A/N This is a small one shot that features small excerpts of Rory and Jess from Rory's novel and small snippets of how her writing and how he reacts to it. I hope you all enjoy!
There is something to be said about bad boys with fractured hearts. There is an undeniable allure that comes with their half-cocked smiles in your direction. These boys come after the first; after the one who worships the ground you walk on and holds onto you too tight. This boy is a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of being under water. This boy tugs at your heart and your lips and your eyes and every little piece of you— until there is nothing more for you to give.
If love is supposed to be fair and just then what he makes you feel isn't love; it's passion and desire and rebelliousness and— home. It's home. A part of you fears it— rightfully so.
It is the kind of love that is supposed to be feared.
The silence is heavy on the other side.
A breath.
A moment.
"Hello?" she whispers again, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of her, keeping the phone right next to her ear.
Another breath.
Another moment.
This isn't her high school graduation anymore.
She won't talk for him.
"Jess."
Another pause.
She's about to end the call when something makes her stop.
"Rory," he breathes.
The story is filled with passionate conversations and flushed cheeks— caused from both excitement and shame. You are the good girl of the story; the Cinderella of Stars Hollow. You can't mess up the story. Your story is set stone by the town, your mom, your recently involved grandparents and your father figure. You go to College, you read, you watch tv, you ramble, you graduate, you meet a nice guy who adores you and then live happily ever after. It never really bothered you before. You liked your Friday Nights spent with your mom and your best friend and the nice guy who adored you. You think you love him, even. When you meet the boy with the fractured heart that changes. Perhaps not entirely, but noticeably nonetheless.
You start to shift— slowly but surely into a different direction. The stone begins to crack and as foreseen it sends people into panic. Your mother, your neighbours, your boyfriend, everyone. The shame builds but the allure strengthens until slowly slowly the carefully built stone slowly begins to collapse due to the strength of your feelings. You fight it for as long as you can. If you were a warrior you would be bruised and bloodied and broken by now. But you aren't a warrior. You are human.
And you crack. The rock crumbles into tiny bits as you slip up. You—not him. You kiss the boy with the fractured heart while the nice boy waits for you a couple hundred yards away, and you hate yourself afterwards. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself. And you try to rebuild the life you once had with the broken pieces of rubble left but you can't. You ignore that knowledge for as long as you can until the nice boy shoves it down your throat and when you finally admit it to yourself you feel as though the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders.
And so when you cry that night, it's not only because the first relationship you ever had is over because of you, it's because of the relief that overwhelms you.
"Ms. Gilmore are you sure you want to do this?" the Doctor asks with a kind voice, staring down at her gently.
Rory focuses on the grey walls behind her.
Her lips are dry and her heart is hurting, but she nods nonetheless, a tear slipping down her cheek.
"Yes," she whispers shakily, keeping her eyes off of the screen.
Jess places a gentle kiss to the side forehead, and traces the tear with his finger. Her hand searches for his frantically, and the relief that floods through her is overwhelming when she links her fingers through his.
"Alright," the Doctor says eventually.
Another tear slips down her cheek.
It's push and pull between the two of you. No, you don't fight often, that's true, but that's because you both avoid your problems. You never pushed him to talk, and he never knew how to. He didn't know how to open up to you. But that doesn't take away any of the good. You love the way he looks at you when the two of you are alone; like he's caught off guard, and is now retracting his steps. There are moments when he looks at you so tenderly, you feel as though you could sink him. There are too many nights spent talking about books and movies and too many nights spent avoiding each other, not knowing what to say, but your feelings never waver.
He doesn't treat you right, but you don't treat him right either. He is supposed to cherish you, and talk to you about his past, his life, his fears, his dreams. He doesn't. And sometimes, that's enough. More than once, you catch yourself finishing his sentences or guessing what he's thinking and you know he does the same. You are supposed to trust him completely. You are supposed to tell him about how you chose him long ago, before you broke up with the nice boy, but you don't. There are moments when you almost give up, when you almost call it quits because your feelings are too strong and too foreign and you don't know how to cope.
But you don't.
