Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls. It belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino, etc, etc. I just enjoy playing in her world and I make no profit from this.
A/N: Short chapter. I'm not going to try and force it, because the only thing that would accomplish is a steaming pile of literary crap. I covered everything I wanted to cover. Sorry for the wait on this one, I was busy reading Robin Hobb's new book, so I didn't write for several days, then spent a few more days trying to get this one to co-operate. I wish it was longer, but it's a long as it can be without sucking. I hope you enjoy it, despite its shortcomings. :p
POV: Rory.
Gilmore Girls
Eternal Flame
Chapter Ten
I don't really like to think about the aftermath of my date with Ryan. I was a complete wreck, my body and mind overloaded with the knowledge of what had almost happened to me. I could still feel his fingers on my flesh, gripping me tightly, so as soon as I got home, I ran into the shower. There was only a little hot water, and it soon ran out, but anything was better than the sick sensation of his fingers on my body. I drowned myself in the cold spray, oblivious to the fact that I was still dressed in my torn clothing.
My mind refused to work properly, so I didn't care that I was still dressed, or that I was freezing. I just sobbed into my hands, feeling a strange mixture of emotions, chiefly among them horror, and if you can believe it, relief.
I didn't hear Paris calling my name or banging on the door, so when she burst into the bathroom I was surprised to see her. I hadn't even seen her when I got back, I had been that focused on the shower. She let out an audibly gasp when she saw me, and then before I could comprehend her movement, she was cradling me in her arms. I sank into her gratefully, burying my head in her shoulder. She reassured me with soft words and I felt some of my terror fade away. I felt safer within Paris' wonderful, comforting arms.
Eventually, she helped me out of the shower, and this was when I first realised just how cold I was. My lower lip quivered pathetically as she went to retrieve a warm towel for me. She wrapped it around me and helped to dry me a little. I felt like a tiny child, but I didn't care. When I look back on it, I do feel a little bit of shame about how pathetic I was, but at the time I loved her for it. She took care of me and I would be eternally grateful, despite my embarrassment.
Paris coaxed me into getting changed into some of my pyjamas. She left me with my bedclothes and after getting control of my shaking limbs; I undressed, dried myself, and then put on the pyjamas she had picked out for me. She sat me down on my bed and finished by drying my hair.
When she told me to get under my covers and go to sleep, I panicked. I couldn't even imagine sleeping alone in my bed. I was just about keeping myself together now, and that was because she was here, right next to me, keeping me safe. I begged her pitifully not to let me sleep alone. She gave me a nod and a sad smile and then helped me under the covers, before slipping in next to me on the other side of the bed. Once she got settled, I snuggled up to her, and she wrapped her arms around me.
That night was like a catharsis for me. Safe in her arms, I let it all out during the course of the night, crying softly at times, bawling like a baby at others. I slept very little, but I didn't really mind. I hated to think what my subconscious mind might inflict on me during my dreams if I did fall asleep for a long period of time. Paris held me tightly during it all, tenderly rubbing my back and soothing me with a soft murmur.
In the morning, I felt a lot better. I was nowhere near over it, but I felt like I could function again, and get on with my life. Paris woke up shortly after that and we exchanged morning greetings. She didn't question me about what had happened, but I felt like I needed to tell her. It was a painful experience to relive, but she deserved to know.
I hinted to her that I was trying to prove something to myself by going on the date with Ryan, and especially by stupidly agreeing to accompany him up to his apartment, and she quickly asked me if it was about what had happened at the club. I wasn't ready to tell her the truth yet – I wasn't even really ready to admit that to myself yet – so I begged her not to press the issue, and she backed off.
After a few more exchanges, she suggested we get some more sleep, and I didn't put up much of a fight. I felt lighter and more at ease after confessing to Paris, and so I was easily able to fall asleep.
I'm not sure for how long I slept, but a commotion outside in the hallway was what ultimately woke me up. I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to stare across the room at the open door. Paris wasn't in the bed – I could hear her voice coming from outside, in the hall, engaged in a shouting match with another familiar voice.
My heart sped up when I heard him, pumping with panic. What was he doing here? Hadn't he done enough? My hands shook as I gripped the blankets around me. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't overly eager to see him again, but I hated feeling trapped and helpless like this. My mother hadn't raised me to be a coward.
