"Doesn't this taste good? It tastes good!" Paris and I had decided to give the embarrassing two step dance a miss and had retired to trying out every drink on the bar's everlasting menu.
My alcohol intake was at an un-measurable level now and, it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet.
Paris' hair was now swinging against her shoulders crazily and her evening blouse was stained with something that vaguely resembled bright red lipstick which, neither of us was wearing. Me, on the contrary, I had let my frazzled hair loose and the sleeves on my dress had vacated to my lower biceps.
"Tastes ..." I took another sip of the fruity cocktail, letting the liquid rest on my tongue as if it were wine before swallowing. I let the taste flood my senses before passing any sort of judgement. "Like perfume." The after taste of the bright pink drink settled upon my tongue and the sudden urge to hurl overwhelmed my senses. "Oh God!" I covered my mouth with my hand as I darted towards the closest bathroom. I lurched off the bar stool and through the raging throngs of people. I aggressively pushed past groups as I spotted the bathroom door across the room, and thankfully, there was no line. With my sling back heels slipping off my feet, I stumbled forward - head first - towards the large oak door. A yelp escaped my lips as I lost control of my footing, my arms moving outwards to grab something that could keep me upright. I found nothing. My eyes closed, expecting pain to shoot through me as I landed on my face. But, there was no pain. There was no embarrassing Kodak moment.
But, there was Tristan DuGrey.
His toned arms wound around my waist, setting me onto my two feet stably.
"Mary?" He spun me around quickly, too quickly and queasiness enveloped me. My eyes bulged open and my cheeks became inflamed as blood rushed to them. "You don't look too great, Mare, come on." Tristan gripped me, his fingers curling around my wrist as he directed me outside.
Tristan walked me through a patio door which led to a little smoking quad outside. The night air was crisp and pungent and I inhaled deeply, letting the contaminated oxygen fill my lungs. The fresh - or somewhat fresh - air was good ... the lingering scent of tobacco and nicotine ... not so much. I yanked my hand out of Tristan's hold and ran towards a neighbouring bush. Without a care in the world, I bent over to empty my stomach of the excess alcohol I had drank and the greasy takeout food I indulged in. I wheezed and I heaved and surprisingly enough - if this night couldn't get any more surprising - Tristan held my hair back. His fingers were gently combing through my hair whilst his other hand rubbed at my back.
I was experiencing the unexpected.
Tristan waited patiently as I threw up, his lips pressed close to my ear as he murmured comforting nothings to me.
"I'm ... I'm ... sorry." I coughed out as the vomiting came to a halt. With the back of my hand I wiped my mouth in a lame attempt to compose myself. "Thank you for ... that."
Tristan didn't reply as I spoke to him. His blue eyes seemed to be boring into my soul as he looked me over a few times. His pupils moved from my feet, up my body, to my face before descending again. It was as if he was trying to drink me in, trying to memorize me again.
"Innocent, innocent little Mary," Tristan's voice taunted with a tinge of sing-songy humour. "I never thought I would see the day." He inched closer, his large palm settling against my slender hip. Our bodies were pressed up against one another, our natural heat intertwining. There was something about the gesture and mine and Tristan's proximity that had my heart pounding furiously. It wasn't a foreign feeling ... it was that feeling a person got before they were about to do something reckless. It was that sense of rebelliousness; adventure, spontaneity, impassivity. It was something which I had rarely experienced in my twenty-two years of life ... When I had first kissed Jess, falling back into Dean's arms, jumping off a scaffolding with the Life and Death Brigade and now ... with Tristan.
Back, when I was seventeen, I despised Tristan. He always seemed to threaten Dean, and, at the time, that bugged me. There was never a moment where Tristan failed to tease and taunt me and now - five years later - I could easily state that I had missed Tristan's banter, his ability to show up in the most unfortunate situations and his endless roll of innuendos. "I thought you were a Harvard girl, huh?" Tristan elbowed me jokingly. "Now you're at Yale, drinking, partying, wearing-" I blushed a beetroot red as Tristan bit his bottom lip. "Where is the virgin Mary I left behind?"
"Virgin Mary is just Mary now." I muttered softly under my breathe, recalling my first time with Dean. I guess I wasn't as quiet as I thought I was because Tristan's facial expression dropped suddenly.
The moonlight was shockingly vivid tonight and it seemed to be casting warm rays of light against Tristan's intrigued face. The white light focused on his dazzling features, accentuating the electric blue in his eyes and the protruding angle of his nose. He had aged since I had last seen him. There was no longer a playful, youthful glisten on his face; he seemed a lot more serious. It seemed as if military school had performed its purpose - it had reformed Hartford's notorious bad boy. Tristan now stood tall, taller than he had done a few years ago. His posture was strict and rigid and there were light lines around his mouth, probably a result of his constant frowning. However, despite all, Tristan still looked like ... Tristan. He was an oddly comforting face that I hadn't realised I had missed.
"You're so pretty, Tristan." I giggled, unable to find any other words to describe him by.
