Chapter 80
You gotta love Paris sometimes...
Disclaimer:I don't own GG
Background: takes place in the episode where Lorelai is gone for the weekend and Rory eats in her house with Jess and Paris, which is when Dean comes, Jess leaves and they start fighting. All starts going down after that.
Warning: Some chapters may be really triggering
Note: We all know a lot is going on in the world right now, so maybe this fanfic seems silly in comparison or writing in it. Then again, what better way to continue writing it than when we are all stuck at home (or many of us, anyway). Planning to update daily or every couple of days for a while.
1.
Paris stood there with her hand on Rory's shoulder while Rory cried, trying to digest. Finally, she pulled her to go out of the house through the kitchen door and lead her to her car.
'We're going out. Come on. Okay. We're going to the car. Sit down.'
Rory let herself be lead away by Paris' strong grip. It felt like she was sleepwalking, all her senses heightened and surreal. There was silence for a while.
'What happened when you were 6?'
She shrugged.
'What does it matter? What happened with Dean happened, what happened when I was a child happened. What does it matter what was it exactly?'
'Was it anything like with Dean? Do you feel ashamed, is that why you're hiding?'
'I'm not... no, it wasn't like Dean.'
'But similar?'
'It wasn't completely like...fuck Paris, why can't you ever leave anything alone?'
'Anger, good, I can take anger. At least you're not hiding that way.'
'Leave it.' She felt detached like all this was happening to someone else, and needing to do anything about it felt like it was simply out of the question. But there was another part of her, the part of her she continuously tried to shut down, push down, ignore, and that part of her wanted to finally say it.
'Are you going to talk to someone if I do?'
'I just...why can't you leave it? Do the details matter? It happened, who cares.' She didn't want to care. If she cared it meant admitting to herself that it was real. That she wasn't going crazy, but that this actually happened to her and the knowledge of it felt too big, incomprehensible. She was afraid that talking about it would make it more real, and that she would never get out. Yes, talking about Dean had eventually started to help, and yet, it didn't seem like talking was any easier now about this new thing.
'What happened?'
'Just...I can't, just stop, STOP.'
'Told you, I can take it. I'm not letting you give up just like that. What was it? Did someone yell, hit you? Touching inappropriately? What?' Leave it to Paris to go for directly saying the words. Rory twitched uncomfortably, but Paris held her cool.
'I hate you.'
'That's okay too.'
Rory looked at her knees, the picture in front of her eyes blurring in an out of focus. Was this really happening?
'My uncle- someone I thought of as an uncle, a family friend- he made up a game.' Her voice was quiet, but enough to be understood.
'Yes?'
'It was touching, mostly.' The moment she said it she felt the shame blossom on her cheeks like a fever in ugly brick-red spots. She shook her head, feeling her chest contract in protest. Take it back, you have to take it back. You promised not to talk about it, you promised him, you promised. Take it back. You're wrong, you're a bad person, you're disgusting, take it back. She fought her own feelings, retracting under the pressure to make all this seem normal, okay, because she knew in every cell in her body, that it wasn't okay. 'It wasn't that bad, it wasn't anything I even understood much, not at that age, not until now. It was just uncomfortable, odd, for a while, it wasn't so bad but... then it changed ...it doesn't matter.' She was digging her fingers in the leather of the seat under her as if that would magically make this stop, and slowly, almost unnoticeably rocking back and forth.
'It does, Rory.' Paris' voice wasn't gentle or careful, but it was steady and direct, reassuring and fully honest, sure. 'What someone did to your body when you were too little to defend yourself matters.'
'It's over.' Rory muttered staring down, almost like she was talking to herself.
'Is it?'
'It wasn't like he had sex with me.' She protested, her stomach contracting painfully against every word she was saying.
'If he had, that wouldn't have been sex, Rory, you were 6. You didn't choose that. That's abuse.' Steady and direct, calm but sure. Paris knew she needed to say this, even though Rory twitched at every word like she had hit her. Seeing her friend that loved to write, and read and go to school retreat further and further within herself had made no sense to her, not until now. And she knew if she let her hide from this would probably get even worse.
'Well, it wasn't. Sex. It wasn't, because sex would be if he...It wasn't...' Rory's cheeks burned from the shame and the fear that inevitably came every time she thought about... 'Not in that way, you know? He just. He only used h-h-h-h-h-h-his...'
Trying Paris' frank approach of talking had been hard up until this point, now it was impossible. The dream - nightmare- she had the night before reared high over her and washed like a wave through her body, the memories suddenly washing over her. Her muscles felt in pain and restrained like a huge weight was crushing her. The pain washed all over her and then concentrated in painful pulsing spots. Her wrists. Her knees. Between her legs, painful, pulsing, stinging, nauseating feeling. Stinging, painful feeling after he... The memory broke apart again and she was sick, sick and grateful to stop remembering, and suffocating. She wanted to throw up.
