I Miss You
Chapter 8: You Do Something to Me
The incessant beeping wakes him from a dreamless sleep. Wearily, he reaches across the bed and smacks the snooze button again. The alarm falls silent. He rolls back over and pulls the blankets up to his nose. He refuses to face the world today. In fact, he would be just peachy if he could stay in bed all day. Maybe tomorrow as well. Forever, in fact.
His roommate yanks the window shade, flooding Tristin's face with light. He flinches.
"Dude, you gotta snap out of it."
"Out of what," he says flatly.
"This," he says, gesturing to books lying unopened on his desk and the dirty clothes littering the floor. "When's the last time you showered? You reek."
Tristin groans. "Man, Steve, I don't need you mothering me. I'm fine. Just let it go."
"The hell you are."
"Just go to class!"
He relents, seeing the pleading look in Tristin's eyes. "Hang in there, buddy. You'll get through this." He grabs his books from his desk and walks out of the door, shooting a sympathetic glance in Tristin's general direction.
Tristin lets out a sigh of relief as the door shuts. Steve means well, but he doesn't know when to leave things alone. He pushes aside his sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He rubs his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. He doesn't remember the last time he's showered, let alone gotten a good nights sleep. Not since...never mind.
It has been a week. He has gone through the motions of going to class, mechanically speaking when spoken to, doing just enough to make others think he is coping. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is hurting, more than he ever thought possible. It is too painful to think about her, to wonder how she is holding up. So he tries not to. Tries, anyway.
He walks over to his dresser and opens his sock drawer. The little black box sits there harmlessly, almost innocently. He picks it up and strokes the velvet, the action somehow soothing him. He doesn't open the box. Almost reverently, he tucks the box back into the drawer, nestling it among his socks and boxers. The tiny indentation in his clothes indicates where the box has been sitting for the past week. Sitting in his clothes, instead of on her finger where it belongs...He slams the drawer shut.
Lorelai had called him a few days ago. She had been deeply concerned. Like Tristin, it had never occurred to her that Rory wouldn't accept. Though on a deeper level, she should have known that her commitment phobic daughter would freak, especially after seeing herself do the same thing many times before, until she finally faced her fears and married Luke. Lorelai feels it in her bones that Rory will come around. The difficult part will be making sure that Tristin doesn't give up before then. So she had called, playing the part of comforting mother very well, despite the fact that she had no obligations or duties to do so.
That had been the only time he had allowed someone to see how much he is truly hurting. He had poured his heart out, letting the tears flow freely over the phone. And she had understood, because she understands the depth of their love for each other. She hadn't really mentioned Rory and he hadn't asked. It is better that way.
Looking around him, he sees the evidence of his heartbreak: his unmade bed, his untouched homework, his dirty laundry. Sighing, he gathers his clothes, intending to put in a load of laundry. He can't go on like this. She only needs time. He can last until then.
***
Two months pass. He hasn't seen or heard from her since her birthday. Still, he doesn't call her, and he doesn't call Lorelai, pretending to exchange pleasantries while fishing for information about her. He respects her need for space. He vents by writing in his journal, a habit he picked up to deal with his scarred emotions.
His friends continually try to set him up with other girls, smart pretty girls who they hope will lessen Rory's hold on his feelings. He stubbornly resists, insisting on remaining faithful to her. She will come around. He knows it.
***
His roommate has talked him into attending a friend's pre-Christmas party, the last big event before finals and the end of the semester. He goes, figuring it will do him good to put everything out of his mind for a few hours. That plan is shot to hell when he walks in the door and catches sight of Lane, there to see Henry, he hypothesizes. He stands where he is, deciding if it would be better to brush past her and pretend he doesn't see her or go talk to her. His indecision is solved for him when she catches sight of him and begins to make her way over.
"Hey, Tristin," she says, her eyes sparkling with pre-holiday cheer.
"Hey Lane," he says lightly. "You look great. How have you been doing?"
"I think the question is, how are you doing?" she says seriously.
"About as well as can be expected," he muses. "I'm hanging in there."
She looks at him as if he's grown two heads. "You're okay with this?"
"This is up to Rory," he reminds her. "I'm laying low until she's ready."
Lane tries to suppress the flash of surprise that flickers across her face. She mentally curses herself for revealing more than she intended to.
"And that's not what you are referring to," he says, picking up on her discomfort.
