A/N: The song is "She's Gonna Break Soon" by Less Than Jake
With so many problems in her life it just comes as no surprise
She's gonna break soon
Gonna break soon
She's gonna break
Welcome to her busy dizzy life
Of going out and getting high
And following all the latest trends
While shedding all her oldest friends
Chapter 1- . . .Beginning
She had an epiphany.
It was the umpteenth time in the passed few months that she had been so drunk she couldn't stand without support and could not understand for the life of her the words coming out of her own mouth. She was used to it now and it almost didn't even phase her when she woke up the next day with her face glued to the floor by a puddle of drool and puke. She'd just pop a couple of aspirin, shower and go lay out another stupid seating chart.
Then she would start it all over again.
Her life had become frustratingly, pathetically redundant. At this point what was she supposed to do about that? She had nowhere to go, no other future to strive for. She was just another high class fuck up now. Nothing more. Nothing spectacular. She wasn't a promising young journalist or a hard working Yale student. She wasn't even a devoted Literati anymore. She was just sober enough to know that she couldn't remember the last thing she read that actually had substance to it. It was all five piece orchestras and five star caterers, expensive ballrooms and extensive guest lists.
But that didn't matter. A shot of tequila moved Finn's rendition of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' to the forefront of her mind again.
"Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart. There's nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart."
Sing it sister.
Everything was fine and dandy and wobbling ever so slightly, but then she just had to go out to the main room in the loft that cost more than her mother's house twice over where in the dim lighting was Logan. He was with Stephanie and a handful of other society brats leaning over a glass table diligently and meticulously dividing fine white substance into surprisingly even lines with one of their parents' special issue MasterCard.
When Logan noticed her he smiled his sloppy, wasted smile and waved her over excitedly, "Ace! About time. I saved you a spot," he said patting the spot next to him affectionately.
Rory only hesitated a moment before taking a cautious step forward. And then another.
And in a split second she saw exactly how this would play out:
She could see herself leaning over the table and snorting up whatever that was. Crack? Coke? Merely a crushed up pill? She never could keep them straight, she never had any reason to.
She caught herself completely off guard by thinking about maybe just this once. She knew this was how all good, tragic sob stories started: She was so bright. So driven. And then she wasn't anymore. She said just once. But once turned into twice and so on before coke (crack?) became heroin and heroin became a nice pretty headstone in the most exclusive cemetery her name could get her in the most beautiful coffin her grandparents' money could buy. All of that wasted talent, that horribly wasted young life gone by.
And she saw her funeral attended by everyone in Hartford society. They would all turn the other cheek. She would have had an obscure, terminal disease that maybe if they caught it just a little sooner. . .maybe she'd have a chance.
Her mom wouldn't be there because they were in a fight and the disappointment and the despair. What would become of her?
Luke wouldn't be there. He'd be busy tending to her mother.
Lane probably wouldn't be there. It had been awhile. And her grandmother never did learn her name, preferring to call her "That Asian Friend of Yours".
Paris never did approve.
The town wouldn't be welcome.
Her dad was sporadically MIA.
Jess and Dean. . .who knew where they were now?
The only people that would be there in the end would be her overbearing grandparents, Logan and a handful of people she either didn't know, didn't like or people who secretly hated her because her death had interrupted Sunday afternoon brunch.
Things were never supposed to escalate this quickly. She was nineteen when she got drunk for the first time, for Christ's sake. That was only two years ago (her kindergarten teacher did say that she excelled when presented with a new challenge) and just because she was legally allowed to drink now, didn't mean doing drugs were legal. Not now or ever. In fact, she was pretty sure it was a felony, but that could've been the fear talking.
Then she envisioned prison because--oh, God if she was caught she'd have another felony. Her first would never be expunged from her record and the judge wouldn't be so kind a second time.
A second time!
There was never meant to be a first. She never planned on a first. She never planned on stealing a boat. Or quitting Yale (or Yale, in the first place). Or becoming a society lady. Or not talking to her mom. That was just insane.
