Thank you soooo much for all your reviews =) They were most appreciated. And thanks for all those people who offered help with where I should take this, big thumbs up to you guys.
And of course, I Love Nat. She beta-ed this and taught me many valuable grammar lessons in the process for future reference. Good on ya, Nat.
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Tristan's grand gesture of driving her seemed to brighten the evening right up. Unfortunately, on the way out the door she happened to chance upon a mirror and venture a peek at herself.
Big mistake.
How the hell did she get so messed up? At which point in the evening did her hair stray from the stylish design which she had so painstakingly put it in? When had her mascara found the time to run a turbo charged super across her face? And Rory certainly didn't remember applying dirt across her cheeks and nose.
By the way Tristan glared at her for having dared stopped to investigate her Appearance, something told her now was not the time to take a quick bathroom break to powder her nose.
Grudgingly, she was led out of the house and almost forced into the car. She was not a child. Getting into a car independently was only one of her many skills. She could do it with both eyes closed. How dare he take it upon himself to impede on her masterful talent. This was not on. At all.
But it was sweet of Tristan to assist, just in case she was too hurt or something. What a gentleman, she rolled her eyes.
As he made his way around the car to get into the drivers seat, Rory concentrated on making herself as light as possible. Heaven knows what Tristan would say if she were to smudge all that dirt and grime onto his flawless leather seating.
Fortunately for Rory, the leather was black and any muddy imprints made by her ass could easily be covered up and cleaned away. Besides, she reasoned, he hadn't given her a chance to clean up or even grab some sort of rag to sit on, so really, it was his fault completely. That idiot, ruining his shiny cars interior. No woman in her right mind would sit on a mud encrusted seat, especially not the type of woman Tristan went for.
So deep were her thoughts of car interiors and exactly the kind of woman that was Tristan's type, she didn't notice what was going on outside until the yells penetrated her mind.
"- about the cab?" The screechy red haired Charlotte was flailing her arms like a mad woman. Her half unbuttoned shirt slipping further and further down her body until Rory was sure it was illegal to be out in public like that. Then again, with fashion as it was nowadays, one never could be sure of just what was considered indecent exposure.
"I can't just let her get into a cab with god knows who, not in the condition she's in!"
Ah Tristan, her knight in shining armor. Scratch that, he was more like her pissed off knight in Calvin Klein jeans.
She decided not to dwell to long on how she knew that he wore that specific designer brand. It was obvious how, Calvin Klein had billboards all over the city, and she just memorized them by accident. Certainly she had never actually thought to long about his pants, or the way they seemed to be magnetically placed to his hips. None of the CK models ever looked so natural in them. She had decided that maybe old Calvin had once seen Tristan strutting the streets of New York and with his frame in mind, designed the jeans specifically for him.
Or maybe he just looked good in jeans.
Either way, she didn't pay enough attention to notice or anything. Really.
"- just wait here...please."
"It's me or her Tristan. I will not be here when you get back."
Uh oh.
It looked as if she'd have to catch a cab after all. She had seen the look Tristan gave the tramp when he asked her wait. Hell, she knew that look from what seemed like millenniums ago when it was directed at her. Tristan liked Charlotte.
And that prospect frightened and annoyed Rory more than the one which involved her, a smelly car and an even smellier cabby. She had known from the numerous apologetic looks he threw the girl every now and then. He had never liked anyone before. Slept with them, sure. But never LIKED them. This was too weird and strangely enough, upsetting.
She watched nervously as Tristan looked between the two of them. His half naked date, standing shivering in the doorway. Eyes wide with unshed tears, her perfectly sketched face in a genuine expression of hurt...and Rory, the girl who screwed him over every time he felt he was getting somewhere. The girl who broke his heart on more occasions than he could remember. The girl who was currently dirtying up his brand new interior with her slutty black dress, her hair looking as if she hadn't washed it in months and her make up running every which way.
Tough decision.
For one terrifying moment Rory resigned herself to the fact he was going to leave her to catch a cab like originally planned. But for the umpteenth time that evening, Tristan came through for her.
She strained to here his quiet words as he headed to the car.
"Close the door on your way out."
***
"Do you want to come in?"
Her hesitant question was met with a glare and a grunt. He made his way toward the couch as she closed the door as quietly as possible, afraid that any noise might set him off on the tirade that was obviously brewing inside him like some freak tornado.
She tried to analyze his next move logically. No point there, the words Tristan and logical were about as synonymous as Rory and decaf.
He sat down heavily, his elbows on his knees, obviously deep in thought. A sigh of frustration and she watched as his head landed in his hands and his fingers tugged at the fuzzy blonde hair.
Suddenly, he was up and trailing closer. Rory moved backward as Tristan stalked his way toward her, fixing her with a cold stare. Crap, she was really in for it now. If there was anything Rory had learnt from their more than turbulent relationship, it was that Tristan's anger came in bulk, not unlike her guilt.
"Tristan-"
"Shut up Rory, just shut the fuck up and listen to me." She winced at the obviously strained control in his voice, knowing he was working his way up to the grand finale. Hopefully he'd get there soon. "You've ruined everything for me the second you came into my life. Taken it all away."
He moved closer with each word and Rory found herself backed up to the kitchen counter. Her breakfast plate just as she had left it that morning, the remote lying upside down as she had hurried to make it into work on time.
"Why the fuck did you have to waltz into my life, huh? I ask myself that every day, and every damn day I can't for the life of me figure out anything good that has come of it." His eyes were blazing, he was so close she could see her own pathetic reflection in the stormy blue eyes. He continued, adding insult to injury, "which is pretty sad, seeing as how fucking you can be the highlight of my day."
