeling the hot, salty tears roll down my face. I flop back down again, with all the events of the past few days meshing together into one big mess in my head. I can't even begin to fathom how I'm going to get myself out of this gigantic hole I've dug myself into.