Dear Rory,
Please, do not tear this letter up before listening to everything I have to say. . .
---
Dear Rory,
I have a feeling you didn't read that last letter I sent. . .
---
Rory,
You have to understand, what happened last fall, it's not what you think. . .
---
Dearest Rory,
I'm not going to stop sending you these letters until you finally understand what really happened. . .
---
Rory,
Please. . . I'm begging you. . .
* * * * *
Red-rimmed eyes. Steaming cups of coffee. Stacks and stacks of letters, some unopened, some ripped up, some crumpled into disfigured wads of paper. Saddness. Sorrowful acceptance.
This was all she could remember for the past eight months of her life, and she had yet to figure out why. Where had everything gone wrong?
Everything had been so perfect.
So perfect, in fact, that it scared her. Nothing was ever that perfect. . .
That wonderful. . .
She smiled in a sort of nostalgic way, remembering how they had been reunited all those years ago.
* * * * *
Rory gritted her teeth as she slowly tried to weave her way through the insane amount of jumping bodies that had formed a rather intimidating mosh pit.
The music was deafening in her ears and the beat of the base was parrallel with that of the pounding in her temples. She limply gripped her drink above her head as she attempted to make her way into the kitchen, but a party-goer who had been jumping around fell backwards into her, knocking the contents of beer down the front of her shirt.
Jumping back in surprise as the cold beverage slowly seeped into the cotton, turning the light green into a dark emerald, she rolled her eyes and dropped the now empty cup on the ground. "Great," she muttered, admiring the massive circle of wetness that seemed to be growing with each second.
Eyes squinting, clearly under the influence, the guy laughed. "Oh man, I'm sorry," he said, and his clumsy hands searched for something to help her dry off, but came up with nothing. He handed her a throw pillow that had been lying carelessly on the floor and smiled a toothy grin. "Well, you can use that to cover up the stain, just hold it in front of you." With a shrug, he bounded back into the swarm of bodies.
Rolling her eyes, Rory tossed the pillow back onto the floor. "Thats a big help," she grumbled and once again attemped to make her way into the kitchen, this time successful.
She had no idea who's house she was in, and at that moment, she couldn't have cared less. Her roomate, with whom she was not too thrilled with at the moment, had dragged her to this 'gathering' as she had called it, and when she caught sight of the guy she had been hoping to see there, left her to fend for herself.
Rory's eyes scanned the contents of the refridgerator in hopes of finding a bottle of club soda. Just something to get the stain out, she thought to herself, but slammed the door shut with force. She caught sight of a couple making out against the counter, and let out a groan of frusteration. "God, get a room."
Before she could make her way out of the kitchen, she heard the irritating sound of a voice she had thought she'd left in the past. "Mary?"
Freezing in mid step, Rory squeezed her eyes as tightly as she could, so that tiny stars appeared before her in the darkness. Her shoulders slummped forward, her posture clearly emitting signs of helplessness. Could this night get any worse?
Slowly, she turned around and was face-to-face with none other than Tristan DuGray. His ever present smirk was just that, and she had to bite her tongue and clench her fists in order to keep calm. "Hello, Tristan," she almost spat, and the hatred she was feeling towards her roomate, and for this party was rushing out with each ragged breath she was taking.
Tristan raised his eyebrows in something of amusement. "What, not happy to see me?"
"Oh, I'm thrilled." The sarcasm dripped from her voice. "Well, as joyful as this little reunion is, I need to get to the bathroom so that this stain doesn't set."
Rory made her way up the carpeted stairs to the second level of the house and was annoyed to find Tristan trailing in her wake, like an eager puppy that wanted to play fetch. Rory closed her eyes momentairily when she saw the length of the line for the bathroom. She didn't say anything, but only gritted her teeth so hard that it was painful.
"You know, I'd love to help you out of that shirt, it must be awfully uncomfortable." Tristan had leaned against the wall, staring directly into her eyes. There were little flecks of gold in them, he noticed.
"You havn't changed at all, you know that?" Rory crossed her arms and faced away from him, but he didn't say anything. "Why don't you go find the girl you were attatched to in the kitchen? I'm sure she can entertain you."
"Jealous, Mary?" His infuriating smirk was still there and Rory felt like screaming. She was trapped in a bad nightmare, and judging by the fact that the line had seemed to grow twice its size in the past thirty seconds, it would be a while before she could wake up.
* * * * *
Rory laughed despite her feelings of depression as she absently stirred her black coffee with a spoon. Her apartment was silent and the only thing that could be heard was the incessant ticking of the clock.
Hershey, her chocolate brown cat, leapt into her lap and Rory patted the cat with affection. "You're the only good thing in my life right now, Hershey." Rory whispered, and silence fell once again.
Tick. . .
Tock. . .
Tick. . .
Tock. . .
* * * * *
Dear Rory,
Please, if you would just call me, or meet me somewhere, I could explain. . .
---
Mary,
I will never stop trying. . .
---
Rory,
I love you . . .
* * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
