An Outsider's Perspective
Chapter 7 - My Own Worst Enemy
A/N – This chapter has been created from like ten different places and times, sorry if it seems disjointed, I just wanted to get it out there. I was afraid that I was pushing our Lexy too hard and I'm honestly still torn about what to do about her. This has really gotten to the point where I just need to grin and bear and push the submit button!
And thanks to Jewels-Zombie-Head for withdrawing from the dishwasher in her crown jewels (ha!) for me, to Beta this! She rocks, as she already knows, I am sure ;)
Sometimes I am nothing. I am an empty soul trapped in the wind. I go and be, I follow, I drift. I don't think, I don't form opinions, I just float on and out. And then I start to wonder about my own condition. I ask myself if it's right that I am so blank. I try to comprehend the usefulness in this situation, this state of being. I start to beg to be pricked, to be cut, to be hurt, so I can feel those things again. I wonder if I can't feel happiness, if I cannot bring that contentment upon myself, maybe feeling aggression is the only way for me to stay human.
There are lines on my thigh, the reason why my skirt never rises more than two inches above my knee. Those scars are personal reminders, my own daily reality check. In general I am a wreck, a failure, a mess, but those lines are reminders as to how much worse it can really get. I've thought about it. Heating up a quarter, or if I am feeling particularly destructive, a razor, on the edges with a candle and rolling or dragging it along my skin. That searing pain is almost pleasure compared to the emptiness inside of me.
The "friends" in my life used to think the candle was always on my bedside from a drug addiction, for my pipe or bowl. It was for my 1974 bicentennial quarter and my dull razor blade that no one knew about - those items found their way to the places most men wouldn't even see in the dark. I don't know how it started and I don't know how it stopped, but I see evidence of it every day and wonder how long it'll be until my resolve crumbles and it comes back.
It's a Social Distortion kind of week and Story of My Life has been playing on repeat in my head for days. Dean is back with his wife, tentatively, after years of a legal separation, casually dating and testing the waters. This is the first mention of Dean that actually made me glad; I like to think my swift kick in the nuts taught him a thing or two. It's so nice to not have him riding my ass anymore, and as twisted as it is, I have been spending time with Kyle again, mostly trying to see what he can destroy with his claw. We've dubbed it the "Death Claw," and many a CPU case has inconspicuous holes and dents embedded in it. I've come to think of these holes or dents as modifications to increase air circulation and core temperature.
Oh! I had my first throw down with Taylor, and I've got to hand it to Luke. That shit felt good. He was asking me in the most condescending tone of voice he could muster, if I'd hang a sign in my window about the town's upcoming 'Fall Folliage Festival' to commemorate … the obnoxious orange hues of autumn. I put on my best customer service voice and tried to nice my way out of it, but that man is worse than a shart on a hot summer's day. If I've learned anything about this town this summer, it's that no matter what you say to this man, he'll always bounce back acting mostly oblivious. I eventually told him that I'd rather have him cram his tacky sign up my ass before I allowed him to hang it on the door. I told him that apparently something crawled up my ass and died a few years ago, according to my father, and that the dead rodent, or whatever the fuck it was, would be happy to have some reading material. Taylor expelled a single bead of sweat and a quiet yet high pitched noise from the back of this throat, then quickly vacated my store with an exaggerated waddle.
Apparently Gypsy, unbeknownst to me, had been lurking at the back of my store, heard the whole thing, and the entire town knew about our encounter within the half hour. The secret service has got nothing on this town.
The surly, grumpy diner man, Luke, whom I've come to think of as a friend, provided me with a free patty melt that day. I even saw the man crack a smile, which I'd only ever observed once before when his brainy kid was talking about gastroenterology or geology or something.
