Slave to His Song
Author: SweetThing
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own nothin'. Not even good speaking skills! I also don't own Gilmore Girls, or the characters in it. The lyrics are from Bree Sharp's "Walk Away" from her CD, A Cheap and Evil Girl. So is the title, I just switched the wording around a bit. Anyway, she's been rocking my stereo since the 7th grade, but I still don't own the lyrics, either. They're all hers. Also, Inherit The Wind and Bonne Belle Lipsmackers? Not mine.
Author's Note: Well, the day is upon us. I finally wrote something! This is a one-parter, but I may write a sequel to it in the future, if I feel like it. It's doubtful, but you never know. Reviews are loverly, as Eliza Doolittle would say, and since this is my first fic, I would love to know your thoughts, good or bad.
Dedications: To Angeleyez, the best beta evah, and Avid--being in my place a few months back, I really hope she enjoys this.
The moon is pulling at me, the moon is pulling at you/You swear to me it's the sun, that's shining through/It's hard to push for the truth when lies are easy to find/ I'm left with, I'm left with this trouble in mind
I hate this.
Ah yes, count on me to say such profound things. Yep, that's me, Rory Gilmore: master of showing her emotions. Or in this case, not showing them. Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe I've always not shown my feelings, and this time I'm truly showing them. That doesn't sound right either, but maybe—
Ack! See, now here I go with the babbling again. One of the "unique" qualities I possess that only my mother seems to share with me. It's stuff like this that always made it seem like Lorelai and me really did live in our own little "world", growing up in the town that I grew up in. A world that's always pretty, untouchable, and vibrant, in this really warm and, fine, I'll say it—quirky kind of way. Even our problems, and of course, our occasional fights, didn't seem as horrible or as big; slapped against a warm, colorful backdrop. Everyone loves us, we love them—so whatever else is going on, it will be resolved, and this safe haven of ours, this…confection of a place that my mom
raised me in, will still be here. That feeling will remain.
But not this time. At least, it seems like it anyway. Which brings me back to my aforementioned statement: this is pure, unadulterated hell. Anyhow, that's not the point. The point is that the previous atmospheric heaven that my mother and I lived in for so long—sugary frosting and all—is slowly being torn away. Every day, the rift grows deeper. The one between adolescence and actually being an adult. Once I leave for college, said heaven may be gone completely.
And it's all his fault.
Jess forced me to look beyond this seemingly perfect town and to take a look at the world the rest of us live in. You know, the real world teachers always like to scare their students with. Where, once you are of age, you have to work, raise a family; be independent, self-sufficient, self-reliant! Rah rah rah, go team! I had heard that "cheer" many times from many a different teacher. I thought I had at least a good idea of what it would be like. Boy, was I wrong. Jess also caused me to do things I never thought I'd be doing around this time two years ago. I was so surrounded by love. In fact, I still am. And I still feel that every day.
Only now, although I'm grateful for it, it doesn't factor into everything. It doesn't make anything go away, no matter how much I felt like it did before. Sure, Taylor's opening that crazy Soda Shoppe of his, and passing out flyers at Fran's funeral! Wonder what Luke will do? That wacky guy, he never quits! Yes, that's all fine and dandy, as I would say if I was part of some fifty's movie cast. The same, and worth a laugh, but fine.
But it doesn't matter, 'cause my heart hurts.
Wow, how old am I? I just can't think of a better way to describe my state right now. Yes, I am a huge cliché. But that's literally how I feel right now. I've read stuff like this of thousands times—particularly when I went through my brief but embarrassing Love Stories phase (hey, try being the only girl in class who didn't always have one of those horribly cheesy books to read during the study period in the 7th grade! It's not fun, and besides: even Lane was reading them; I had to see what all the fuss what about). It was always something like, "Her heart broke just thinking about it" or, "His heart literally ached", etc, etc, insert ridiculously over-the-top plotline here.
I just never realized: it's true. I have this dull ache in the middle of my chest. And whenever my boyfriend enters my mind, there's this pain, hitting me sharp and quick, and this sadness overtakes me that I don't quite understand. Jess caused this hurt in me, and it all started when I kissed him at Sookie's wedding last spring. God, that seems like a million years ago. Everything we shared together, all our "moments" that we've had, led up to this. This aching, this lost feeling. The thought is so depressing, that I suddenly wish I could go back there.
