Dear Rory

Dear Rory,

I am going to be more honest with you than I've ever been.

I'm an idiot and a jerk and a bastard and any other thing you want to call me. And of course, you can hate me. You should hate me. It's not like you need my freaking permission anyway. But I really can't stay. I'm getting restless and miserable and this entire city is suffocating and I have to get out. Frankly, I feel like I've gone mad.

This has nothing to do with you but like last time, you're caught in the middle and I don't have a better way of dealing with things other than writing you this letter. I probably should be an adult and tell you this in person but I can't, because if I did, you'd look at me and I can never make sense of anything when you look at me. I'm going to miss you, you know…

I am sorry about this, so sorry, I can't even begin to write the words. I tried, I really did try but I suppose both of us knew that I was still a loser that was going to hurt you. I never mean to but I end up doing it anyway. God, I hope you hate me. But I can't stand looking at the same walls, same people, same fucking everything day after day. It's chocking me, I can't think, I can't write, I can't read, I can't fucking do anything. Can't ask you to come away with me either, no matter how much I want to. What should I say? Come with me, don't know where, leave your job, we'll find a room to live in, this life I can give you is nothing like what you used to dream of? I'm not enough, let's face it, I can't be enough. You should have everything. Not be a part of my mess. You can believe anything you want, hate me, whatever, but you have to know that this has nothing to do with you. I'm leaving despite of you, not because. You're the only thing still keeping me together right now but I can't put this on you forever. My misery would just end up ruining you as well. You are so beautiful and happy and perfect that nothing bad should ever happen to you. And I've been the bad thing ruining your life for far too long.

I'm sorry I can't be better. I want to be. I tried to be. I hoped I could be everything you wanted, but I'm not. I hoped I could give you the world, but instead I am just dragging you through the mud with me. This is killing me so much more than last time. I know that after I leave, I'll have nothing left. At least when I left for California there was this vague sense of hope that someday I would pull myself together and I'd come back to you and we'd be happy together. And now, I am fucking it up again. But I am so messed up, can't stand still, can't take all this shit every day.

I lo

The letter stops in the middle of the word and she takes a deep breath, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries to understand how he had been able to hide all that unhappiness from her. She re-reads the words, slowly, small wet circles appearing on the paper from place to place.

When she's halfway through it for the third time, she hears his steps as he walks in the room, wrapping his arms around her instinctively when he sees her crying, kissing her cheek.

"Are you hurt?"

There is so much concern in his voice, she thinks for a second that it had all been a dream. She wants it to have been, but the paper in her hand is too real for that belief to stick long enough.

"Rory, please tell me what's wrong." He kisses her again, pulling her even closer, his arms feeling so safe around her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

Lifting the letter, she shows it to him and he pulls away, taking it from her.

"Tell me any of that."

She has no idea how her voice is so calm. How she's not yelling from the pain. How she's not bleeding, because is sure as hell feels like she should be. Like some part of her was broken and trampled over.

"Rory, look at me." He pleads with her, lifting her head with his thumb, forcing her to look into his eyes. "That letter? It doesn't matter. I was being an idiot."

"No. You're unhappy." She realizes she's known all along, she had just pushed it to the back of her mind, not wanting to accept it. She never wants to face problems until it's too late. That had always been her downfall.

"I'm not leaving you, ok?" He ignores her statement, the lie choking him as he tries to tell her he isn't. "I was having a bad night, I had too much to drink, I wrote that. But I didn't give it to you. I'm not leaving." He tries to explain himself, looking at her, hoping she'll see in his eyes that he's not lying when he's telling her he's staying.

"You still should have told me."

"Why?" He cups her face in his hands, kissing the trails of tears away. "So I can once again be the one that's making you cry?"

"So I would have known." She states, her mouth attacking his until they're both out of breath. "I'm not as good and perfect as you think I am! You want to put me a pedestal? Too fucking bad! Find a saint, I can't be one." The words fly out, angry, before she cups his face in her hand. "And you're not as bad as you think you are. You've never been the bad thing in my life, Jess." She whispers, looking straight into his eyes and he tries to smile. "You are so many things to me, but never bad."