-ooo-
Doose's Market was cold when I walked in, the first warning sign I should have noticed, but I had attributed it to Taylor's current disdain for my character. The second warning sign was that there were no oversized marshmallows left. The third was what I saw. My breath caught in my throat like a gust of air forced down into a rumbling vacuum cleaner. I was at a loss for where it went. I needed that air, but it was gone, and my only sign of life was evidenced by my pounding heart. I felt like my wings had been clipped, my legs were immobile. Just breath, would have been my first thought if my brain had been functioning. I stood as still as possible, invisible to myself but exposed to the world around me. Was my hand working? It still had a bag of mini marshmallows clutched tightly in it, so yes, it had to be working.
He was there, standing in Doose's market, looking at the nutritional information on a box of Wheaties, completely unchanged. He wore a navy blue t-shirt with a giant Red Sox "B" on the back, his anchor arm tattoo standing out against his fair skin. His hair was short in a crew cut - red like it had always been - and his freckles trailed along the back of his neck where the sun always hit him the most. He did not see me but I lost my breath the moment I realized who he was. Once I regained function of my legs, I quickly backed from the store as quietly as my boots allowed and just about ran for my shop, still not realizing that I had just shoplifted a bag of mini marshmallows.
The damn town knew. The god damned town's gossip mill got to me later that day. Apparently Jack, my Jack, the one I thought I'd lost for good, that I thought I'd never see again after I so selfishly broke his heart, was a Star's Hollow boy. It turns out that Mrs. Slutski, the old coot that lived by the diner, is his great aunt, and his mother had raised him in the Hollow until they had moved to Woodbridge when his father passed away. Jack is back, was the word on the street. Apparently the town hadn't forgotten about how he had left the Stars Hollow High Minutemen in a lurch during hockey finals the year that he moved away. He was back in town, staying with Mrs. Slutski in her apartment next to the diner, helping her to get ready to move into a retirement home. There was a rumor that he'd stay.
I mean … I knew he was from Connecticut, somewhere near Hartford. I knew he occasionally used the same New England "wicked" colloquialism that I did. And of course my reaction was that this was some form of cosmic karma for what I had done. I didn't punish myself enough after I told him the truth, cutting, boozing, and my own addictions weren't enough apparently. An awkward future run-in with him was inevitable; he would soon find out about the eccentric and sharp-tongued computer store girl and put two and two together. I don't want to even contemplate what he would think about this entire situation because it was too wacky for me to understand. I know for sure that I wasn't there to stalk him, but he has to think that I am a crazy spiteful bitch. I wouldn't be surprised if he assumed that that was why I was there.
And I mean, come on, what is wrong with me? It's been years. There has been time, plenty of it, for me to get over him, for me to not care! But I cared, and I hurt, and this fucking sucked. I hate that I wanted to touch that damn tattoo, I hated that I wondered if there were any new ones, I hated that I wanted those fair freckled arms wrapped around me. I am a god damned island. I don't need anyone else, at least … that's what I kept telling myself over and over again. That's what I've always been telling myself, even when I knew it wasn't true.
So I hid out. I would still venture to the diner early every morning for my caffeine boost, but I tried to cut in and out as fast as I could. It worked for me for about a week. Luke noticed my awkward behavior and the fact that I always had my eye over my shoulder, and he didn't fail to have a little bit of fun at my expense.
"Assassins?" he asked me smugly one morning.
"What?" I answered, my head turned to peer across the street into the square.
"Are assassins after you?" he questioned with a cocky smirk.
"You've been spending too much time with Kirk," I told him as I tightened the lid on my large to-go cup and tugged the strings on my hoodie.
"The sun's not gonna be around for much longer. Might want to loosen the hood on that thing," Luke said as he nodded towards my head securely wrapped in a giant black hood.
"Ninja code," I answered as I smirked and hastily made my retreat.
The next day I wasn't so lucky. I thought I could get away with some apple pancakes, a side of sausage, and home fries. Luke had just complemented me on the fact that I don't like maple syrup on my pancakes, I told him he should get turkey sausage in response, and he laughed at me as he turned to fill more coffee cups. I'll eat it all, I thought wistfully as I applied an ample amount of butter to my pancakes.
