Writing To Rory
By: Lizabeth
Rated: PG since I have no idea what to rate it. Bad language, I think.
Summary: Five years have passed since a certain Jess left Stars Hollow. Five years since he's been living in New York. Four years since Rory's dreams started to shatter. Okay, so I can't do summaries. My first fic, so please r/r and tell me if it stinks. Some spoilers for the S3 second episode, and for S2. But haven't we all seen that?
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Happy now?
Author's Note: I don't like Gilmore Girls that much. I watch it, yes, but I don't like it. But I do think that it has the most possible material for a fic. So this is going to be the show I make my first fanfiction on. I will beg again for reviews. This story switches inbetween Jess and Rory.
Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine
~If there was to be a story about my life it would have to begin with a disclaimer. DISCLAIMER: My life isn't mine. It belongs to some idiot who can't write for his life. Or her life. Either way, the one who's controlling what's happening to me is some jackass that doesn't seem to want anything good to happen to me. It like he wants me to be one of those people in books that start off with people who won't ever amount to anything, and they have a dream to become more then what life has in store for them and all sorts of crap like that. Except I've been spared the crap. Come to think of it, I wouldn't at all mind crap every now and then. I've been living off reused lines for the past five years.
I've always been messing up. Somewhere along the line I realized that it wasn't possible for someone to mess up this much and still be real. So I decided that I'm someone's puppet and they'd been giving me all the trash that's happened to me... and what I've done to myself.
Disclaimer: My life isn't mine. I don't belong to me. I belong to someone else. Believe me, if this life was mine, I would've done some major plot changing.
But of course it's not mine, and I keep on getting the same plots and meeting the same characters... oh, they're never the same but all that's ever really different is the hair color. I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time...
I suppose my writers think that it's funny to have me like this. Wake up. Have a glass of orange juice. Attempt to live through the day. Oh, it must just wonderful having a puppet.
I'm twenty-two and I'm living in an apartment building in Manhattan, New York. I'm twenty-two and my roommate is a forty-year-old woman who dies her hair blonde and pretends she's twenty. I'm twenty-two and all I drink is orange juice. I'm twenty-two and my life ended when I was three. I'm twenty-two and my life began when I was seventeen. Then ended a bit short of year later.
I know what you're think, Pathetic. You try having a producer.
Maybe I'm exaggarating. Maybe I am trying to come off as insane. But I am telling all the basic truths.
You're a sensible person. You can take everything I've said and separate facts and fantasies, you can tone down until you reach the truth. So we'll skip over analyzing and explaining. We'll go straight to what's important. My life sucks. It really always has. My early years: tragic, sad. My preteen years: tragic, sad. My teen years: tragic, sad. That explains everything you need to know.
I had lived in New York City for as long as I could remember. I have no idea if I was born there, as I could never press my parents for details. When I was seventeen, I guess my mom got fed up with me. Sometimes I can tell myself that she did it because she didn't want me to turn out like she did. But only at night. At night my shell melts away. But during the day I'm sure that she just wanted to get rid of me.
One morning I woke up and my mom said to me, "pack."
I packed.
She took me to the bus and then told me where I was going, "you're going to live in Stars Hollow with your uncle."
Then she gave me a hug - she didn't hug much and this one wasn't great - and left. But I'm not retelling the story of my life here. This little thing is purely for me, and I pretty much know all the nitty-gritty details that most autobiographies so love to draw out and emphasize.
Talking about Stars Hollow is not something I do under normal circumstances. It's not painful.... The best year of my life, yes. Made that by Rory Gilmore.
I loved Rory.
Since this is none of your buisness and if you're reading this you really shouldn't be, as I've written this for no one, I won't elaborate. Let's just say things didn't work out.~
"Jess!" He spun around and saw her. Her eyes were shining and he almost opened his arms. But he couldn't do that.
"Hey."
"I need to talk to you," the light was bouncing off her eyes. They were filled with tears.
"Sure."
