DISCLAIMER: Same as before and I included some of Anne Rice's work.
"Understand what you see when you see me."
Anne Rice, "The Vampire Lestat"
The sun filtering through the small windows of the former office fell upon the pages his eyes roamed. For some reason he had felt a sudden compulsion to thrust himself once again into the world of Anne Rice's vampires. Perhaps it was because he had seen the video for "The Queen of the Damned" in the store a few days past. Such a travesty of a movie, despite its worthy soundtrack.
He flicked a page, the name of Pandora leaping out at him. Images of Rory swirled in his head. He forced them down, willing himself not to invoke the memory of her eyes, vast blue wells, or of her lips, feather-soft like a bed. His jaws clenched and he persevered with his reading, Pandora's hair was brown, like Rory's.
Sighing, he turned yet another page, his eyes falling upon the words:
"Yet in love we'll take you And in rapture we'll break you."
Wasn't that exactly what had befallen him? Perhaps not. Maybe she had not taken him in love. But rapture, he thought with a slight smile, that had certainly been rapture. To have Rory kiss him, to have HER kiss HIM, when he had come to accept that it would only be the other way around, had vindicated every reason he had had for returning. Her.
New York had been more than a welcome surprise. It had been the solidification of every hope he had never dared to entertain. In that wallowing mass of human population, she had found him on his park bench; she had brought purpose to his day. And all because she had not said "Goodbye". Truth be known, "goodbye" was a word he wished never to utter to her. It was so final; it was severing himself from the one beautiful human being with whom he had formed this intangible, refreshing connection. After giving him reason to hope, after giving him breath and a taste of what he swore was his definition of ambrosia, she had departed, without even so much as a farewell. Of course, he reasoned, that could have been payback for the way in which he'd left but he had hurt her. He had convinced himself that she did not need him. She had proven him wrong. She had not hurt him with her uncharacteristic behaviour; she had given him a reason to smile. Her leaving, however, was a different scenario.
He sighed. He knew why. Bag Boy. Lorelai. His fingers slid down the edge of the book, reminding him of his fingers on her face. Coldness enveloped him and he threw the book down, needing to leave the diner. He knew where he was headed and he knew why. Distraction, plain and simple. Distraction was his only solace. Strolling on the sidewalk, he laughed at himself. Shane. Blonde, wavy-haired, curvy Shane. The antithesis of Rory. She worked in a cosmetic store. Books? Her favourite reading material probably fell in the vein of Cosmo or Elle. And not for the articles, either. She was no Rory- precisely what he needed now.
"Hey," she smiled at him as he entered the store.
"Hi," he replied, leaning over the counter to mesh his lips with hers.
That's all this is, he decided, his body enjoying the mindless activity. Physical contact. Not a union of souls.
"Understand what you see when you see me."
Anne Rice, "The Vampire Lestat"
The sun filtering through the small windows of the former office fell upon the pages his eyes roamed. For some reason he had felt a sudden compulsion to thrust himself once again into the world of Anne Rice's vampires. Perhaps it was because he had seen the video for "The Queen of the Damned" in the store a few days past. Such a travesty of a movie, despite its worthy soundtrack.
He flicked a page, the name of Pandora leaping out at him. Images of Rory swirled in his head. He forced them down, willing himself not to invoke the memory of her eyes, vast blue wells, or of her lips, feather-soft like a bed. His jaws clenched and he persevered with his reading, Pandora's hair was brown, like Rory's.
Sighing, he turned yet another page, his eyes falling upon the words:
"Yet in love we'll take you And in rapture we'll break you."
Wasn't that exactly what had befallen him? Perhaps not. Maybe she had not taken him in love. But rapture, he thought with a slight smile, that had certainly been rapture. To have Rory kiss him, to have HER kiss HIM, when he had come to accept that it would only be the other way around, had vindicated every reason he had had for returning. Her.
New York had been more than a welcome surprise. It had been the solidification of every hope he had never dared to entertain. In that wallowing mass of human population, she had found him on his park bench; she had brought purpose to his day. And all because she had not said "Goodbye". Truth be known, "goodbye" was a word he wished never to utter to her. It was so final; it was severing himself from the one beautiful human being with whom he had formed this intangible, refreshing connection. After giving him reason to hope, after giving him breath and a taste of what he swore was his definition of ambrosia, she had departed, without even so much as a farewell. Of course, he reasoned, that could have been payback for the way in which he'd left but he had hurt her. He had convinced himself that she did not need him. She had proven him wrong. She had not hurt him with her uncharacteristic behaviour; she had given him a reason to smile. Her leaving, however, was a different scenario.
He sighed. He knew why. Bag Boy. Lorelai. His fingers slid down the edge of the book, reminding him of his fingers on her face. Coldness enveloped him and he threw the book down, needing to leave the diner. He knew where he was headed and he knew why. Distraction, plain and simple. Distraction was his only solace. Strolling on the sidewalk, he laughed at himself. Shane. Blonde, wavy-haired, curvy Shane. The antithesis of Rory. She worked in a cosmetic store. Books? Her favourite reading material probably fell in the vein of Cosmo or Elle. And not for the articles, either. She was no Rory- precisely what he needed now.
"Hey," she smiled at him as he entered the store.
"Hi," he replied, leaning over the counter to mesh his lips with hers.
That's all this is, he decided, his body enjoying the mindless activity. Physical contact. Not a union of souls.