"And you, my darling, are also pretty ... and drunk," Tristan laughed a throaty laugh. His voice was husky and seemed to echo within the small space we occupied; it had shivers running through my spine. "Let me get you home."
As soon as the word home was mentioned, my mind conjured up an image of Logan's opulent apartment: his large bed, the silk comforter, the goose feather pillows. My arms suddenly ached for his. Not that it was much worth now but ... Logan was somebody who loved physical contact. After a long day at the library, being in Logan's arms whilst I fell asleep was the epitome of comfort: the beating of his heart, the slow rise and fall of his chest ... It was all stuff I was never going to experience again. And, then, my mind seemed to change its channel and began envisioning Paris and Doyle's place. The Gilmore gene within me groaned inwardly at the thought of having to open nine-hundred locks before getting inside. The Hayden gene in me, on the other hand, was still worried about the possibility of a run-in with the troublesome guys on the ground floor.
Logan's apartment and Paris' - neither of which I could refer to as home now.
"I don't have a home!" I raised my arms to the midnight blue sky. "Rory," My voice cracked as the tears began to well up in my eyes. "Rory Gilmore ... Does not have a home! Because I got kicked out of Paris' and then he-"
"Hey, hey, hey," Tristan interrupted me before I could continue. My knees gave way from underneath me as my body shook with sobs. Acting as my saviour for the second time tonight, Tristan placed his hands under my knees and pulled me into his arms, bridal style. Tristan didn't have any difficulty holding me in his arms and I noticed the hardness of his torso; his abs were bulging out of his black camisole. From the looks of it, military school had done Tristan some good."It's okay, Mare. It's okay." Tristan pat my hair down as he let me cry. "I'll take you back to my place, it's okay. Everything'll be all right."
Tristan's steps were soft and he ensured to move at a leisure-some pace as he walked; just in case I needed to throw up again.
"You know ... If I was wearing white, we would be man and wife!"
"I think it takes more than wearing white for us to be married, Rory." Tristan laughed as I slid my face into the crook between his neck and his shoulders. My eyelashes brushed against his skin lightly as I closed my eyes, my brain delving into a world of hyper reality and comfort. "Sweet dreams, darling, sweet dreams." His soothing voice was the last thing I heard before drifting into a barely present sleep.
I was still aware of the subtle left and right notion as Tristan walked. My body swayed rhythmically with his and I relished in the pleasant rocking feeling. I felt like a child being cradled in the arms of her guardian. And, that's what Tristan was tonight ... my guardian. I felt my body weight shift just as I heard the rattling on keys. Had Tristan carried me all the way back to his place? And, if he lived so close to campus, why hadn't I seen him before? My senses were on full alert now and any traces of tiredness slipped away from me.
"Mom?" Tristan tried to whisper-yell and I smiled against his flesh, acknowledged to him that I was, indeed, awake. He let out a chuckle as he maneuvered through the house. My face was pressed against Tristan's neck and I could feel his blood pulsating monotonously. My current position was so comfortable I had no will to move or fidget even though I was intrigued to take in the sights of Tristan's lavish home. "Mom!" Tristan called louder this time, his voice bouncing off the walls.
"In here, darling-" A woman - who I presume was Mrs DuGrey - called back in return. Her sentence was cut off when she took in the sight of Tristan and me. Even though I couldn't see her face, Mrs DuGrey's startled gasp was enough indication of her surprise. "Tristan!" She scolded, her voice coming closer. "We have guests," I could feel Tristan's mom's presence beside me and I tucked myself tighter into Tristan's body, not wanting full-frontal confrontation with somebody who remotely behaved anything like my Grandma or her DAR friends. "Take her upstairs this instant!"
"Mom, you remember Mary, right? My friend from Chilton?" I held in a chuckle ... Tristan had actually spoken about me to his parents? And referred to me as Mary? "I ran into her and she wasn't feeling too good so, I brought her home, is that okay? I didn't want her walking home at this hour either." Tristan's voice was dripping with sugar and I reminded myself to give him a congratulatory pat on the back (he was a real smooth talker)
This day couldn't get any weirder ...
"Oh, Leah!" Another woman gushed ... a very familiar woman, might I add, yet, I couldn't seem to pin point why her voice was so recognizable."You really have raised a respectable, chivalrous gentleman. You should be proud of him, helping a good friend of his in a time of need - it's what any well-mannered boy should be doing with his time. Nothing like my Logan, he just gallivants with a countless number of girls-"
"Mom!" That voice I could recognize anywhere. "Not here." Logan's voice chided his mother irritably.
Logan? Logan was here ... Logan Huntzberger was here. Right now. My alcohol buzz had started wearing off but now, my stomach was churning violently. It felt as if somebody had sucker punched me in the gut and I let my nails dig into Tristan's back as I whispered to him, "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Mom, I'm just going to let Mare settle into the guest room and I'll join you all for drinks in a moment." Before anybody could respond, Tristan was running me upstairs and to a bathroom.