I was harshly shaken from my reverie. "Jack! Welcome home!" Luke happily said as he greeted that fair-skinned man, now in the Red Sox hat with a folded brim, clapping him merrily on the back.
I sank into my chair, praying to any god available that my giant black hoodie would suddenly materialize around me so I could sink into it. I wore my damn black tank top with two XKCD stick figures on it talking about not "Drinking and Deriving". I was facing them, in plain view. I debated internally with myself if I could switch seats quickly without being noticed. Before I even had a chance to blink, Jack had turned around in search of a seat and froze when he caught my eye. A sudden look of shock and loss flashed across his face. I could see him quickly reel it in and force complete indifference to the surface. Still, that first look gave me a shiver that went straight to my core.
He forced a half-smile and approached me. I flipped through my mental catalog looking for a topic of conversation, and of course, I came up with nothing. All I can ever come up with at times like these are heinous sex acts that no one should speak of out loud.
"Hey," he said, breaking the silence, his hands wedged in his tight jean pockets.
"Jack," I responded. I had no idea where to start. My mind was focused on his hands in those worn jeans....
"You're in Stars Hollow…." he said, trailing off.
"Yeah, I'm, uh, I work—"
"The computer store," he said quickly, cutting me off.
"Yeah … they work fast."
He chuckled, "Yeah I wasn't sure if the spirited computer store girl they described was you, but I guess this confirms it."
"It's good to see you, Jack," I said sincerely. I was genuinely happy that he was alive and well, that he was home and in one piece.
"Lex," he quickly said. I cringed; he knew how much I detested that name. He saw my reaction and clenched his jaw. "I, uh, I have to go," he said as he turned, waved to Luke, and made his way out the door.
Flabbergasted I think is the correct word to use here. I was completely and utterly flabbergasted. I stared at the door until what was left of my breakfast was cold on my plate.
"So you know Jackie?" I heard from above me.
I looked up and saw Luke holding my plate. "Huh?" I asked.
"You know Jack, the guy you were just talking to," he asked again, slightly agitated.
"Yeah, uh, yeah, Jack. I do. I know him … I knew him," I stuttered.
"He's a great kid," was his only response as he turned and headed to the kitchen.
-ooo-
I was an inch from falling apart again. For the rest of the day I did everything I could possibly do to keep my mind off of the inevitable. I cleaned the books up, I did inventory, I placed orders, I scheduled a few freelance network admin appointments, and I even dusted all the shelves and merchandise.
I had my back turned towards the door and concentrated as hard as I could on replacing the fried motherboard on Kirk's new PC. I lost myself in thoughts of how Kirk could possibly fry the beast of a motherboard already, I wondered what Kirk did on his desktop PC, and as my mind drifted off, someone cleared their throat at the opposite side of the counter.
"Oh, sor—" I managed to say as I turned and noticed who was standing in front of me. "Ja—"
"Please don't say it," he responded quickly, cutting me off.
"Okay…." I said with some hesitation. At a loss for what to do, I placed my hands on the cool glass of the counter. Jack walked closer to me, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his lightweight black coat.
"I really didn't expect to find you here … anywhere," he began.
"Me either." He nodded. "You're here to stay?" I asked him hesitantly.
"Yeah, I hoped to. My aunt's apartment is rent controlled and I'd be a fool not to…."
"Oh, that's good."
"I'm … I'm glad you're okay too," he said, and it became obvious to me that those words were his reason for being in the shop that night. He let out a large breath, probably because his mission was completed. I knew Jack well enough to see that he would not have let himself sleep that night until he did the right and honest thing. It might seem trivial to most people, but that was oh-so-Jack.
"I've missed you," I blurted out, cringing the moment the words left my lips. Think before you talk, Lexy, THINK.
He just pursed his lips in response, obviously fighting the words that sat on the tip of his tongue. He shook his head and took a step back.
