Disclaimer: C chappie #1.
A/N: Hey, I know I haven't updated in awhile, but things have been a little hard. But thanx for reading my fics and reviewing. I need you to definitely read this next.
I'm going to write a new story because I've realized that although this is a really fun fic to write, in this perspective, it's just gets too hard. Writing an entire story on what Rory thinks is a good idea, but understanding why Tristan does what he does and feels how he feels is important too. And I didn't want to disrupt this already formed story by switching perspectives. So I'm writing a new fic from Tristan's POV called "Nowhere Man." It will follow the same format as "Strawberry Fields" and will be named after Beatle songs (hence the name). Hope you guys read it. The first chapter will be up soon.
Oh, and I'd like to know who you think HE is? It's very exciting!
I Want to Tell You:
I tried to slip past Ms. Peltry as Mission Impossibly undetected as possible (isn't that redundant?), leaving my late excuse on her desk and making my way to the only available desk, but the entire class's eyes swiveled to watch me ungracefully make my way to my seat.
My cheeks were tinged with pink, and not from the fever. Instead, I kept thinking of what was running through everyone's minds . . . I was a sight.
My hair had been pulled back in a wavy mess atop my head- I'd towel dried it on the way to Chilton. My nose was as red as Rudolph's, my cheeks as rosy as Santa Claus's (or shall I say Satan, if you switch around the n), and my eyes as watery as Peter Pettigrew (sorry, another Harry Potter reference, definite obsession there). Although my uniform was perfectly pressed, tissues and cough drops stuck out from every available pocket. I couldn't even fit my money in my pocket. On my feet were my scoffed black Timberlands- I couldn't find my Black-eye-peas, my Nomads, OR my Mary Janes.
Of all the eyes watching me today as I coughed during her lecture, sneezed during the important dates and sniffled with the horrible stuffed nose sound, his were the eyes I could feel staring at me. I could pinpoint his stare exactly. I knew where he was sitting and that he had a pen in his teeth. I knew that he'd been writing notes diligently until I had shown up, and for the rest of the class period, he didn't.
When the lunch bell rang, I groaned a sigh or relief and began gathering my things. In moments, Lane was beside me, placing her books in her bag, along with Paris, Madeline and Louise, with suspicious looks on their faces.
"Why are you here today?" Lane asked, "You look like shit."
"Caught a cold last night, and didn't like the look of it just missing the second day of school. It was like being . . . it's a free ride, when you've already paid . . ."
". . . and who would have thought it, it figures!" Lane finished by singing the line.
"Yeah, useless, and ironic."
"Lane, has anyone told you you've got a killer voice?"
"Thanks Maddy," Lane beamed at the brunette.
"No," Louise remedied, "she meant it could LITERALLY kill someone!"
"I hope you choke . . ." Lane frowned, shrugging on her bag and pushing back her jet black hair. ". . . on Cum!"
"What was that I heard from our sweet innocent, Lane?" Tristan posed coming behind our group.
We started to move outside of the classroom and I missed what Lane had retorted. Instead, my thoughts were brought back to this morning when I was awaken by loud poundings on Tristan's window.
"Rory," Mom asked opening the door, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I groaned as she pulled me to her in a tight hug.
But that was when my body chose to remind me that I was hurt, and I cried out in pain.
"What happened, what happened?" she gasped letting me go and inspecting me with her eyes.
"She fell," Tristan's voice chimed in, and I turned to look at him.
I wasn't going to admit it, but he looked adorable in the morning. He had yet to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but his bedroom eyes and disheveled hair that was flattened on one side, made him look sweet, almost innocent. On the side of his face, the patters of the leather seats were pressed against his sunken cheeks. His blue eyes twinkled with morning youth, and his lips formed a crooked, benign smile to me.
"She fell!" Lorelei exclaimed, "Where does it hurt?"
"She fell on her back. I had some painkillers, but she wouldn't take them. There's going to be an angry bruise, if there isn't one now."
"Why didn't you call me?" she looked me in the eye.
"I didn't bring my cellphone, or any money. I couldn't." I lied looking away.
"You're in Star's Hallow. You could have asked Luke, he would have let you, and you could have gotten something to eat."
"I didn't think of that."
Both Tristan's and my stomachs growled at the same time.
"Yeah, obviously." Then she turned to Tristan. "Hey you, can you get her in the house? I'm going to run to Luke's, bring you guys back some breakfast, and maybe a doctor for her."
"Sure," he replied, taking the keys from her hands and getting out of the driver's seat. He'd already turned off the car.
She ran off to the diner, the fastest I've ever seen her run in my life (if she hadn't run from the police the one time we'd snuck into a U2 concert and had gotten caught, I would have said for the first time in my life).
"C'mon," Tristan breathed, pushing my hair from my face and helped me out of the car. We slowly, but surely made our way inside Strawberry fields, his fingers on my lower back, gently guiding me into the living room.
He guided me onto the overstuffed couch, concealed with a white tarp.
I had never been inside Strawberry Fields, and when my eyes finally fell upon the living room, I couldn't wait for Saturday night.