Prison had certainly not been part of the plan. She was not cut out for prison. She was weak and fragile and she bruised easily. She had never (willingly) experimented. She couldn't be anyone's prison bitch!
That's when one of the unnamed women snorted a line and Rory bolted out of the room, relying on the hallway walls to keep her steady until she reached the elevator.
She needed out. She needed to be far, far away from here. She needed to go home. If only she had one.
She heard Logan stumble after her and when he reached her, she was in the elevator.
"Ace, where are you going?" He asked, sticking his hand in between the doors before they could shut all the way.
"I--have to go," She slurred.
"Ace--Rory, you're drunk. You can't go, you'll get hurt. Come on, let's go lay down. You'll feel better in the morning." Logan reached for her carefully. Sounding very sober despite his dilated eyes.
She shook her head and stepped easily away from him.
"No, I can't be here. Not with--," She couldn't say it. She wasn't here right now. She was in a tiny room in a twin sized bed with clothes too big for her body and books too big for her young mind.
"Oh, that--forget that. Come on, let's go," He stepped into the elevator and for a second she thought he meant to come with her, but he just needed to be closer to try to usher her out. And she couldn't tell if she was disappointed, angry or a little relieved that he didn't plan on going with her. That he planned on keeping her there.
"I can't, Logan. And I can't do--this--anymore," She said brushing his loose grip off of her arm, "I have to go."
He was shocked into backing up enough for the doors to shut. She wasn't sure why he had that look in his eye until she heard her own voice repeating the words in her head again. She just broke up with him, didn't she? She hadn't intended it, but her words and actions could have been interpreted as so. . . .
When she got to the ground floor she waited in the marble lobby, in a straight back wooden chair with fancy, plush seats, trying not to fall over. She waited and waited. Five minutes, ten, twenty, twenty-five before she realized he wasn't coming down and she could not go back up. She shuddered to think what he was doing at this very moment.
On her way out, the sleepy doorman gave her a kind smile, seeming to know exactly what a bad night she had turned out having. She returned it but it only made her sadder and before the sweet old man could see her hysteric crying she made a quick exit and hurried down the street and around the corner before leaning against the building and dry heaving until she couldn't breathe anymore. She was pretty sure she had just experienced a panic attack. Her face was numb and her eyes were blurred with tears.
Her life was a train wreck. Her mother hated her, her grandmother suffocated her, she broke up with her boyfriend and she just realized that she had nowhere to go but up, but she couldn't remember at all which way the light shown.
And this actually gave a result to the heaving. Luckily, missing her body.
It was dark out and cold and very lonely. The last she knew it was past midnight, but only barely. And that could've been a long time ago.
She looked around trying to find a building she could at least vaguely place. She had no idea where she was; when Logan's driver picked her up from the Manor she was already a bit tipsy and trusted that when the time came Logan would get her home. But, the time had come and Logan was nowhere to be found. She was lost.
This was round two, until she had nothing left in her stomach to throw up.
Wiping her face with a shaking hand Rory started to walk down he street hoping to find some familiar ground.
She had walked a block and nothing came to her. Not to mention her thoughts were fuzzy and her heart was beating out of her ribcage in fear. She couldn't stop looking behind her and jumping every time the wind blew wrong.
Another block and she could feel a second panic attack coming on. Before much could happen, her unstable ankles twisted and caught her heal in a crack bringing her down before she knew what hit her. . .it was concrete, and it hurt.
She threw her broken heal into the street with a frustrated groan and proceeded to breakdown on the sidewalk.
Everything was wrong.
Sitting on the curb, she pulled out her phone and quickly flew through her contacts, and when she found that she had no one to call, she nearly threw her phone into the street (to keep her heal company. . .it was bound to get lonely). She forced herself to breathe and checked her phone again.
For the same reasons that no one would come to her funeral, she could not wake them up at 2:00 AM to come get her sorry ass. She sniffled a bit before finally hitting 'send' and slowly bringing the phone to her ear.
