Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters affiliated with hit. I'm simply a huge fan who loves to write.
Author's Note: I've never written a Gilmore Girls ff and, honestly, I stopped watching the show after Lorelei married Christopher because I was so pissed about it. And I can't stand Logan, so there you have it. Anyways, I loved the earlier seasons when Rory was in high school and when she and Jess were together. I hope you all enjoy this.
Memories are the most cherished possessions we have;
They stay, long after everything else has crumbled within our grasp.
It's funny, the things you remember after someone is no longer there. She remembers the plain red shirt that he always slept in and the way her cheeks would flame red when she'd forget that he tended to sleep late and he'd answer the door wearing only the red shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. Luke gave her the shirt; he said Jess wanted her to have it. Apparently he'd left a note. At first she'd thought bitterly that there had been no note for her, only for Luke. After time went on she was thankful there was no note for her; that there was no explanation as to why he would leave her. She wasn't sure that she wanted to know the truth. Now she slept in his red shirt every night, letting herself believe that his scent still lingered even after all this time.
His laugh was the thing she missed the most. The musical sound that was ever so rare, but the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. Not his polite laugh, or his "I think you're really stupid" laugh, but his real laugh. His gut-wrenching, from the belly, laugh that no matter what always had her laughing along with him. When he laughed like that she could believe that he was happy. She could believe that he would always be content in this small town with her. It was a belief she'd held on to long after he'd left for California. A belief she'd kept buried deep inside her heart for no one else, but her, to know.
She remembered the time he'd come and helped her turned the sprinklers off and how he'd turned them back on for her when she'd asked him. She remembered how she'd pretended not to see the flash of hurt in his chocolate eyes at the mention of Dean's name and the way she'd ignored the flip flops her heart did whenever he was near her. These were the things she tried to hold on to; these were the memories she let herself relive. The other memories, the bad memories, she tried so hard to forget. If she let herself think of the rest she'd only be left curled in a tight ball on the floor, tears streaming down her porcelain skin, a curtain of dark hair covering her face.
But late at night, when the dark enveloped her and every time she closed her eyes she saw his face staring back at her those other memories slipped their way into her head. She fought to keep them away, but it was a losing battle. There were nights she'd sat at home, waiting for him to call, but he never did. Festivals and dances she'd wanted him to attend with her, but he never would because it "wasn't really his thing". Then she'd start to think that maybe it was her fault he'd left. She'd start to wonder if she'd tried to change him into someone he wasn't, someone he could never be, and the guilt and self-pity would flood her body. She would have nightmares about a dark, messy-haired boy with hard eyes filled with hatred telling her that he'd never loved her, never wanted her. He would tell her, in her dreams, that she'd only been something to pass the time with while he'd been stuck in the rinky-dink town of Star's Hollow and she'd wake up with wet cheeks and trembling hands.
Then there would be the mornings at Luke's when, for the first few weeks, she'd had to stop herself from running up the stairs to wake Jess. Each time she walked into the small diner it became a little easier, but her heart broke a little more. Each time Luke stared down at her with pitying eyes and wordlessly set the coffee she craved in front of her, her stomach felt a bit more queasy. She swore that if one more person came up to her and said that they'd always thought he was a good-for-nothing jerk she would scream. Of course she didn't, she'd simply let a small smile linger on her lips before saying that it was her own fault that she'd believed him and that she was just fine, thank you very much.
The only place she could escape to and find some amount of the peace was the bridge. Of course it held the most memories, but when she sat down and let her small feet sink into the pure blue water she could almost believe that he was sitting there next to her reading Hemmingway.
It didn't matter that he was gone, her heart was still his. She just wished that he'd wanted it.