"No, that's what I meant," she says quickly, with a fake smile pasted on her face.
"Lane, what's going on?"
She chuckles nervously. "It's funny you should ask me that, because Henry just told me the funniest story. You're going to love it..."
"Lane," he says wearily, the slightest note of impatience creeping into his tone.
"Rory's seeing someone," she mumbles, almost incoherently.
"She's WHAT!" he yells in surprise. He feels like someone has just punched him in the stomach. He falls silent, digesting this piece of news. "How can she be seeing someone else?" he asks, in a deflated tone.
Lane places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry," she says compassionately. "I thought she told you."
"We haven't spoken since..." he trails off, closing his eyes tightly. "Since her birthday," he finishes, painfully.
They stand in silence, as the party rages around them. Abruptly, he speaks. "I have to go."
"Tristin, wait," Lane begins.
"I have to go," he repeats. He turns back to her. "Have a great time. Tell Henry I'll see him in class."
He makes a beeline for the door. He is stopped by a gorgeous blonde. "Going somewhere?" she asks in a sultry voice.
"Out," he says flatly.
"Want company?"
He appraises her coolly. "Fine."
She links her arm through his and they walk out the door.
Lane shakes her head sadly. She hopes he isn't going to do something he'll regret later.
***
She leads him back to her room. He enters, feeling discomfort and a sense of dread. She walks over to him and leans in close. She reaches up to kiss him, but he backs away. "I can't do this," he says lamely. Even though Rory might be able to move on so quickly, he can't. He runs from the room, leaving the blonde staring after him in confusion.
***
As soon as he enters his room, he walks straight to his dresser. He pulls out the box. But this time, he looks at the ring. He stares at the diamond, suddenly feeling the anger and hurt take over. He goes on a rampage, knocking the piles of papers on his desk to the floor. Sheets of white go hurdling through the air, mimicking the first snowfall of the season. He kicks the bed and lets out a yell of frustration. He doesn't even notice when the tears come, wiping them away angrily. How could she do this? And not even tell him? He falls to his knees, suddenly drained of the energy to stand. He clenches the ring in his fist, until the shape of the diamond is imprinted in his palm. He cries.
8/21
Chapter 8: You Do Something to Me
The incessant beeping wakes him from a dreamless sleep. Wearily, he reaches across the bed and smacks the snooze button again. The alarm falls silent. He rolls back over and pulls the blankets up to his nose. He refuses to face the world today. In fact, he would be just peachy if he could stay in bed all day. Maybe tomorrow as well. Forever, in fact.
His roommate yanks the window shade, flooding Tristin's face with light. He flinches.
"Dude, you gotta snap out of it."
"Out of what," he says flatly.
"This," he says, gesturing to books lying unopened on his desk and the dirty clothes littering the floor. "When's the last time you showered? You reek."
Tristin groans. "Man, Steve, I don't need you mothering me. I'm fine. Just let it go."
"The hell you are."
"Just go to class!"
He relents, seeing the pleading look in Tristin's eyes. "Hang in there, buddy. You'll get through this." He grabs his books from his desk and walks out of the door, shooting a sympathetic glance in Tristin's general direction.
Tristin lets out a sigh of relief as the door shuts. Steve means well, but he doesn't know when to leave things alone. He pushes aside his sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He rubs his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. He doesn't remember the last time he's showered, let alone gotten a good nights sleep. Not since...never mind.
It has been a week. He has gone through the motions of going to class, mechanically speaking when spoken to, doing just enough to make others think he is coping. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is hurting, more than he ever thought possible. It is too painful to think about her, to wonder how she is holding up. So he tries not to. Tries, anyway.
He walks over to his dresser and opens his sock drawer. The little black box sits there harmlessly, almost innocently. He picks it up and strokes the velvet, the action somehow soothing him. He doesn't open the box. Almost reverently, he tucks the box back into the drawer, nestling it among his socks and boxers. The tiny indentation in his clothes indicates where the box has been sitting for the past week. Sitting in his clothes, instead of on her finger where it belongs...He slams the drawer shut.
Lorelai had called him a few days ago. She had been deeply concerned. Like Tristin, it had never occurred to her that Rory wouldn't accept. Though on a deeper level, she should have known that her commitment phobic daughter would freak, especially after seeing herself do the same thing many times before, until she finally faced her fears and married Luke. Lorelai feels it in her bones that Rory will come around. The difficult part will be making sure that Tristin doesn't give up before then. So she had called, playing the part of comforting mother very well, despite the fact that she had no obligations or duties to do so.
