Rory awoke that afternoon with a genuine smile on her face. She
stretched, wincing at the pain in her arm.
That hurt, she thought, they've never hurt before.
She remembered the paper Dr. Bryce left, the paper her mom had referred to. She picked it up off the table, remembering the book and Tristan's handwriting. The same script was on this piece of paper.
A smile grew on her face as she read…
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
As soon as Rory finished, she heard a voice and raised her head. "Rory, you're up," Dr. Bryce smiled as she entered. "Have a nice rest?"
Rory nodded, debating whether or not to speak.
"That's good. Your grandparents are just down eating dinner, they were in here while you slept. I'd like to talk to you first, though." Dr. Bryce told her.
Rory gestured to the chair next to her, noticing the satisfied smile on the woman's face. "Did you dream?" Rory confirmed this question with a nod. "Are you feeling better?" She nodded again.
Dr. Bryce leaned over and took the poem from Rory's hand, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Rory smiled a little smile. "Do you know who gave it to you?" Rory nodded, getting tired of the gesture but not wanting to speak yet. "How do you feel about it?" Rory shrugged, not sure even if she decided to speak if she could explain the confused, tumultuous feelings inside of her.
"Well, when you decide, I'm here to talk," Dr. Bryce said, getting up and leaving as the Gilmore's entered. The three held a small, quiet conversation, then the Gilmores turned to look at Rory.
"Rory! You're awake!" Emily said with glee. "Are you alright?"
Rory nodded, silently screaming that the nodding kept hurting her head. She leaned up to give her grandmother a hug, and over her shoulder she saw the happiness of her grandfather that she was responding to them.
"Dr. Bryce said she thinks that you're ready to see your friends. They've been calling non-stop." Rory nodded urgently.
"Alright, we'll give them a call, and they can come tomorrow. How does that sound?" Richard asked. Rory smiled.
Emily said, "Oh, Rory, whatever it is that's making you better, keep doing it."
Tristan groaned when the phone awoke him, interrupting his near coma- like sleep. His head pounded at the loud noise, and he cursed violently as he sat up too quickly.
"Hello?" He mumbled into the phone, trying to keep from getting nauseous. He chastised himself for thinking his problems could be solved with a night of heavy drinking. The only kind of drunk he'd ever been was the laughing, wild, horny kind of drunk at parties. Not the slobbering, crying, cursing drunk he'd been last night.
"This is Emily Gilmore, Tristan," Emily said into the phone.
Tristan was instantly alert, "Rory?"
"She's alright, Tristan, she feels better enough to see you and Luke and Jess."
Tristan cheered silently, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. "So we can see her? When?"
"Tonight, visiting hours start at 6."
They said goodbye, and Tristan put down the phone. He stumbled to the bathroom, popping one of his dad's Morning After pills and a few Advil. He looked at himself in the mirror, groaning at the image that greeted him. Messy hair, huge dark circles, sleep in his eyes and messed up clothes.
Tristan stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of his drunken evening.
He wondered if it was Jess and Luke that Rory agreed to see, if she wanted him to come. He didn't know what she would say to him, if she was talking, if she would be broken and crying and it would be all his fault.
He looked at his watch throughout the day, counting the hours until he could go to Rory.
That hurt, she thought, they've never hurt before.
She remembered the paper Dr. Bryce left, the paper her mom had referred to. She picked it up off the table, remembering the book and Tristan's handwriting. The same script was on this piece of paper.
A smile grew on her face as she read…
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
As soon as Rory finished, she heard a voice and raised her head. "Rory, you're up," Dr. Bryce smiled as she entered. "Have a nice rest?"
Rory nodded, debating whether or not to speak.
"That's good. Your grandparents are just down eating dinner, they were in here while you slept. I'd like to talk to you first, though." Dr. Bryce told her.
Rory gestured to the chair next to her, noticing the satisfied smile on the woman's face. "Did you dream?" Rory confirmed this question with a nod. "Are you feeling better?" She nodded again.
Dr. Bryce leaned over and took the poem from Rory's hand, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Rory smiled a little smile. "Do you know who gave it to you?" Rory nodded, getting tired of the gesture but not wanting to speak yet. "How do you feel about it?" Rory shrugged, not sure even if she decided to speak if she could explain the confused, tumultuous feelings inside of her.
"Well, when you decide, I'm here to talk," Dr. Bryce said, getting up and leaving as the Gilmore's entered. The three held a small, quiet conversation, then the Gilmores turned to look at Rory.
"Rory! You're awake!" Emily said with glee. "Are you alright?"
Rory nodded, silently screaming that the nodding kept hurting her head. She leaned up to give her grandmother a hug, and over her shoulder she saw the happiness of her grandfather that she was responding to them.
"Dr. Bryce said she thinks that you're ready to see your friends. They've been calling non-stop." Rory nodded urgently.
"Alright, we'll give them a call, and they can come tomorrow. How does that sound?" Richard asked. Rory smiled.
Emily said, "Oh, Rory, whatever it is that's making you better, keep doing it."
Tristan groaned when the phone awoke him, interrupting his near coma- like sleep. His head pounded at the loud noise, and he cursed violently as he sat up too quickly.
"Hello?" He mumbled into the phone, trying to keep from getting nauseous. He chastised himself for thinking his problems could be solved with a night of heavy drinking. The only kind of drunk he'd ever been was the laughing, wild, horny kind of drunk at parties. Not the slobbering, crying, cursing drunk he'd been last night.
"This is Emily Gilmore, Tristan," Emily said into the phone.
Tristan was instantly alert, "Rory?"
"She's alright, Tristan, she feels better enough to see you and Luke and Jess."
Tristan cheered silently, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. "So we can see her? When?"
"Tonight, visiting hours start at 6."
They said goodbye, and Tristan put down the phone. He stumbled to the bathroom, popping one of his dad's Morning After pills and a few Advil. He looked at himself in the mirror, groaning at the image that greeted him. Messy hair, huge dark circles, sleep in his eyes and messed up clothes.
Tristan stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of his drunken evening.
He wondered if it was Jess and Luke that Rory agreed to see, if she wanted him to come. He didn't know what she would say to him, if she was talking, if she would be broken and crying and it would be all his fault.
He looked at his watch throughout the day, counting the hours until he could go to Rory.