"Why are you..." she swallowed. Each time the flourensent bulbs lit up those sapphire's and he saw the tears, he hated himself. Why did he do this? She didn't deserve it, Rory didn't deserve anything bad, "why are you with Shane?"
"I think you mean, 'why didn't I sit around and mope for six weeks, just waiting for a girl who kissed me and ran off?" he was mad now, and the voice that had begged him to take Rory in his arms and kiss her was rapidly decreasing it's volume, "the girl who, even though I'd made it clear that I liked, had told me in her own little innocent ways that she loved some idiot? Some idiot who didn't even have a reason to be with her? Who'd made it clear she wanted not me, but Dean," he was dropping subtleties... not like there was any use for them, "I'm not Dean, Rory, and that's why you liked me. So I'm not going to act like him and sit around with no life until my sweet Rory returns. You didn't write. You didn't tell me you were leaving. You kissed Dean in front of me right after you kissed me. Doesn't give me the best reasons to be with you. To wait around."
"It wasn't a real kiss, Jess. It was a 'hey, hi,' how did you I didn't break up with him? You could've called me."
"I didn't know that you were supposed to be my top priority."
"Maybe I'm playing hard to get!"
"You've been playing hard to get with me for about eight months! I figured you wanted me to back off. Oh, speaking of backing off, by the way, aren't you still with Dean?"
"Maybe I don't want to be with you anymore!"
"You know this isn't about us! It's about Dean! Are you still with him," suddenly he stopped talking. Her mouth was opening and closing. His tone softer, he took her by the shoulders and looked straight at her, "are you?"
She stared down at the floor and then manadged a grin through her heavy flowing tears, "if I wasn't," she whispered, "would you like to go out sometime?"
"Rory, are you?"
She leaned against the shelf and rested her forehead against the cheap metal, "yes."
He dropped her shoulders and stopped the intense stare, "great."
She looked up and her pink lips parted, but he turned and stormed out of the store, recieved an annoyed call from Taylor about slamming doors. All he could hear was his own stupidity pounding in his ears, never should've moved back, never should've moved back....
Alright, so once the pen gets going, it's hard to stop writing. I've told you, oh reader who will never be, far more than you need to know.
Rory and I were perfect for each other. We both loved to read... and we had tastes that were similar enough and different enough that we had the most glorious debates and discussions. Rory was the first one I could ever talk to. Rory was the only one who looked past that I outlined "dead" bodies in chalk, that I stole donations from little boxes. That I took a gnome. And Rory made me want to stop stealing, stop being a 'bad boy'. Actually, Rory made me want to do about anything that would make me more desirable in her eyes. That is why I took the things, I know. All I wanted was her.
But she had a boyfriend.
So? was all I really thought of that until she made it all clear to me that we were just friends.
I wanted much more than that.
And then when she kissed me, what did I do? Find myself a making-out partner. Not even a girlfriend. Just a sleezy un-Stars Hollow-ish type. Why? I don't know. Ask my writers. They're the ones who snatched the Rory character and put her in Washington. Were they trying to test me then?
Well, I failed the test.
After the fight, Rory made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. I manadged to live a month without her and then left.
Sometimes I think about what happened to her. She probably went to Harvard and now has a nice boyfriend who can stand Ann Raynd. Who waits outside her classes every day to escort her to her dorm. Kisses her goodnight, doesn't sneak into her room, is liked by everybody. Sort a version of her old boyfriend with a brain this time.
It's no good wondering. She deserves the good life she no doubt has, and I deserve my roommate. I deserve everything I've gotten.
But if I knew that if I was the perfect little twenty-two year old they would write Rory back in, believe me, the very tone of my voice would be sickly sweet.~
Jess walked into his apartament. June was sitting in his reading chair. Ignoring the woman he sat down on top of her and began to read, scribbling notes every now and then.br "So, sweetie, how was work?"
He underlined a word.
"Where do you work again?"
He circled this paragraph.
"Jess, do you want me to get up?"
"You think?" he mumbled, still not tearing his eyes from the page.
"Okay honey."
He rolled off her lap onto the chair as she stood up. She cast him a patronizing look he ignored, "Jess, I need your opinion on something."