'It's okay. It's okay. You're okay.' Paris' voice was coming from afar.
'It-it was just fingers, okay, he didn't- h-he- couldn't- he- he-he tried but he cccou-' She squeezed her eyes, fighting the memory.' he only used- it was just fingers and so it's-not-a-big-deal, it doesn't matter right,' She fumbled, stumbled over the words, blurted them out like poison. If it didn't matter if she refused to let herself matter than maybe she could forget the dream, the memory that was pushing to the surface. The truth. The truth that he had... If she said it long enough, maybe she could forget those pieces of the dream cutting through her, screaming for attention. 'It doesn't matter since it wasn't really-fully-since he couldn't...'
Paris sighed, squeezed Rory's hand gently and chose her next words very carefully.
'It does. It matters. It's still sexual assault, Rory. And what I'm- guessing, but we'll get there- is an attempted rape.' The way Rory twitched at the words she was saying hurt, but she knew she shouldn't let her hide within herself anymore. 'And you were a child. It matters very much.'
'I don't want to be myself.'
'Well that's just foolish. You're one of the only decent people in Chillton.' She was trying to make her smile, but it didn't really work. Paris sighed again. 'Rory. It's okay to struggle with this. It was not normal, it was not alright and it matters.'
'I feel disgusting. I feel ashamed and scared and panicked and so lost. And I hate myself.' She blurted out the words, regretting them immediately.
'It's okay. What happened to you is awful and horrifying and scary. And this is a normal reaction to an abnormal situation. You need to feel this. It's okay to feel all of this.'
2.
Now Paris lead her back in the kitchen, and picked up the running outfit and shoes.
'Let's go for a run. Or a walk. Whatever you can do right now. You need to keep active.' Rory looked at her like she lost her mind. 'Oh, come on Gilmore. My mom buys me too many of these things. I've never worn this set, and it should fit.'
'I thought you were into studying and research?' Rory protested weakly. Running was the last thing she wanted to do.
'Research shows you that physical activity can greatly help your wellbeing, especially in time of excessive stress.'
'Paris I am not under ex- Paris I'm exhausted. Please.'
'I'm not going to bullshit you and give you crap about how everything is fine, okay? That you're going to run and suddenly all will be rainbows and roses and crap. What happened to you wasn't okay. You have the right to be mad or sad, or whatever you feel. And you need to talk about it, fully. It wasn't okay. It wasn't anything that should have happened to you. You have a right to choose what you do with your body, do you understand? But you need to start processing it sooner or later. And you need to take care of yourself.'
Rory shook her head, everything in her revolting against the knowledge of all she had admitted to Paris just now. She had to pretend it didn't really happen. And if she couldn't do that, she had to pretend it was okay, that it didn't matter, because if she really felt it, that pulsing pain that...
'It was not okay. It wasn't anything you did, or anything about you, and it was not right. Do you understand? It's okay to be upset. You were a child. You were a child and you weren't protected from something that happened to you. Something that should have never happened. Do you understand this?'
Rory shook her head, the memory pulsing through her body in waves of pain.
'You're not at the talking stage yet, okay. So I'll talk. You're not giving up. Take the time, but exercise, spend time with friends and family, go to therapy. Eat well. Take care of yourself. See your Asian friend. Spend time with your guy. You have a month.'
Rory opened her mouth to protest, finally present.
'-I'm not done. You have a month, but then you're coming back to school. I don't care if I have to pick you up every morning. You're too smart to quit. And I'll visit, every week, and we'll go for a run.'
Rory sighed.
'Has anyone told you you can be exhausting?'
'Yup. It's okay. Be annoyed, be mad, take it out on me. I'm fine, I can take it. You need to get all this out of you.'
'That's not what I want. Why is nobody asking me what I want?' She muttered weakly.
'What do you want?'
'Just let this be. It didn't happen to you. It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago and I am fine and it doesn't matter, Paris, please, it doesn't matter. Please just let it not matter.' She was speeding up, the panic building up with every word. She felt like a timebomb about to blow up.
'I can't.' Paris said simply and calmly.
'Why not?'
'Because it matters. Because, weirdly enough, we are friends.'
Rory stared at the ground, shaky, fighting the panic. She took a deep breath. She was tired of fighting. She gave an uncertain look to the shoes and running outfit.
'Running huh?'
'Running.'
'Fine, let's do it. If that will make you stop talking about this.' She muttered begrudgingly as if being mad at Paris could erase the rest of the chaos in her.
'Atta girl.'