No matter what time it was, no matter how long it had been, her mother had to take pity on her. It rang and it rang, but there was no answer, not until an automated voice clicked on, "I'm sorry the number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you are trying to reach--"
"--Lorelai Gilmore or Paul Anka--" Her mother's hurried voice came one briefly before being cut out again.
"--Please dial 867-5--"
The idea that she hadn't been notified that her mom had changed her number stunned her so much that she couldn't even muster a laugh at the Paul Anka joke. She had to remind herself that she had done the same thing not too long ago. She never appreciated how upset her mom was at not being told about the slight change.
What if she moved out of her childhood home? What if strangers were living in her bedroom and erasing all of the memories made in the house over the years? What if that was the reason the house number they'd had since she could remember suddenly wasn't anyone's anymore?
She could not do this right now. There would be plenty of time to cry her poor heart out when she was safe and in doors.
She continued to scroll up and down, up and down, passed the names of all of the people she had ever known. She contemplated one name in particular. It was the biggest long shot of them all. The probability of his number being the same was slim to none. The probability of him being on the East Coast and willing to come get her was even less. But, he was her only shot. She had to try.
The last time they spoke wasn't pleasant but he swore up and down that he was different. He was responsible and could take care of her. This would be proof--or not.
"Yeah?" The voice answered groggily. So, he was either on the East Coast or an early sleeper, which last she knew he wasn't. "Hello?"
She tried to speak, but found herself paralyzed.
"Listen, Asshole, you woke me up. You better at least say hello," He growled irritably.
"Jess?" She squeaked.
"Yes," He said tentatively.
"Jess, everything is just falling apart. Everything's wrong. I don't know what to do. I don't have anywhere to go," She bawled into the phone, holding her forehead in her palm.
"Rory? Is that you?" He asked. There was shock and disbelief evident in his voice but there was also the feeling like he was about to make fun of her, like she was drunk dialing him or something. Well, she technically kind of was, but it was on purpose.
"I'm serious, Jess," She said, "There's no one else I can call. . .I--everything is just so messed up. There's really. . .no one else."
"What about your mom?" He asked tiredly.
"Like I said, I ruined everything. Like everything, everything," She told him desperately, "Please, Jess. I need you."
Sensing the urgency and gravity of the situation Rory had seemingly gotten herself into he sat up, she could hear his blankets shifting.
"Alright," He said. "I'm up. I'm coming. Where are you?"
"Hartford," She said lamely, looking back up at her surroundings. Still nothing.
"That homing chip I had implanted in your skin has been on the fritz lately. You got a street name? An address?"
"I don't have one," She said biting her lip to stifle a sob, "I don't know where I am."
Jess sighed. She really was in trouble. What had she done that she couldn't call her mom and ended up on an apparently nameless streets, alone and--was she slightly drunk or was that just his ears playing tricks on him?
He pulled out his old backpack and shoved some shirts and underwear and his wallet inside before grabbing his shoes and keys and shutting his apartment door behind him. With his phone trapped between his shoulder and cheek he slipped on his sneakers as he walked down the hall, he said, "Look up. No signs?"
Obeying, she searched for one but there were none in sight. Not that she had even thought to check. Maybe she was more drunk than she originally thought.
"No."
"Start walking. Find one."
It was on the next block that she saw the sign for an intersection, "Constitution and Main."
"Good that's a start," He said and she could hear the road flying by on his side, "Anything open down there?"
She scanned the area and a flashing neon sign told her that the Hartford Midnight Bowlean would welcome her.
"Yes," She said. "Bowling Alley."
"Okay. Go inside and wait. I'll be about forty-five minutes."
"Thank you, Jess," She said hobbling over to the entrance.
"Are you going to be okay?" He asked brushing off her thanks.
"I think so," She hesitated before asking, "Hey, Jess?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you really think I'm an asshole?"
She could hear his light chuckle, "Not even close."
"You might change your mind," She said quietly and Jess pretended not to hear.
"I'll see you soon. Be careful."
And then he was gone. And so was she.