"Work was fine, I work at Strictly Coffee and," he glanced up before dropping his eyes back to the world of Hemmingway, "you need to redye your hair."
She nervously primped it, "do you really think so?"
He got up and walked into his room, slamming the door.
So was his life.
Rory,
It's amazing how much you can miss someone that you love... even after five years. Of course I miss and regret what I did every day. Of course you probably regret ever kissing me in the first place and being unfaithful to your dear bag boy, so there's really no point in sending this. I'm not going to.
Every day I have my little things to remind me of you. Strictly Coffee has that aroma that so enticed you and brought you to Luke's diner every day. With every cup I fill I think of your face. Ah, yes, this is Rory love poetry. What should I call it? Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine?
Today June tried to act like a mother again. Caring wasn't one of the things my mom did best, so I'm not sure June's doing it right. Maybe you could tell me how Lorelai does it.
My life is pretty much as bitter as that coffee stuff you love so much. Do you know that all I drink is orange juice? My life has been pathetic since you left it. But you know that.
- Jess
He gave the paper a faint smile and put it in the Rory Pile. He'd been writing letters to her for four years now. The Rory Pile was a big box by now. He adressed each letter to where she used to live. He almost laughed as he thought of what might happen if Lorelai read all these letters.
Between pouring coffee, his joke autobiography, and writing letters to Rory he would never send, his life was reading. Books had always been there for him. They were there now. But even books didn't hold all the comfort they used to. With each word he was forced to think of Rory.
He never really new if he loved thinking of her bent over a book, only a few strands of hair falling into her face... or couldn't stand it.
And though he told himself every day and he knew that life without Rory Gilmore was pathetic, worthless, and pointless for him, he never let himself say that he missed her.
That would really be to much of saying that it was his fault she was gone.
And he had to blame that on the producers of his life.
Miles and miles away, she was washing dishes.
****So, how'd you like it? Was it promising? Feel free to tell me THE BITTER TRUTH. I can handle it! But PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review!
By: Lizabeth
Rated: PG since I have no idea what to rate it. Bad language, I think.
Summary: Five years have passed since a certain Jess left Stars Hollow. Five years since he's been living in New York. Four years since Rory's dreams started to shatter. Okay, so I can't do summaries. My first fic, so please r/r and tell me if it stinks. Some spoilers for the S3 second episode, and for S2. But haven't we all seen that?
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Happy now?
Author's Note: I don't like Gilmore Girls that much. I watch it, yes, but I don't like it. But I do think that it has the most possible material for a fic. So this is going to be the show I make my first fanfiction on. I will beg again for reviews. This story switches inbetween Jess and Rory.
Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine
~If there was to be a story about my life it would have to begin with a disclaimer. DISCLAIMER: My life isn't mine. It belongs to some idiot who can't write for his life. Or her life. Either way, the one who's controlling what's happening to me is some jackass that doesn't seem to want anything good to happen to me. It like he wants me to be one of those people in books that start off with people who won't ever amount to anything, and they have a dream to become more then what life has in store for them and all sorts of crap like that. Except I've been spared the crap. Come to think of it, I wouldn't at all mind crap every now and then. I've been living off reused lines for the past five years.
I've always been messing up. Somewhere along the line I realized that it wasn't possible for someone to mess up this much and still be real. So I decided that I'm someone's puppet and they'd been giving me all the trash that's happened to me... and what I've done to myself.
Disclaimer: My life isn't mine. I don't belong to me. I belong to someone else. Believe me, if this life was mine, I would've done some major plot changing.
But of course it's not mine, and I keep on getting the same plots and meeting the same characters... oh, they're never the same but all that's ever really different is the hair color. I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time...
I suppose my writers think that it's funny to have me like this. Wake up. Have a glass of orange juice. Attempt to live through the day. Oh, it must just wonderful having a puppet.
