Mixing Ink and Puzzle Pieces
Summary: Just a sad little Rory and Jess Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I am no way affiliated with Gilmore Girls. The show belongs to the CW. I am no was affiliated with Rory or Jess, Milo Ventimiglia or Alexis Bledel. This is simply a fan fiction.
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She still couldn't believe her eyes. A silent tear came rolling down her cheek, as she grasped the paper between her fingers, tightening her grip, and turning her knuckles white. Her eyes were turning a light shade of crimson, and clouding over; darting around her apartment. She and Logan had broken it off only a week before, and she had moved back in with Paris. An impulsive decision, but she had to get away. Discarding the paper at the table, she treaded over to the window, looking down at the busy streets of New Haven.
Cars buzzed by, people yelled, and there was an impossibly loud construction crew at the end of the street. This although, was all deaf for Rory. She could hear nothing, nor see anything. Yet, bottles of emotion bubbled inside her, dangerously close to spilling up and over her barriers she forced herself to keep up.
And then it occurred to her. She had never said sorry. Sorry for the cruelty, the abuse, and the lies. She had become malevolent, and she hated it. On the outside it appeared that everything was going okay. She had a steady job ahead of her, a great education that anyone could be jealous of, but there was still a piece missing. The puzzle that made up Rory Gilmore was incomplete and imperfect, and she had finally found the missing piece. It was just too late.
A car accident. It was a simple concept, easy to grasp and understand; but at the same time it was complex. That three letter phrase had taken that forgotten piece away from her, and she wanted to scream. That phrase stripped her of the chance she had to be whole, and she hated it. In an instant, that phrase took away the banter, the books, the smirk, and the literate terms she was so very fond of.
She thinks this is the first state of grieving, but it seems to her more like dying. The eyes shallow, throat clogged with tears, gasping for breath. This was definitely death. What else could it be? It couldn't possible be hurt. She was way past that phase.
Realization. That's this stage. Realization of the world. Realization of how life is so perfectly thin, balancing on the line between life and death only to be blown over by the slightest breath. This was realization, and it hurt like hell.
Walking back over to the table, she saw the paper still opened to the page that tore her world down. She couldn't even look at it, because a new wave of tears crowded her eyes. They blurred her vision, and when she looked up she saw that smirk. Her mouth dropped open. It was shock, because her body became numb. His eyes looked concerned. More tears dripped to the newspaper that lay rest on the table, blurring the words as the ink swirled together.
He laid a book at the table, opened to a page she didn't care to look at that moment. She just watched him, his face, and his movement. How he seemed eerily perfect, almost glowing. His eyes were soft as he brought up his hand to wipe her cheeks. More tears came over as she wrapped her hand around his. He gave one more look into her cerulean eyes, smiling before slowly fading into the background. She took a deep breath, before looking down at her lonely hand. One more tear came, but this time, she smiled.
Traveling over to the table to see what he had left behind, she saw the small book; the last book that he would leave for her. It was opened. She curiously scanned the page for some significant passage, but saw none. Her eyes darted to the top corner of the page, and three words were written so lightly, it was barely legible. The missing piece at that moment was replace. Not physically, but emotionally. Those three words he had given her had become a promise that he could keep.
Then, at that moment she realized. "I love you" was her sorry.