That had been the only time he had allowed someone to see how much he is truly hurting. He had poured his heart out, letting the tears flow freely over the phone. And she had understood, because she understands the depth of their love for each other. She hadn't really mentioned Rory and he hadn't asked. It is better that way.
Looking around him, he sees the evidence of his heartbreak: his unmade bed, his untouched homework, his dirty laundry. Sighing, he gathers his clothes, intending to put in a load of laundry. He can't go on like this. She only needs time. He can last until then.
***
Two months pass. He hasn't seen or heard from her since her birthday. Still, he doesn't call her, and he doesn't call Lorelai, pretending to exchange pleasantries while fishing for information about her. He respects her need for space. He vents by writing in his journal, a habit he picked up to deal with his scarred emotions.
His friends continually try to set him up with other girls, smart pretty girls who they hope will lessen Rory's hold on his feelings. He stubbornly resists, insisting on remaining faithful to her. She will come around. He knows it.
***
His roommate has talked him into attending a friend's pre-Christmas party, the last big event before finals and the end of the semester. He goes, figuring it will do him good to put everything out of his mind for a few hours. That plan is shot to hell when he walks in the door and catches sight of Lane, there to see Henry, he hypothesizes. He stands where he is, deciding if it would be better to brush past her and pretend he doesn't see her or go talk to her. His indecision is solved for him when she catches sight of him and begins to make her way over.
"Hey, Tristin," she says, her eyes sparkling with pre-holiday cheer.
"Hey Lane," he says lightly. "You look great. How have you been doing?"
"I think the question is, how are you doing?" she says seriously.
"About as well as can be expected," he muses. "I'm hanging in there."
She looks at him as if he's grown two heads. "You're okay with this?"
"This is up to Rory," he reminds her. "I'm laying low until she's ready."
Lane tries to suppress the flash of surprise that flickers across her face. She mentally curses herself for revealing more than she intended to.
"And that's not what you are referring to," he says, picking up on her discomfort.
"No, that's what I meant," she says quickly, with a fake smile pasted on her face.
"Lane, what's going on?"
She chuckles nervously. "It's funny you should ask me that, because Henry just told me the funniest story. You're going to love it..."
"Lane," he says wearily, the slightest note of impatience creeping into his tone.
"Rory's seeing someone," she mumbles, almost incoherently.
"She's WHAT!" he yells in surprise. He feels like someone has just punched him in the stomach. He falls silent, digesting this piece of news. "How can she be seeing someone else?" he asks, in a deflated tone.
Lane places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry," she says compassionately. "I thought she told you."
"We haven't spoken since..." he trails off, closing his eyes tightly. "Since her birthday," he finishes, painfully.
They stand in silence, as the party rages around them. Abruptly, he speaks. "I have to go."
"Tristin, wait," Lane begins.
"I have to go," he repeats. He turns back to her. "Have a great time. Tell Henry I'll see him in class."
He makes a beeline for the door. He is stopped by a gorgeous blonde. "Going somewhere?" she asks in a sultry voice.
"Out," he says flatly.
"Want company?"
He appraises her coolly. "Fine."
She links her arm through his and they walk out the door.
Lane shakes her head sadly. She hopes he isn't going to do something he'll regret later.
***
She leads him back to her room. He enters, feeling discomfort and a sense of dread. She walks over to him and leans in close. She reaches up to kiss him, but he backs away. "I can't do this," he says lamely. Even though Rory might be able to move on so quickly, he can't. He runs from the room, leaving the blonde staring after him in confusion.
***
As soon as he enters his room, he walks straight to his dresser. He pulls out the box. But this time, he looks at the ring. He stares at the diamond, suddenly feeling the anger and hurt take over. He goes on a rampage, knocking the piles of papers on his desk to the floor. Sheets of white go hurdling through the air, mimicking the first snowfall of the season. He kicks the bed and lets out a yell of frustration. He doesn't even notice when the tears come, wiping them away angrily. How could she do this? And not even tell him? He falls to his knees, suddenly drained of the energy to stand. He clenches the ring in his fist, until the shape of the diamond is imprinted in his palm. He cries.
8/21