I'm twenty-two and I'm living in an apartment building in Manhattan, New York. I'm twenty-two and my roommate is a forty-year-old woman who dies her hair blonde and pretends she's twenty. I'm twenty-two and all I drink is orange juice. I'm twenty-two and my life ended when I was three. I'm twenty-two and my life began when I was seventeen. Then ended a bit short of year later.
I know what you're think, Pathetic. You try having a producer.
Maybe I'm exaggarating. Maybe I am trying to come off as insane. But I am telling all the basic truths.
You're a sensible person. You can take everything I've said and separate facts and fantasies, you can tone down until you reach the truth. So we'll skip over analyzing and explaining. We'll go straight to what's important. My life sucks. It really always has. My early years: tragic, sad. My preteen years: tragic, sad. My teen years: tragic, sad. That explains everything you need to know.
I had lived in New York City for as long as I could remember. I have no idea if I was born there, as I could never press my parents for details. When I was seventeen, I guess my mom got fed up with me. Sometimes I can tell myself that she did it because she didn't want me to turn out like she did. But only at night. At night my shell melts away. But during the day I'm sure that she just wanted to get rid of me.
One morning I woke up and my mom said to me, "pack."
I packed.
She took me to the bus and then told me where I was going, "you're going to live in Stars Hollow with your uncle."
Then she gave me a hug - she didn't hug much and this one wasn't great - and left. But I'm not retelling the story of my life here. This little thing is purely for me, and I pretty much know all the nitty-gritty details that most autobiographies so love to draw out and emphasize.
Talking about Stars Hollow is not something I do under normal circumstances. It's not painful.... The best year of my life, yes. Made that by Rory Gilmore.
I loved Rory.
Since this is none of your buisness and if you're reading this you really shouldn't be, as I've written this for no one, I won't elaborate. Let's just say things didn't work out.~
"Jess!" He spun around and saw her. Her eyes were shining and he almost opened his arms. But he couldn't do that.
"Hey."
"I need to talk to you," the light was bouncing off her eyes. They were filled with tears.
"Sure."
"Why are you..." she swallowed. Each time the flourensent bulbs lit up those sapphire's and he saw the tears, he hated himself. Why did he do this? She didn't deserve it, Rory didn't deserve anything bad, "why are you with Shane?"
"I think you mean, 'why didn't I sit around and mope for six weeks, just waiting for a girl who kissed me and ran off?" he was mad now, and the voice that had begged him to take Rory in his arms and kiss her was rapidly decreasing it's volume, "the girl who, even though I'd made it clear that I liked, had told me in her own little innocent ways that she loved some idiot? Some idiot who didn't even have a reason to be with her? Who'd made it clear she wanted not me, but Dean," he was dropping subtleties... not like there was any use for them, "I'm not Dean, Rory, and that's why you liked me. So I'm not going to act like him and sit around with no life until my sweet Rory returns. You didn't write. You didn't tell me you were leaving. You kissed Dean in front of me right after you kissed me. Doesn't give me the best reasons to be with you. To wait around."
"It wasn't a real kiss, Jess. It was a 'hey, hi,' how did you I didn't break up with him? You could've called me."
"I didn't know that you were supposed to be my top priority."
"Maybe I'm playing hard to get!"
"You've been playing hard to get with me for about eight months! I figured you wanted me to back off. Oh, speaking of backing off, by the way, aren't you still with Dean?"
"Maybe I don't want to be with you anymore!"
"You know this isn't about us! It's about Dean! Are you still with him," suddenly he stopped talking. Her mouth was opening and closing. His tone softer, he took her by the shoulders and looked straight at her, "are you?"
She stared down at the floor and then manadged a grin through her heavy flowing tears, "if I wasn't," she whispered, "would you like to go out sometime?"
"Rory, are you?"
She leaned against the shelf and rested her forehead against the cheap metal, "yes."
He dropped her shoulders and stopped the intense stare, "great."
She looked up and her pink lips parted, but he turned and stormed out of the store, recieved an annoyed call from Taylor about slamming doors. All he could hear was his own stupidity pounding in his ears, never should've moved back, never should've moved back....
