Rain

Chapter 8 – Falling



Rory couldn't describe the dizzy feeling that was taking over her head. It was like a million different senses were coursing through her body at once, robbing her of her ability to speak, move, listen, or see. Images flashed behind her eyes, a private movie screening that she'd much rather not be experiencing. In a matter of seconds, Rory experienced days, months, and years of sadness and pain. She felt every tear falling onto her cheek, every stab of emptiness, every intentionally comforting hand over her own. The only thing she could do was stand there, that mixture of sickness and anticipation on her tongue, waiting for the moment to end. And when it did, she came crashing down.

Tristan saw her falling to the floor before she even knew it was happening, lunging to the ground in an attempt to catch her. She fell into his arms, a small gasp escaping from her lips. In her twisting, turning mind, she saw her mother, lying lifeless, blood smeared across her cheek. She felt the emotion, the desperation, the deep, burning desire to die.

Her eyes fluttered open, their blue light extinguished, her face twisted in pain. "Rory?" Tristan whispered. She forced herself to support her own weight, looking blankly down the hall. Blinking, she grimaced in pain. Tristan helped her to stand, supporting her as she wavered, the horrible foreign thoughts flooding her mind once more.

"Rory, are you okay?" Christopher asked, concern spread across his face. A couple of nurses had rushed over, looking anxiously at Rory.

"No." she said simply, standing up, refusing any assistance from anyone but Tristan. She forced the images of her mother's casket, draped with petals, out of her head. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. But the thoughts and feelings were so real. The bitter taste of blood on her tongue, her pounding heart, the memories flashing through her body. It was all so real.

Slowly the nurses left, realizing that even if there were anything they could do, their help would be refused. Christopher took his hand off of his daughter's back, letting Rory stand on her own. Sookie's hand was still clutched at her heart. Her grandfather sat motionless with a worn copy of The New York Times lying limply across his knee, and Emily's forehead was creased with worry. They all knew something Rory didn't. Panic rushed through her veins, pinpricks of worry spreading across her skin.

She focused on keeping her feet planted firmly where they stood, fighting the urge to run again. Tristan reached up, brushing his fingertips across her bare forearm. Warmth leapt from his body to hers, and suddenly she stood up straighter. Rory ignored the twisting, turning rollercoaster ride in her stomach, grabbing Tristan's hand and squeezing it tightly. He was the only thing keeping her from running again. She ran her index finger lightly up his wrist, then closed her eyes and took a breath, smelling the mixture of Tristan and fear surrounding her.

Rory exhaled, letting the anxiety flow out of her. It had always sounded like something Miss Patty would say. Take a breath, and as you let it out, let the fear and the pain go right out with it. But at the moment that was exactly what it felt like. Just the feeling of Tristan standing so close, his breath tickling the back of her neck seemed to calm her soul. She broke their embrace, pulling her arms around her body.

Her eyes opened slowly, coming to rest on folder hanging outside a nearby door, creased with wear. She forced her feet to move and carefully walked towards it, afraid she didn't have the strength to make it all the way. Her head still pounded, little white dots flashing in front of her eyes. Her legs shook, timidly carrying her. She squinted hard, unshed tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. Lorelai Gilmore, the folder read. She ran her fingers over the glossy lettering, letting them travel down the frame, over the rough woodworking surrounding the heavy door, across the gray to the doorknob. Her fingertips brushed the frigid metal.

"Rory, don't." she heard from behind her, without really hearing it at all.

She grasped the dented metal, holding her breath. It was cold beneath her fingertips, her nerves electrified, spreading the feeling up her arm. Little hairs stood on end, and she unconsciously shivered. Her hand hadn't left the metal yet. She stood completely still, attempting to shake the last remnants of memory standing on the edge of her mind. Slowly the doorknob turned and the door swung open. Rory wasn't even sure if she had done it.

She took one step inside, blinking in terror. It was dark. A soft beeping filled the room, and a curtain was pulled closed ahead of her, blocking the bed from the rest of the room. Rory wondered if they kept someone in their room after they died, then immediately stopped the thought. She couldn't be doing that. It was morbid, and she had to be strong. For Lorelai, for her family, for herself. Her hands trembled. She took in shallow, shaky breaths, closing the door behind her to disable her from running again.

Her eyes remained focused on the pale curtain in front of her, swaying gently in an unseen breeze. The room was cold, not only in temperature but also in emotion. For the first time in her life, Rory was unable to sense her mother's presence in the room.

Slowly, she began to move towards the curtain. Her hand, trembling independently from the rest of her body, shakily grasped the thin plastic. She pulled, and it opened with a metal clang, light filtering in from the faded window, forcing Rory to squint. She could vaguely make out a Lorelai- shaped form in the bed, and Rory's breath caught in her throat.

She dropped to her knees by the bed, her fingers lightly running across Lorelai's bare forearm. It was colder than she imagined, colder than she had ever dreamt her mother could be. Little tubes stuck out of her body at erratic angles, and a melody of beeping filled the room. Machines littered her bedside, a long forgotten pitcher of ice slowly creating a puddle on a brown table. Her eyes traveled across her mother's body, down towards a particularly noisy machine.

It was when she saw the small green lines flashing across the screen, up and down at a steady pace, that Rory first cried. She didn't stop until she quietly sobbed herself to sleep that night, a comforting arm around her weary shoulders, thoughts of winters to come and next spring's daisies drifting in and out of her mind.