Back to that place in time where what I felt for him was so exciting, and new. The adrenaline rush I felt whenever I saw him. The secretly hoping he'd glance at me meaningfully, like he used to do every chance he got; or even that he would throw me one of his now-infamous sarcastic remarks. But these were different with me. I could tell, it had always been different with me. The things he would say to me then were always laced with a certain caring, a particular—innuendo—that I could never quite pick up on until I realized my feelings for him went way beyond, "friendish". We could match each other. Word for word. Reference to reference. We were so in sync with each other, yet so different, that it's almost uncanny. And that's one of the reasons why this hurts so much. I miss that. I miss…yes it's corny, but I miss us. We've fought so much lately that the "us" got buried somewhere.
One would think that I'm upset about all of this stuff with me and Jess so much, particularly our latest encounter, because maybe those feelings I have for him have faded. Or perhaps have revealed themselves to be nothing more than lust. A passing infatuation.
A crush.
I laugh, my voice laced with bitterness. I knew even when Lorelai said that at the End-of-Summer Festival that she was kidding herself. What I feel for Jess puts a "crush" to shame. That is, if it were actually a living, breathing organism. Anyway though, these feelings haven't faded. Once he and I became an "official couple", and I could kiss him, call him, and even hug him or hold his hand, whenever I pleased, these feelings grew about a thousand times stronger. It was like someone had put a huge magnifying glass on them. Or blown them up, as if they were picture you got developed at convience store. (I really have to find better comparisons). It sounds like the feelings were an illusion or something, but honestly, they weren't. Aren't. The scary thing about them was that they were so real. I wasn't used to "real" when it came to guys. I was used to, "too good to be true", and "near-perfect". Still, I liked the way real felt.
Then, about two or three months or so into our relationship, someone held said magnifying glass up to an intensely bright light. And it started burning a hole into whatever the beam of light touched. The sexual tension, that is, between Jess and me, began to rise. Suddenly, I would have passing thoughts about doing things that would have made even Louise Grant's jaw drop. Still, I was able to keep them in control. But it kept getting harder. Oh dear Lord. Dirty! I have become my mother, ladies and gentlemen. It's official. But the point is, the night of that Kyle person's party, they had pretty much reached a boiling point, despite the fact that there was obviously something wrong with Jess. It had building for weeks now.
No, my feelings for him are just as strong now. In fact, they may be even stronger. And that's why I am so distraught. They hurt. Caring this much about a person hurts. Like hell. It almost feels like something I should go to the doctor for. All I feel like doing right now is going into Mom's room, curling up with her in her bed, and saying, like I used to do when I was younger, "Mommy, it hurts. Make it go away". Sure, my "hurts" sounded more like Riff from West Side Story's interpretation of the word, but I got my point across. Lorelai seemed to fix whatever problems I had, in this magical, almost effortless way. But I doubt she can fix this. Besides, I'm smart. I'm mature. I'm going to Yale! And even though it's only twenty-two point eight miles away, I'm gaining independence, and—
Oh God.
There it is again. Jess was the one who figured out the exact mileage. Because he'd be here, stuck in Stars Hollow, while his girlfriend was off getting higher education. And I'm reminded of yet another reason why I ache like this. All I wanted to do was help him! Let him talk to me, let me comfort him, for lack of a better word. Jesus, I just wanted to take care of him! I can't remember feeling like that towards anyone, sans my mom when she gets sick. But that's different. I don't want to bring Jess chicken soup and Tylenol. And I really can't remember feeling this way about Dean. But then, he never really had that many serious problems, apart from your basic teenage ones. If he had, of course I would have been there for him. They just never came up between us. Honestly, I really don't know if he just never felt the need to confide in me or if he just didn't need—well, me.
The point is, it goes deeper with Jess. He needed me the night of the party, but being Jess, he couldn't really communicate that to me. Instead, he tried to make whatever pain he was suffering with go away by losing himself in me, physically. Which, I've come to the conclusion, was why he tried to go further than our usual typical-but-about-to-cross-the-line teenage makeout sessions.
Yes, I've thought about it, and that's my conclusion. It's very…uh, conclusive. Said the girl with the expensive private school education. I mean, it doesn't mean him trying to do this was right. He should have just told me what was wrong. Us having sex, especially that night, wouldn't have solved anything, and it wouldn't have made whatever was wrong with him go away. I just am able to see why he did it. I can read him like a book. Literally. I know he would never intentionally pressure me. Ever. He always stopped when I told him to on previous occasions. And, some of the time, these requests were half-hearted.