"I'm sorry, Jack," I told him pleadingly, using his name on purpose after he asked me not to. I was diving in nose first. I wanted something out of him, something more than what he probably rehearsed over and over again in his head before he came into the shop.
Jack let a giant puff of air from his nose, his lips still tightly pursed and his jaw clenched. Again he shook his head. I waited in silence for him to say what he wanted to say. Briefly he made eye contact, opened his mouth to talk, but instead of speaking he headed for the door.
"Jack," I begged.
"No, Lexy!" he said as he turned towards me, his hand on the rail of the store's door. "You don't get to miss me, okay?!" he shouted, his voice filled with raw emotion. With that, he was gone.
-ooo-
This is harder. This is so much harder. If he had just not existed in my reality anymore, he could have died, he could have moved on, and I could have just not known. I won't say the word, but I am pretty sure that I am in "it" with him still. I felt it the second I saw the anchor on his arm, when he stood in Doose's Market with the box of Wheaties. He was going to put an 'A' in that anchor for me on the empty nameplate. The nameplate still stands empty. My heart fluttered when I noticed it and hoped that there was no one else in the picture. I pictured my A in that fucking plate. Yes, I went there and I am ashamed that those feelings are stronger than ever. I would be a fool if I did not recognize similar feelings in his words and actions, but it was so evident that he was still so hurt and angry about what I had done. In a deep, hidden part of my heart I had hoped that maybe time had healed those wounds, that maybe the next time I saw him, all would be forgiven. I was so wrong about that.
I warmed a razor blade up with the candle that sat on my bedside table. I held it above my thigh, letting the hot metal burn the calloused skin of my thumb and forefinger. I could hardly see it through the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I felt those tears fall to my bare legs, like small pieces of my heart that were leaving my body, never to be a part of me again. I was shaking but my hand was steady. I lacked encouragement to complete the task. I was angry at myself for not having the balls to follow through.
Why do I have to feel like this? I asked myself. What did I do to deserve this? I'll prove to them how strong I can be ... There it went, the blade in my now disjointed hand that I no longer had control over, that hand dragged the blade in a long line from one side of my thigh to the other. It hurt and it bled and I couldn't be bothered to clean it up. I lacked the will to stop it until the line was complete. When the emotional pain didn't go away, I almost did it a second time, but instead, using my last ounce of self respect, I threw the blade across the room and fell to my pillow for comfort. This isn't strength, I thought.
Blood on my sheets, on my pillows, on my comforter. When I woke up a little later that night, my thigh was fused to the corner of a sheet, and it throbbed as I tested to see if my knee still worked. I had no idea how I ever did this before; it had never hurt this much. Two brown Dunkin Donuts napkins and a roll of Scotch tape later, I left the confines of my apartment and the storefront. The warmth of the diner drew me in, as did the man standing solitary behind the counter, methodically wiping it down. He could have been a screen saver staying there, moving his arm in a circle, wiping at nothing, and I could have stared for hours.
The bells rang out, and he looked up at me. He knew about Jack. I could tell in the way he held himself behind the counter.
"I used to babysit Jackie, after his dad died," Luke confessed, staring down at his boots, his arms now crossed defiantly.
I was immediately defensive. Luke was supposed to be my ally. "I didn't know he--"
"Go home, Lexy," he told me with such vehemence, I forgot why I was there. I forgot that my leg was throbbing. Jack had obviously said something to him, but I was too tired to fight it anymore. So I left to the small apartment above the store, the now bare mattress welcoming me back. I huddled my legs under my stiff skirt, left the boots on my feet, and gathered my arms close to my sides. I counted the throbs in my thigh and lost consciousness around a thousand.
-ooo-
Maybe I should have been shocked to have had the rug pulled out from under my feet again. I thought that the rug hadn't been there for years. I felt like I'd been standing on solid, cold, concrete.