"I…"

"You nothing. You're leaving tomorrow. I have an article to finish and I may need to work a couple more weeks before I can leave."

"What?" He asks, surprised and she shakes her head.

"I don't think my boss will be ok with me just taking off and I need a reference if I'm to find another job. I'll ask Hugo if he needs me again, I can write for his blog no matter where I am."

"Rory, you can't leave. You have a life here."

"You're my life." She shrugs, even more determined than before. "I'm sorry I didn't face it sooner, I should have. If New York isn't what you want anymore, we'll move all the way down the East Coast and then when that's done, we'll start heading west until we reach San Francisco or Seattle or anywhere you want. And if that's not enough, we'll move to South America or Europe or Australia. I don't give a damn as long as I'm with you."

"You can't leave." He states again and she shakes her head.

"I know it's less spontaneous than your usual fare, but it will have to do, I'm afraid. What books are you taking with you?"

"Ror…"

"No!" She screams again, stomping her foot on the wooden floor. "I can't stand you not being happy, do you understand that? I can't do it. So if leaving is the only thing that will help, I'm coming. The internet's booming, printed press is dying, I can write from any place. So can you. Matthew and Chris will understand, they always do. They understood when you moved to New York, they don't care where you write from as long as you do it."

"You can't come with me, Rory."

"Do you want me?" She is suddenly so afraid of his answer she feels like crying again.

"Yes. God, yes." He pleads with her, nodding. "But you…you're not meant for this. I can't take you away from everything, from your mother, your grandparents, your life." His voice is breaking and she can't help but think of the last time he pleaded with her this way. That time he was asking her to come.

"You're not taking me. I'm coming. I'll deal with mom when the time is right."

"It's not that easy."

"As long as you're there, I don't care." She shakes her head, crumpling the letter between her fingers. "You stayed for me. I'm leaving for you."

"Rory…" He repeats her name for what feels like the millionth time in that conversation and she crushes her mouth to his, kissing him so desperately she feels like it might break her even more. "Why?" He finally whispers when she pulls back and she smiles, amused by his innocence.

"Because you're an exceptionally good fuck. Nothing's more important than that, is it?" She teases, making him finally smirk as she heads for their closet, picking up his old duffel bag. "You grab the books, I'll pack you some clothes. Anything in particular you want, other than the leather jacket? You can't be much of a wandering Kerouac-y rebel without one."

"Whatever." He shakes his head, picking up his most treasured books from the shelf. The lone copy of Oliver Twist he had stolen from a library when he was 8. Howl. Women. For whom the bell tolls. A few others. When he's done, he drops them on top of the clothes in the green tattered bag and kisses her furiously, pushing her towards the bed.

He waits for the sun to rise, chain smoking in bed, with her curled up naked next to him, her head in his lap as his free hand plays in her hair. There isn't really much to say.

"I really thought New York could make me happy."

Something new breaks inside her at the thought of her not being enough for him to be happy. But then again, she didn't want to be. They needed each other to be happy, but solely relying on the other one would have crushed them both. There's only so much you can ask of someone.

"You'll call me when you've picked a city?"

"Any preferences?"

"No." She smiles at his question, his hand still playing in her hair.

"I'll head west and see what looks decent. I don't feel like being close the Atlantic for a while."

"You'll stay safe, right?"

"I will." He reassures her, lighting another cigarette before putting out the match. His lighter had died in the middle of the night. Her eyes are starting to ache and she doesn't know if it's from the smoke in the room or because it's almost time to leave. "You trust me?" He asks and she nods, turning around to look at him.

"Yes."

"You can change your mind at any time."

"I won't." She picks up his hand and kisses it, smiling. "I have no reason to."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Crushing the half smoked cigarette in his hand, he picks up a pen from the bedside table, keeping the cap between his teeth as he pulls away from her, flipping her over, making her laugh furiously before scribbling 'mine' on her hip.