He didn't appear ashamed in the least to use such foul language in front of a lady, but she was nevertheless embarrassed to hear it. The redness spreading through her was enough for her to blush for the both of them.
"Tonight has been the last straw, Rory. I swear it. I was having a good night with my GIRLFRIEND - that's right, she WAS my girl, and given time who knows how much more she could have been. But then you HAD to come barging in like you always do, because you're in fuckin' trouble, again!"
By this time he was pressed right up against her, shouting in her face. Abruptly, he took a step back and looked at the dress she wore in distaste. "no wonder that guy felt obliged to feel you up," his finger hooked under on of the thin black straps, pulling at it roughly, "you look like a hooker."
Rory's eyes went wide at the insult. She had never heard Tristan being so purposefully mean to anyone, let alone her. She tried to recoil from his touch, but that only served to lower her onto the bench top as his hands roamed her frame. She closed her eyes against his offensive words and concentrated rather on his hands, pretending that what he was doing was not out of spite, but out of some sort of frenzied passion.
"A slut. Is this what you usually wear when you go to work, Rory? Is it? No fucking wonder that he tried his luck."
What Rory had mistaken to be a resolve of not pursuing their intimate relationship went straight out the window with those words. He had ripped the dress off without so much as a second glance to the abused garment and lowered himself over her in a bruising kiss.
She wanted to protest, but that feeling she got whenever their lips met came back. It was a mixture of tingles, happiness and the way you feel after you've just had a really nice dinner. Although his lips were almost attacking hers, forcing her mouth open, she managed a smile as she realized that his hands were tenderly pacifying the bare skin of her back, keeping her at a safe distance from the cold of the counter and the sharp edge which only moments ago was wreaking havoc on the small of her back.
***
The details were a little hazy, but at some point during the night they had found their way from the kitchen and onto the couch.
Or maybe she had found her own way there, because when Rory woke up the next morning, Tristan was gone - as he usually was after they had sex. She hadn't expected anything more really, no, honestly she really hadn't. Just because he whispered his love for her every time they were together didn't mean he'd see an entire night through. There would be no difference this time.
She lay on the couch, staring out the window. Rain, again. The glass had gotten foggy and upon her enthusiastic encouragement the landlord had moved the dumpster back where it belonged. Regrettably, the silence gave her time to think about things that would rather not be thought about. Tristan, for example.
Deciding on indulging herself in breakfast at the cafe down the block (i.e. McDonalds), Rory started to make her way off the couch, but promptly fell back down groaning.
She had underestimated his stamina yet again, and his strength. Lifting her arm, Rory inspected the slightly red bruises where he had held her tight. He may protect her from coming into contact with uncomfortable surfaces, but he didn't seem to understand that his own hands could also have the same effect the next morning. Although she strongly suspected that he knew exactly what he was doing whenever he put any sort of mark upon her skin during sex. Undoubtedly, there were similar ones canvassing her entire body. They had had their fare share of rough sex, more often than not initiated by Rory - much to Tristan's surprise and ultimately, his pleasure - but last night...she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it, but he had never been that rough.
Stupid, sex crazed bastard
He had no right to expect her to have sex with him, just because she had ruined whatever sex he had planned for the evening. Her progress off the couch was admittedly slower this time round. A scowl on her face and the phone in her hand, she rapidly dialed his number.
Examining her reflection in the full length mirror - courtesy of Tristan ("you're too pretty to just see your face." He had said.) She scowled again as she saw the bruises on her butt.
She turned back into the living room, a bathrobe covering her slight frame and stared aghast at the coffee table. Rory Gilmore had never had a real problem with money and the getting of it. But she wouldn't have been upset at discovering a few extra dollars she hadn't known she had, but as it were, there were a couple extra hundreds lying on her coffee table.
The bastard had left money. This was taking the hooker comment just a little too far, Rory fumed.
After a few more moments of listening to the phones annoying ringing tone she realized no one was going to answer. Hanging up she glared at the phone and redialed knowing he wouldn't turn it off in case a client called. Oh yes, she would make him regret the day he ever met Lorelei Leigh Gilmore. Not that he didn't regret it already; he had made that all too clear.
Her eyes squeezed shut as the tears battled their way to the front line at the reminder of just what her supposed friend actually thought of her.
Slightly sad, but feeling a whole wave of resentment toward him coming over her, she furiously punched in the number of his office.
"Dugrey and Edwards, Agatha speaking"
"Tristan Dugrey, please."
"I'm sorry; Mr. Dugrey is in a meeting at the moment. If you would leave a message, he will get back to you as-"
"This is extremely important and can not wait. Please tell Tristan his mother is on the line."
A slight pause and then, "One moment, Mrs. Dugrey."
Mrs. Dugrey? Was it wrong for her to smile at the thought?
Yes. Very wrong. After all, he was-
"Mother, what's going on? Is Dad okay?"
Rory stuck her tongue out at the phone, feeling only slightly remorseful for playing on his vulnerabilities as such.
"Your father is fine, Dear." She mimicked the prim and slightly British accent of Elizabeth Dugrey perfectly.
"Rory? Fuck, I'm in a meeting."
She heard his barely contained rage and all satisfaction at pissing him off was gone, immediately replaced with a cold hatred for his very being. "We need to talk. Meet me at one."
There was a moment of silence before he hung up.
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Hey there, I'll just apologize now that that this chapter took so long to get out. I don't have a good enough excuse so I won't bother with making one up. The next chapter might take a while, too - I have an excuse for this one, though. Notepad, where I type everything out on is currently having some technical difficulties and all the settings have been changed and it's just not the same, see? So sorry for that in advance.
Review?