The room still smelled of paint, they had painted it two weeks ago, but I guess because of the smothering, the scent hadn't escaped yet. The green carpet on the floor reminded me of a home I'd never known. All our furniture was arranged haphazardly around the house, still looking for the perfect spot to sit to let the positive energy move around the room freely . . . to be feng shuied. The fireplace was barren, yearning for something to fill it, either a crackling fire, or our "pretty" shoes . . . but something. The corridors leading out of the room seemed to open up the place.
"We've never lived in a house before," I whispered, looking around me, taking in the space surrounding us, consuming us.
"Never?" he asked, looking down at me, a look of disbelief on his face.
"We've lived in apartments, condos, and bungalows, but never a real-whole house. We've even lived in a kitchenette apartment, but never in a house."
Disbelief still shown in his eyes.
"We've never needed one. We've never lived anywhere long enough. Even when we lived in Alaska we took an apartment above a pastry shop. I think the longest we've ever lived anywhere was about a year. That was in Chicago where my mom was taking classes. We left Chicago two hours before her graduation. It was a lot of fun."
"Why do you guys move around so much?"
I shrugged. At first, I just thought it was out of necessity, and later, instinct. But even when He moved in with us, our nomadic behavior didn't change. In fact, He, who'd lived in Georgia all His life, didn't give up the chance to move away with us. I think at the time she was afraid to be with Him . . . and He proved her right.
"Don't you guys get times to know places? People? Everything? Don't you guys care?"
"I used to . . . then I got over it. We've moved around so much. I used to hate not knowing anyone, never having a stable place, never calling anything home. When kids used to ask me where I was from, I would tell them where I was born, Connecticut, but never had remembered because my mom ran away with me when I was too young to remember. And don't get me wrong, I've never blamed her. It's not like my life has been an utter failure. I had friends and family, just no stable home. But I loved it, I still sort of do. Sometimes I perpetuated the move and sometimes they did."
He looked at me. Well, not at me exactly . . . not through me . . . but inside of me.
His eyes touched something within me. Something I'd never seen, or felt before. He looked within me for awhile, his intense blue eyes burrowing into mine, our gazes locking- the connection not even failing when we blinked.
"I can't describe who or what you are," he whispered finally, after very long moments, "but I want to tell you-"
"Honey, are you ok?" Lorelei called through the front door carrying large bags of Luke's with some guy standing behind her with a large bag.
"Yeah Mom, in here." I called, looking away from Tristan's eyes.
I'd never done this before, and I wasn't going to start with the self- proclaimed Lothario. In my life I've never truly been close to anyone except Lorelei and Him. I've made friends, but I've never been that close to anyone. And the way that he makes me feel when he's close to me, when he puts his fingers on me, when he holds me . . . I don't like it... I don't understand it... And I won't take it.
As if getting the idea, he lifted himself and checked his watch.
"School starts in an hour. My uniform is in my book bag, which is in my car. So I'll just eat, change and leave, unless you need me for something?" he asked looking down at me again.
I shook my head and looked over to my mom.
"What's your name?" she asked Tristan as he took his gaze from mine.
"Tristan DuGrey," he proffered out his hand for her to shake.
"DuGrey," she said thoughtfully, "I know that name. You go to Chilton, don't you?"
He nodded.
"How'd you come across my daughter?"
He looked at me for a moment. Then turned back to her.
"I found her sitting outside the school. I offered her a ride."
"Well, thank you for everything." She whispered, looking back at me. "That means a lot."
"Yeah." He nodded, not looking back at me.
"So, Rory, why were you late?" Lane asked pulling me from my reverie.
We were all sitting at the lunch table. They had already pulled out their lunches, and I had yet to extract my Pop-Tarts from the plastic bag in my backpack.
"I was getting a prescription filled."
"For what?"
"Nothing really. I fell yesterday; I got some painkillers and cold medicine."
"Ooo, which kind?"
"Codeine."
"Doesn't that make you sleep?"
"Yeah, my mom didn't want me to come to school, but I insisted. So can someone take notes for me?"
"Ask Tristan," Louise said sending an inquisitive smirk his way. "He's been quite the Poindexter today. Took notes in all his classes."
"Shut up Louise," Tristan groaned, flicking a fry at her.
"He was late for school too. He missed half of homeroom."
I didn't feel like sitting through this. My head was throbbing and the painkillers were making me lightheaded. I didn't like what they did to my body, and I didn't want to take them in the first place. But the extensive scarring on my back told another story. Luke almost ripped Tristan a new one when he saw it.
"Guys, I've got to study for my Chemistry test, which I didn't study for last night. So if someone would direct me to the library, I'll get out of your hairs."
"Figures." Paris mumbled beneath her breath.
Lane rolled her eyes as she looked away from her Cosmo and jammed another fry in her mouth. She nodded to me and got up from her seat.
"Keep your arms and legs inside the ve-hi-cle at all times," Lane began in a nasal voice. "Please, no flash photography. If you find yourself lost- that's an oxymoron-" she giggled at herself, "if you find yourself lost, just call Marco and I'll Polo my way back to you."
I grinned.
In all the group, Lane wasn't all that bad.
TBC . . .
P.A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Daniel, James, Joseph, Nicolas and Wanda Hammen. You are all within our prayers, and Wanda we're so sorry, and hope that something good will come from this tragedy.