"What's that for?" She laughs, tracing the area around the word with the tips of her fingers.

"No reason." He smirks after throwing the cap to the floor and she grabs the pen from him, pulling his arm and writing the same word on his forearm, grinning.

"So no other girl thinks about touching you while I'm not there." She admits, still laughing.

"There are no other girls." Every woman he'd slept with while she wasn't there was unimportant. Every man she'd slept with while he wasn't there was unimportant. "You'll marry me when we reach Vegas." It's not a question, just a statement and she shrugs, grinning again.

"Of course I will. We'll find a good chapel with some guy dressed like Elvis."

"Not Elvis." He shakes his head, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth for a second before grabbing another cigarette from the pack. "Some guy that looks like he knows what he's doing."

"I hear there's one where we can have Frankenfurter marry us." She smiles as he lights his cigarette again, her fingers still tracing her hip. "Is this my wedding ring?"

"Temporary." He looks at the writing on his arm, reminding himself to stop by a guy that owes him a favor to get it tattooed there.

"You're an idiot." She laughs, shaking her head. "You don't need that permanently etched in your skin. I'm going to be with you; that should be enough."

"When did you become a mind reader?"

"Oh, please, I always know when you're going to do something stupid." She moves to straddle him, looking down into his eyes. "You should at least give me a chance to use my pretty handwriting."

"It's perfect as it is." He cups her face in his hand and pulls her down, catching her lips with his. "I'll get you a real ring before you join me. Do you want an engagement one as well?"

"I don't need a real ring."

"I'm not going to give you a real wedding, a ring is the only thing I can do."

She kisses the hint of regret away from his lips. "As long as I marry you, it's as real as I need."

"There's no way to be married except by church or state. We are married privately. You see, darling, it would mean everything to me if I had any religion. But I haven't any religion…You're my religion. You're all I've got." He recites, smiling.

"Don't bring that bore into this." Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she feels a new wave of pain wash over her as she realizes it's time for him to go and for her to get ready for work. Following her eyes, he nods, the arm he has around her tightening its grip.

"I'll make you coffee while you shower."

"I can shower after you leave."

"You're going to be late for work."

"I'm quitting today, I don't think they'll give a fuck." She smiles, feeling the cigarette taste on the tip of her tongue as it traces his lips.

"I'm a bad influence, you never used to curse before me." He states, smirking.

"It must be some sort of STD, I think. Make me coffee and then I'll let you go."

"Ok." He kisses her one more time before she rolls off him and follows him to the kitchen, pulling his t-shirt on and grabbing his cigarette pack for him. Jumping on a counter she watches as he makes coffee in that machine for the last time and nods to herself, knowing she's made the right decision.

"Jess."

"Huh?" He turns around, nestling himself between her legs, throwing his cigarette in the sink.

"What happens if you're not happier elsewhere?"

"We move back."

"And if that fails?"

"We pull a Romeo and Juliet." He smirks, cupping her face in his hands, holding her still. "We'll figure something out, ok?"

"Next time you keep something like this from me I'm leaving." She closes her eyes as she says that and he nods.

"Seems fair."

"You should go." She kisses the tip of his nose, making him chuckle once.

"I'll call you tonight."

"Don't get that tattooed on you." She points at his arm and he shakes his head, shrugging.

"I like it."

"You're an idiot." She repeats, laughing and sliding off the counter, circling his neck with her arms. "I love you."

"I love you too." He nods solemnly before kissing her again.

She untangles herself from him and watches as he puts on a different t-shirt and grabs his jacket and duffel bag before heading for the front door, the last cigarette in his pack perched behind his left ear. He nods once as a goodbye and leaves and she traces his handwriting one more time before getting ready for the hard day ahead of her.

He's heading west. She'll go with him.

This life he's giving her is nothing like what she used to dream of, but it's the best life she can imagine. She doesn't need anything more.