I Miss You
Chapter 2: When I Wake Up
He restlessly shifts in his bed, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. It is his last night in his own bed. Tomorrow he leaves for Princeton. He can't sleep. His body is tired, but his mind is whirring with activity. He can't relax enough to fall asleep. He wishes he could call her. She could always soothe him into sleep. Many times during their relationship, he found himself calling her at all hours of the night because he couldn't fall asleep without hearing the sounds of her voice. She was always so understanding, never minding the late night phone calls that would invariably wake her from a sound sleep. But that is no longer an option.
They have kept in touch. Each needs the other to play some role in their respective lives. To be cut off from each other so completely would be like the loss of a limb. So they make phone calls and exchange emails. But only as friends. It would be unfair of him to carry over aspects of their romantic relationship into their friendship, especially since he is the one who broke things off to begin with.
He sits up in bed and rotates his neck back and forth, trying to get the kinks out. He gets out of bed and shuffles over to the window. He stares at the moon, in deep contemplation. The moonlight bathes him in a soft glow, the only source of light in the darkened room.
He isn't going to lie to himself. The past summer has been hard. It has been a struggle to get through each day, knowing that she is out there but they are not together. He finds himself questioning his decision to break up with her, asking himself why he hadn't at least waited until the end of summer. Then they would have at least gotten to spend another magical summer together before facing the harsh realities of growing up. But he realizes that it had to happen sooner rather than later. It is one of those decisions he has to follow through on before he can talk himself out of it, because otherwise he would never bring himself to go through with it.
He pads back to his bed and crawls in. He lays flat on his back and stares at the ceiling, tracing the shadows with his eyes. His gaze flickers to the alarm clock on his night stand. 2:08, reads the bright red numbers. He wishes he could call her. Suddenly, the reasons he has for not calling her seem to fade in importance. The need to talk to her outweighs his better judgment. He picks up the phone and dials.
Almost immediately, the phone is answered.
"Hello?" No trace of sleep in her voice. She sounds alert, wide awake.
"Hey," he says softly. His voice is slightly husky from drowsiness. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I was," she protested.
"Rory..." he says, his tone of voice conveying that he isn't buying it.
"I was," she repeats earnestly. "But lately I've been waking up in the middle of the night."
"Oh? Any reason?" he asks, concerned.
"Just a lot of stuff on my mind," she answers vaguely. "In the middle of the night, when I wake up, my first instinct is still to call you."
"I know how you feel," he says, bemused. "So why haven't you?"
"I want to. But then I think that maybe I'd be overstepping boundaries and making it harder on both of us than it already is."
Both fall into silence, not knowing what to say in response to the harsh truth of that statement. He changes the subject. "Tell me about your day."
In her small bedroom in Stars Hollow, she allows her face to show the tiny smile struggling to shine through. What's the harm, it's not like he can see her. God, she misses him. The time spent waiting between his emails and phone calls is literally like the time spent waiting for her next breath of air. She starts talking about coffee and her mother. Neither is really listening to what she has to say.
Tristin settles back into his bed, the phone tucked comfortably next to his ear. He lets the steady tone of her voice lull him into a near unconscious state. Her voice washes over him like ocean waves gently rippling over a sandy shore.
Rory hears his breathing become deeper and more regular. "Tris, hang up the phone."
"Don't want to," he mumbles, almost incoherently.
"Rest now. I love you." She says the words without even realizing it.
"Love you too," he slurs, not picking up on her slip.
She hears a gentle click, then silence. She slowly returns the phone to its cradle, reluctant to end the phone call. Then she snuggles into her bed. She leaves for Harvard tomorrow. She hopes that the feeling she has inside of her at this very moment will stay with her through the night and through the next four years. She closes her eyes and sleeps.
Tristin dreams of her voice. He can see it rise and fall. He sees every emotion in every color of the rainbow...the bright yellow of her happiness and the deep red of her passion. The tranquil blue of her late night conversations and the rich brown that signifies excitement over another particularly great cup of coffee. When he wakes up the next morning, the echoes of the dream resonate loudly through his mind. He hears her, loud and clear. "Rest now. I love you."