See, with Dean, he was my first everything in the dating department. Well, except for one obvious first, of course. Our kisses were innocent, but we had our moments when they were—err, not so innocent. And during these times, every so often, when we would pause for breath, I would see this weird look in his eyes. I can't really describe it. Slightly endearing, but then there was this haze clouding eyes that I never saw normally. I remember then knowing instantly what it was. He wanted—well, he wanted me--he wanted to do more than kissing. Or maybe it was the kissing itself, I'm not sure. Still, I had gotten the "boys are full of testosterone" speech from my mother a while back. And I realized: this is what she meant.
When I saw it that first time, it overwhelmed me. A wave of new emotion passed through me. I certainly wasn't prepared for it. But, the shock passed over time. Besides: Dean, of course, never put this into words. He always asked before he did anything we didn't normally do. Still, we never got far enough for anyone's parents to worry. He was the perfect gentleman. Which was fine. He was only my first boyfriend, after all. Although it's pretty awkward when said boyfriend interrupts a seemingly passionate moment between the two of you with, "Can I…?" "Are you sure?"
I giggle at the memory. He was so careful. But so was Jess, just in a different way. He also had that "look", and it was almost identical to Dean's. I'm inclined to believe all teenage boys have it. The first time it happened, during one of our many escapades in Luke's apartment, I recognized it almost immediately. There it was. His eyes, soundlessly screaming, "I want more, but I can't tell you that."
Except this time, I was feeling the exact same thing. I shocked myself, by even allowing myself to think it. But I knew that day that our relationship was going to be dramatically different than my previous one.
For example: mine and Dean's kissing was two teenagers, making out for the sake of--well, making out, I guess. But with Jess and I, the kissing became a lead-in to something much more serious. If you asked my mom, dangerous even. Still, he knew I wasn't ready. I had told him as much (note the actual communication on my part, as opposed to his lack of it) when the kissing had gotten more intense. And that's why, he always stopped. He respects me, that much I know. But sometimes, he knew I didn't want him to. Instead of asking, per Dean, he just knew.
All he really had to do was look at me, and then, wordlessly, he would make the line between "just kissing" and "way more than kissing" a little blurrier. Or, he wouldn't. Somehow, I was still calling the shots here. It was like he could sense it. Obviously, he has had more experience, but it almost benefited us. The fact that someone could read me so well, could almost know what I was thinking or what I wanted without me having to say anything half the time, scared me to death.
Did he know what I was thinking about that time in March, right before Luke starting coming upstairs at practically synchronized intervals, looking for things like, his "old bowling trophy"? Why the heck would he need a bowling trophy? Shut Kirk up, perhaps? Because there was a lot more than kissing on my mind that time. Sometimes, I was sure that he knew, which is why I have a bottle of concealer that's two shades darker than my actually skin tone buried in one of my dresser drawers right now, thrown to me my by my mother one day after I got home from Luke's.
"Nobody's going to be able to tell, trust me", she reassured me, as I sat on our couch, more than a little surprised that Lorelai had chosen to go into Cool Mom mode on this one. "But I must warn you, if you start wearing Bonne Belle Lipsmackers on there, I will have to kill you. Not only is it trashy, it's a patented Lorelai Gilmore maneuver. Can't have you stealing all my techniques, you know." She grinned. I managed to return it.
"No, that would be bad", I replied. We talked for a few minutes before I headed upstairs, blushing the color of the turtleneck I reminded myself to wear the next day. As embarrassing as it was, if Jess had to give me a hickey, he had done it on the best possible day. Since it was Friday, it would be nearly gone (thanks to the magic of makeup) by the time the weekend was over. The last thing I wanted to do was go to school with this, this—thing adorning my neck. Even with the makeup, it was still noticeable at this point. Madeline and Louise would have had a field day. Not to mention Miss Patty and Babette.
I almost smile as I remember that day. As usual, my thoughts of him go much further than they were meant to. It stings, but I can't help it. I'm so sick of him—of us—being stuck in this weird limbo between fight and making up, or even fight and breaking up. I need to talk to him, to demand answers from him, to resolve this awful tension between us that's been knotted up inside me, and in him. How do I know? I can feel it. That's the thing, when you care about somebody this much, you feel what they feel. Their happiness, sadness, and even their anger, become yours too. Yet another reason why I'm hurting like this. I hurt because he's hurting. And it sucks. Why the hell do I have to love him? I just feel so pitiful sometimes. Poor Rory, Jess didn't call. Poor girl, her boyfriend treats her so bad. And she stays. I'm tired of feeling like a character in a freaking Lifetime movie. Jess isn't anything like the men in those, I'll tell you that right now. As I told Dean the other day, he does not treat me like dirt. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We weren't supposed to be like this. But, no sense in dwelling on what might have been.