Because if there is one fact that is true throughout the whole relationship, even when it fails a few months after it begins, it is that you always saw each other for what you were.
Rory shuts her laptop and rubs at her eyes, staring out of the window.
The New York City streets are loud and buzzing, even though it's nighttime, but she likes it. It calms her strangely. She stares down at her closed laptop, and the urge to write comes again.
She smiles at the feeling.
Nothing feels your's anymore, after he leaves without a word. No note. No call. Nothing. All those little things that defined you; your keys, your favourite mug, small sentimental trinkets, your favourite movie, passwords. All of it belonged to him. You hide it well, under assuring smiles and hateful rambles and repeating sentences such as 'You were right about him all along'. When he left, he took all the little pieces of you along with him, and if you do hate him for something it isn't for leaving, it's for taking the things that made you you with him.
Boyfriend boxes are meant to store away anything that that reminds you of a relationship; you don't own a big enough box to stuff your body inside. When you trace the curve of your hips you remember him clutching them so tightly you thought he wouldn't let go. When you wet your lower lip you remember his lips against your own. You comb your hair and remember him twirling a strand of it on his finger with a small smirk on his face. You get a haircut. You hate him. (You love him)
He comes back to your small little town when the ground is piled with snow, and he steals your breath away too. He runs from you, and you stand there stunned, until eventually you run from him too. You are dismissive when you are near him, hesitant, moved on. (You aren't, but you're doing a good job convincing everyone that you are, including yourself). He's cold and so so so him, and you expect nothing but a scowl in your direction.
Imagine your surprise when he tells you he loves you. He leaves before you can reply, and leaves you standing there, open mouthed, not knowing what to say. He takes your words from you too. And so you move on. You go to college, kiss a girl, get your first bad grade, and try to reconnect with the first boy you were ever with. (This had disastrous results that scar you and degrade you for the rest of your life, and you know you have no one to blame for your actions. married married married) Your first year of university finishes, and you have begun to think of him less and less. He is the bad boy, and you are the good girl, and your story has finished. You are sure of it.
Until he comes to your dorm one night begging you to come away with him. Telling you that he knew the two of you were supposed to be together and that you knew it too, he knows you do; but you don't. The scars he left have just recently healed, and you remember the time and effort it took to put yourself back together in the wake of his destruction. And so you scream back the only word you know will hurt him as much as he hurt you "No!"
The word echoes in your ears, in your dreams, in your heart for months and months, and years and years until eventually it becomes a whisper that never truly fades. The times you see him next are few and far between, but when you seem him after you turn him away he is the man you always thought he had the potential to be.
He is focused and calm and found while you are lost and alone except for your rich boyfriend that oozes wealth and charm. You are lost then too, just like you were years before, but this time unlike anyone else he see's it. And he points it out. He tells you he knows you better than anyone and that he couldn't have done it without you. The words make your heart beat again. You never thank him for pulling you up, for being your person, for knowing you better than anyone. For getting through to you when no one else could. Not even your mother.
You never had to.
The book is finished.
There is only the dedication left for her to write.
She stares at the blank page for hours on end, unable to find the write words, the write person to thank. She dedicates it to Lorelai, Emily and Richard Gilmore and writes some kind words. But it doesn't feel finished. Complete.
There is one more person she needs to thank.
The person whom she couldn't have done this without.
And to Jess, she finally writes in her scrawl, I couldn't have done it without you.
While there are numerous things that you haven't thanked him for; that you didn't need to tell him because he already knew, there is one thing that you would like him to know; You were— are, and will always be— in love him, and that you are sorry that you never told him when it mattered.
Thank you for being my person.
Jess stands in front of her, his eyes warm and gentle as he stares at her. The park is loud and busy around them, and she's carrying a cup of warm coffee from the Starbucks across the street. She can see the edge of a book from his back pocket, and it warms her heart to know that he still does that after all these years.
He takes the book out of his pocket, and her heart jumps when she realises that it's hers.
Their eyes meet again, warm, hesitant, and slightly nervous.
"It still matters," is all he says.
She doesn't have to ask to figure out what he's talking about.
She smiles.
end.