Chapter 2: When I Wake Up
He restlessly shifts in his bed, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. It is his last night in his own bed. Tomorrow he leaves for Princeton. He can't sleep. His body is tired, but his mind is whirring with activity. He can't relax enough to fall asleep. He wishes he could call her. She could always soothe him into sleep. Many times during their relationship, he found himself calling her at all hours of the night because he couldn't fall asleep without hearing the sounds of her voice. She was always so understanding, never minding the late night phone calls that would invariably wake her from a sound sleep. But that is no longer an option.
They have kept in touch. Each needs the other to play some role in their respective lives. To be cut off from each other so completely would be like the loss of a limb. So they make phone calls and exchange emails. But only as friends. It would be unfair of him to carry over aspects of their romantic relationship into their friendship, especially since he is the one who broke things off to begin with.
He sits up in bed and rotates his neck back and forth, trying to get the kinks out. He gets out of bed and shuffles over to the window. He stares at the moon, in deep contemplation. The moonlight bathes him in a soft glow, the only source of light in the darkened room.
He isn't going to lie to himself. The past summer has been hard. It has been a struggle to get through each day, knowing that she is out there but they are not together. He finds himself questioning his decision to break up with her, asking himself why he hadn't at least waited until the end of summer. Then they would have at least gotten to spend another magical summer together before facing the harsh realities of growing up. But he realizes that it had to happen sooner rather than later. It is one of those decisions he has to follow through on before he can talk himself out of it, because otherwise he would never bring himself to go through with it.
He pads back to his bed and crawls in. He lays flat on his back and stares at the ceiling, tracing the shadows with his eyes. His gaze flickers to the alarm clock on his night stand. 2:08, reads the bright red numbers. He wishes he could call her. Suddenly, the reasons he has for not calling her seem to fade in importance. The need to talk to her outweighs his better judgment. He picks up the phone and dials.
Almost immediately, the phone is answered.
"Hello?" No trace of sleep in her voice. She sounds alert, wide awake.
"Hey," he says softly. His voice is slightly husky from drowsiness. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I was," she protested.
"Rory..." he says, his tone of voice conveying that he isn't buying it.
"I was," she repeats earnestly. "But lately I've been waking up in the middle of the night."
"Oh? Any reason?" he asks, concerned.
"Just a lot of stuff on my mind," she answers vaguely. "In the middle of the night, when I wake up, my first instinct is still to call you."
"I know how you feel," he says, bemused. "So why haven't you?"
"I want to. But then I think that maybe I'd be overstepping boundaries and making it harder on both of us than it already is."
Both fall into silence, not knowing what to say in response to the harsh truth of that statement. He changes the subject. "Tell me about your day."
In her small bedroom in Stars Hollow, she allows her face to show the tiny smile struggling to shine through. What's the harm, it's not like he can see her. God, she misses him. The time spent waiting between his emails and phone calls is literally like the time spent waiting for her next breath of air. She starts talking about coffee and her mother. Neither is really listening to what she has to say.
Tristin settles back into his bed, the phone tucked comfortably next to his ear. He lets the steady tone of her voice lull him into a near unconscious state. Her voice washes over him like ocean waves gently rippling over a sandy shore.
Rory hears his breathing become deeper and more regular. "Tris, hang up the phone."
"Don't want to," he mumbles, almost incoherently.
"Rest now. I love you." She says the words without even realizing it.
"Love you too," he slurs, not picking up on her slip.
She hears a gentle click, then silence. She slowly returns the phone to its cradle, reluctant to end the phone call. Then she snuggles into her bed. She leaves for Harvard tomorrow. She hopes that the feeling she has inside of her at this very moment will stay with her through the night and through the next four years. She closes her eyes and sleeps.
Tristin dreams of her voice. He can see it rise and fall. He sees every emotion in every color of the rainbow...the bright yellow of her happiness and the deep red of her passion. The tranquil blue of her late night conversations and the rich brown that signifies excitement over another particularly great cup of coffee. When he wakes up the next morning, the echoes of the dream resonate loudly through his mind. He hears her, loud and clear. "Rest now. I love you."