Suck it in. Pull it back. Yesterday didn't happen. There's always tomorrow. Pull. It. Back. Hide it. Forget it's there. Just hide it. Just pull it back. Forget it happened. Remember tomorrow. Whatever I told myself, I punctuated my own encouragement with my sharpened thumb nail stabbing directly into the giant scab on my thigh. Pull it back, stab; suck it in, stab; forget it happened, stab. It helped a little. In public I chewed my lip, and in private, I stabbed my thigh.
I had everyone convinced. I didn't need to worry about Luke. He didn't care anymore. I didn't need to worry about Jack because he never really cared. I didn't need to go to the diner anymore, so I didn't need to worry about Hello! Magazine, either.
Maybe it was a little presumptuous of me to assume that I could ever get anything like that past Lorelai Gilmore. I soon learned that she herself was a compulsive lip biter, and those of us self-destructive types can pick out similar people in a crowd.
What led me to standing face to face with that formidable woman? Well, it was really only a matter of time until my computer expertise was needed outside of the little shop in the town square. People who have computer issues tend to radiate towards the local computer retailer. I hung my A+ and Network certificates right above the cash register, partially for the peace of mind of my customers, but mostly for me to show off and get some freelance work. And as a side note, A+ and Network certificates are a pretty useless waste of time. I didn't learn anything from taking those courses, they just allowed me to raise my hourly rates because I'm "certified."
If one of your defining characteristics is that of a voyeur, if you don't mind computers, and you can stand working with people, freelancing network troubleshooting may be your ideal career path. I have seen it all. Being voyeuristic assumedly implies you're a dirty, old man who likes to watch his neighbors undress through binoculars while he jacks off. My kind of preferential voyeurism has to do with taking amusement in what I see on my clients' computers: giggling at the suggestive Chippendale's desktop image, turning red when I accidentally pull up someone's collection of dirty librarians, or being impressed by a somewhat conservative retiree's video game collection.
Maybe peeking inside someone else's computer is like peaking up someone else's skirt, but let me just say right here that I get no erotic return from it. It's purely for my own entertainment value. And boy howdy does the town of Stars Hollow have amusement value!
Let me start with Babette Dell. That woman is the biggest Sims addict that I have ever known, and I count myself in this ranking. She was somewhat skeptical when I coerced her into purchasing the game, but the second she got her account set up I didn't see her around for a few days. The next thing I knew I was installing more RAM on her moderate box and telling her she could download custom made skins online. I had personally set up their home network, so Morey could share his music with Babette, and they could stream it all to their stereo. Morey has a sick setup when it comes to recording equipment.
One slow afternoon, Babette came running through the square, tightly holding her ample bosom from bouncing too wildly with her arms as she barreled straight through the shop door. She told me her computer couldn't connect to the internet, and she had promised one of her Sims friends some sort of upload or download. She said it was good timing, that she and Morey were leaving for dinner in a bit and that I could go over there to resolve it while her Sims were "on break." Her words, not mine.
What I found was horrific and scarring and I think I'll take amusement out of it until the day that I die. I probably shouldn't have logged onto her account but I couldn't help myself. I needed to see what she was cooking up. The Dell Sim house was pretty average. There was a Morey Sim, a Babette Sim, and two cats, Cinnamon and Apricot. They lived in a modest home with a low ceiling. The Danes house next door took my breath away. Lorelai Sim was married to Luke Sim and they had no less than six children: Rory, Little Luke, twins Andy & Mindy, and twins Pinky and Francesca. That poor woman's vagina. Oh, and the kicker, their poor neglected dog was named Christopher, and it was deathly afraid of all six kids! Next door was the beautiful and sexy Bachelorette Patty Sim, and she had seventeen men (including Luke, Jackson, and a Frenchman named Michele Gerard) that were madly in love with her. Taylor Sim was married to Kirk Sim, and they had an adopted Asian baby named Leelee. Kirk Sim was of course cheating on Taylor Sim with Lulu Sim.