Alright, so once the pen gets going, it's hard to stop writing. I've told you, oh reader who will never be, far more than you need to know.
Rory and I were perfect for each other. We both loved to read... and we had tastes that were similar enough and different enough that we had the most glorious debates and discussions. Rory was the first one I could ever talk to. Rory was the only one who looked past that I outlined "dead" bodies in chalk, that I stole donations from little boxes. That I took a gnome. And Rory made me want to stop stealing, stop being a 'bad boy'. Actually, Rory made me want to do about anything that would make me more desirable in her eyes. That is why I took the things, I know. All I wanted was her.
But she had a boyfriend.
So? was all I really thought of that until she made it all clear to me that we were just friends.
I wanted much more than that.
And then when she kissed me, what did I do? Find myself a making-out partner. Not even a girlfriend. Just a sleezy un-Stars Hollow-ish type. Why? I don't know. Ask my writers. They're the ones who snatched the Rory character and put her in Washington. Were they trying to test me then?
Well, I failed the test.
After the fight, Rory made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. I manadged to live a month without her and then left.
Sometimes I think about what happened to her. She probably went to Harvard and now has a nice boyfriend who can stand Ann Raynd. Who waits outside her classes every day to escort her to her dorm. Kisses her goodnight, doesn't sneak into her room, is liked by everybody. Sort a version of her old boyfriend with a brain this time.
It's no good wondering. She deserves the good life she no doubt has, and I deserve my roommate. I deserve everything I've gotten.
But if I knew that if I was the perfect little twenty-two year old they would write Rory back in, believe me, the very tone of my voice would be sickly sweet.~
Jess walked into his apartament. June was sitting in his reading chair. Ignoring the woman he sat down on top of her and began to read, scribbling notes every now and then.br "So, sweetie, how was work?"
He underlined a word.
"Where do you work again?"
He circled this paragraph.
"Jess, do you want me to get up?"
"You think?" he mumbled, still not tearing his eyes from the page.
"Okay honey."
He rolled off her lap onto the chair as she stood up. She cast him a patronizing look he ignored, "Jess, I need your opinion on something."
"Work was fine, I work at Strictly Coffee and," he glanced up before dropping his eyes back to the world of Hemmingway, "you need to redye your hair."
She nervously primped it, "do you really think so?"
He got up and walked into his room, slamming the door.
So was his life.
Rory,
It's amazing how much you can miss someone that you love... even after five years. Of course I miss and regret what I did every day. Of course you probably regret ever kissing me in the first place and being unfaithful to your dear bag boy, so there's really no point in sending this. I'm not going to.
Every day I have my little things to remind me of you. Strictly Coffee has that aroma that so enticed you and brought you to Luke's diner every day. With every cup I fill I think of your face. Ah, yes, this is Rory love poetry. What should I call it? Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine?
Today June tried to act like a mother again. Caring wasn't one of the things my mom did best, so I'm not sure June's doing it right. Maybe you could tell me how Lorelai does it.
My life is pretty much as bitter as that coffee stuff you love so much. Do you know that all I drink is orange juice? My life has been pathetic since you left it. But you know that.
- Jess
He gave the paper a faint smile and put it in the Rory Pile. He'd been writing letters to her for four years now. The Rory Pile was a big box by now. He adressed each letter to where she used to live. He almost laughed as he thought of what might happen if Lorelai read all these letters.
Between pouring coffee, his joke autobiography, and writing letters to Rory he would never send, his life was reading. Books had always been there for him. They were there now. But even books didn't hold all the comfort they used to. With each word he was forced to think of Rory.
He never really new if he loved thinking of her bent over a book, only a few strands of hair falling into her face... or couldn't stand it.
And though he told himself every day and he knew that life without Rory Gilmore was pathetic, worthless, and pointless for him, he never let himself say that he missed her.
That would really be to much of saying that it was his fault she was gone.
And he had to blame that on the producers of his life.
Miles and miles away, she was washing dishes.
****So, how'd you like it? Was it promising? Feel free to tell me THE BITTER TRUTH. I can handle it! But PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review!