I have to focus on the present. He said he'd call. I want to believe him. As bad as I feel, I know he's pretty much the only one who can make it all right again. I want to believe that he really is hurting just as much as me from all of this---that he wants to end all this confusion, too. I want to call him, because I know he won't call for at least a day or two. Guys are funny like that. I want to cry, because there are so many things I want to tell him; but how can I when were all awkward and undefined like this?
I want to go to Prom.
I want so many things right now, and the sad thing is, I might not be granted any of them, all of because of one person. Jess. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I could still go to Prom, if I wanted. I'm sure Lane could find me a date, maybe. But do I really want to go with anyone but Jess? Of course not. I suppose I could go to the Chilton Prom, let Madeline and Louise pick the golf team member who best matches the color of my dress. They offered a few weeks back, and of course I politely declined. But now that they've secured the limo and everything, I doubt it would still be a possibility.
It's weird, because, in general, I've always known exactly what I wanted: to go to Harvard, and become a wildly successful overseas correspondent. Two years ago, it was still the same, except I added, "Be with Dean forever!" to the list. Oh, that list. Too bad, starting last year it was almost completely thrown out. Why? Simple reason: Jess came. After that, I thought I just needed to write up a new one; a pro/con one, that is. But I was completely wrong. Everything on this list changed after he stumbled into my safe, pillowy town. My world, if you want to get dramatic. Now, the list is very different. Go to Yale, become a wildly successful overseas correspondent, be with Jess forever. It all seems so clear, so simple. On paper that is. But then, doesn't everything?
I sigh. I can't believe I've been in my room, sprawled on my bed, for over an hour, trying to read Inherit The Wind, and of course, all I can think about is him. Even though when I do, it feels like a mechanic is twisting my insides with one of those tool things they have---oh yeah, a wrench. Thanks to Luke, my mother and I now have a limited knowledge of the names of the tools he carries around in Bert. You'd be amazed at the things you can get out of a conversation that starts with, "Which one's the monkey wrench?"
But reading Inherit The Wind was supposed to make me feel better. Take my mind off of things. It's what I always do when I don't feel that great. When school's, well—school. I read a play, or a really short novel, to clear my head. Afterwards, I usually feel better. It gives me a new perspective on whatever's bothering me.
Unfortunately, nothing about this whole thing is "usual". Not to me, anyway. Maybe it happens to other teenage girls, ones who are flighty and boy-crazy, but not to me. Perfect, delicate, Rory. No, I'm "special". Just ask my mother.
The word passes through my system like a foreign invader. And I want to throw up. I am so tired of being "special". I was before this mess with Jess, and it just got worse with time. He made feel special, but not in the way the people in this town I abide in seem to think I am. The untouchable, pristine, Mary Sunshine way. Yes, I fully admit to being an optimist, but I'm not one the Brady sisters.
Jess made me feel special in the way you're supposed to feel special, if that makes any amount of sense. In a "you're my girlfriend and I love you because of everything you are, including and even because of your flaws" type of way. At least, that's how it felt.
Oh God, I'm pathetic. I don't even really know if he loves me at all. He's never said it. Or rather, we've never said it to each other. I always thought it would just happen one of these days. That he'd say it unexpectedly, in the heat of some really romantic moment between us.
Ugh. I've taken pathetic to new levels. That's it. It's time to take action, Rory. I put down my book determinedly. Even with our strange encounter on the bus yesterday, I know things still aren't right. They won't be until I do this. I get up with a new resolve and go into the living room. I look, and finally find the cordless in its place Lorelai has ingeniously dubbed, "the standy-holder thing". Stan for short, of course.
I press talk. Do it, a voice from within myself gently chides. I dial the number I've grown to know so well. I don't know exactly what I'm going to say, but I have an idea, all planned out in my head. I hold my breath.
And await the final tear in my safe haven.
Night closes in but I hear the water rush in/To his song I'm a slave/I start to sink where I stand, I become part of the sand/He covers me like the sea, like a wave