And I wasn't a coward. I wouldn't allow myself to be one. I had to face my fear and be brave, so I threw the blankets aside and stood up on shaky legs. It was harder than I thought to cross the room and stand in the doorway. I had to clutch the doorframe as I looked out on the scene, just to keep myself from fleeing back into the room and the safety of my bed.
Paris was closest, blocking him from getting access to me. She had her hands balled into fists at her side. She was wearing a coat and had her handbag over her right shoulder, so I figured she had just gotten back, or was about to leave. A few fellow students had stuck their heads out of their doors to find out what the commotion was all about. I ignored them and focused on Paris.
'Oh yeah,' she said loudly and sarcastically, 'of course, it makes perfect sense. After all, why wouldn't she want to see you, after what you did to her? Forgive me for not seeing it sooner. Moron!'
'Shut your mouth bitch,' he replied harshly, 'it's none of your business.'
'None of my business?' Paris cried, laughing bitterly. 'You act like you know everything about her. Let me tell you something - you don't! You don't know her and you don't know me. She's my best friend and I'm not going to let you anywhere near her!'
'You think you can keep me away?' He laughed. 'You're a joke. You're nothing but a tiny little girl. The only thing stopping me from pushing right past you right now is my manners, and they're running very thin, so I'd step aside if you don't want to get hurt.'
'It's not going to happen,' Paris said bravely, but I could tell by her tense shoulders that she was afraid. If he did try, I doubted she would be able to stop him.
'Ryan,' I called out, trying to sound as fearless and confident as possible. From the way my voice croaked a little, I wasn't very effective, but I got his (and Paris') attention.
He looked over her shoulder at me and his eyes betrayed his surprise. His harsh angry expression faded, replaced with a look of concern. 'Rory,' he said, and tried to get past Paris. She moved to block his way and he stopped.
'Go away Ryan,' I said, quietly, but as forcefully as I could.
'I can't,' he said. 'Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. You know that, right…' he trailed off, giving me a pleading look. I believed him, but it didn't change a thing.
'It doesn't matter,' I said, trying to speak as loudly and clearly as I could. 'I can't see you right now. I just can't. Please leave.'
'Rory,' he begged, 'no, come on.' He tried to get past Paris again, but suddenly she held up a can of mace and pointed it at his face.
'Just try it,' she threatened.
He backed away, giving her a sour, hate filled look.
'Go,' I repeated.
He cast me one last sorrowful glance and then turned and walked away.
I let out a relieved breath and Paris echoed me. She turned to face me. 'Thanks,' I said, smiling at her.
'No need to thank me,' she replied, putting the can of mace back in her handbag. She shot our nosy spectators a pointed look. 'What? Shows over people. Thanks for the help.' Her sharp tongue quickly shamed our audience into leaving us alone. 'Let's get inside.'
She followed me in and closed the door behind us.
'When did you get the mace?' I asked her when she turned to face me.
She smiled. 'Just now,' she replied, placing her handbag down on her bed and hanging her coat on the back of the door. 'I thought it might come in handy.'
'Oh,' was all I could think to reply.
'You're mad?' Her face was a show of apprehension.
I smiled disarmingly. 'No,' I said. 'I'm glad he's gone. I can't see him right now. But I don't think he intended to… you know. It was just a misunderstanding.'
'Either way, I don't care,' Paris said. 'He hurt you, and that's all that matters.'
'I don't think he meant to.' For some reason, I felt the need to defend him.
'He's a jerk Rory,' Paris countered. 'It doesn't matter whether he meant to, or not, and frankly, I'm not convinced he didn't mean it. Fact is - I get to hate him. He's been nothing but an ass to me. And worse, what he did to you, it's unforgivable. He's a jerk.'
'I know,' I whispered.
Paris stared at me, searching my face, trying to understand. 'If you knew, then why did you date him? Why did you go with him? Why Rory?'
I sighed tiredly and sat on my bed, burying my head in my hands. I felt like crying again, but I didn't allow the tears to fall. I had to be strong. 'I can't answer that yet,' I mumbled miserably.
Paris came and sat next to me, wrapping one arm over my shoulders. I leant my head back into her and she held me close.
'I won't push,' she told me, 'but you know you can tell me anything, right?'
'I know,' I replied, 'and I will, but… I can't right now.' I wasn't even ready to admit it to myself yet. It was there, hovering at the edge of my consciousness, almost a thought, but I wouldn't allow it. Not yet. I needed to live on as if nothing had changed, just for a little while longer.
Even though it had.