And that's not event the brunt of the iceberg here when it comes to Stars Hollow computer vices. I'll spare you the details of which resident is addicted to gay cartoon porn (and bad at hiding it), which one has way too many suggestive sites bookmarked about naughty mechanics, and which one is so addicted to Lolcats that all their 'start menu' items are now in Lolspeak (emayo, intarwebs, comput-arr, pikshurs, etc). Okay, the Lolcats one is obviously Kirk. I don't know any other human that would go that far.
My long digression really was intended to be a lead-in to how I am now the local network technician for the Dragonfly Inn. Oh yes, I met the human version of that annoying French Sim Michele Girard, and oh my goodness it brought me out of my funk for a few enjoyable minutes.
"It is deplorable," Michele muttered under his breath as I stood awkwardly before the front desk, chewing my lip. "I don't know where we drag these ragamuffins up."
"Yeah," I commiserated, eying him. "They'll let anyone into this country nowadays."
"Where do you buy your footwear, out on the construction yard?" he pressed, smiling to himself.
"No, I got them at your mom's house."
"Well!--"
"Michele!" Lorelai's voice rang out, causing the surly Frenchman to step back a bit. "Why didn't you tell me Lexy was here?"
"I was about to...."
"She's here to fix that annoying IP mismatch error we keep getting and to fix the wireless access point upstairs that everyone keeps complaining about," Lorelai said with some exasperation.
"Of course, I should have known," Michele sighed, focusing his attention now on the checkout computer.
"Hi, Lorelai," I said, smiling and holding my hand out. She smiled back warmly and grasped my hand. She's so cool, I thought before blushing slightly.
I followed Lorelai up the stairs of the inn, admiring the little knick-knacks and items decorating the walls. "So there's this router in room six that's supposed to be the access point for our guests, but it never seems to work," she told me as we approached room six. She followed me in, closed the door behind us, and moved towards the bed. "It's actually under here. The bed is too low to climb under so we'll have to scoot it."
I helped her move the bed and then crouched down to inspect the router.
"Ouch," she gasped when she saw my legs and the gruesome scab on my thigh. I immediately blanched and tried to cover it up.
"It's … it's nothing, really, just a scrape," I tried to lie, sitting there on my ass, holding my skirt over my thighs. I felt my heart start to pound and my hands start to shake.
"You don't look so good, Lexy," she whispered as she moved to sit next to me.
"It's been a horrible week," I admitted, hardly able to get the words out before I shuddered and dropped my head to my knees.
"Aw, hon," Lorelai said as she moved to sit next to me and rub my back.
"I thought it would make me feel better," I admitted, unable to lift my head. "It used to make me feel better."
"What happened," she asked me quietly, patiently giving me time.
"Just everything," I cried. "My ex-boyfriend is from this damn town. I thought I ran away. I thought I left it all behind."
"You can't really ever run away from your problems," she said softly from her spot on the floor, her hand still rhythmically rubbing my back.
"I hurt him," I admitted, turning my head to face her. "I think ... I think he was the one? God! It's so ridiculous. I don't cry over boys!"
"It's okay to cry over a boy," she replied with a sad smile on her face. "Is it Jack?"
I nodded in response, desperately trying to breath steadily.
"Wow," she said under her breath. "That's hard."
At this I snickered.
"Oh!" she gasped. "I dirtied myself!"
After a moment of silence I let out a long-kept sigh. "Thanks for listening, Lorelai."
"Any time," she replied without missing a beat, smiling. "Listen, Doogie, you start figuring out that doohickey over there, and I'll get some Neosporin and a bandage for your leg. That way the scrape excuse will seem a little more realistic. And then when you're done, come downstairs for some coffee with me and Sookie."
"I don't know--"
"That wasn't a question," she said with finality as she stood. "You look like you could use some friends."
I smiled and blushed before focusing my gaze down and toying with the hem of my skirt. "Thanks, mom," I huffed to her as petulantly as possible through my smile.
Lorelai blew from the room with a laugh, her clanking heals signaling her retreat down the staircase.