I Miss You
Chapter 10: (so would i be) Out of Line
He impatiently adjusts the knot of his tie so it is choking him slightly less than before. Summer in New York City is no time to be subjected to decorative nooses. He runs his fingers through his already tousled hair, the heat only augmenting his barely controlled temper. He curses his luck. When he had first received the invitation, he had been honored that he had been singled out. The annual gathering of Ivy League schools at a convention hall in New York City, mostly to try to one up each other with the achievements of their respective students, is basically one big public relations circus. Each school parades its best and brightest in front of the college board, hoping to be looked upon favorably, thus attracting more desirable applicants.
Well, that's all fine and dandy for the schools, but being stuck in a lobby with thousands of other people sucks when the air conditioning decides to take a vacation. The air is heavy with humidity. He feels a line of sweat gathering at the base of his neck. He is in the middle of reaching up to wipe it away when someone jostles him from behind, spilling his drink. His patience gone and his temper flaring, he whips around to give the offender a piece of his mind.
"Dammit! Watch where..." He breaks off abruptly in the middle of his sentence. For a second, his gaze becomes softer, almost tender. Then he remembers the pain she has caused him, the hurt he still feels, and his eyes become hard and icy. Surprisingly, he says nothing more. He spins on his heel, turning his back to her, and walks away.
She feels like someone has punched her, knocking the breath from her body. He is the last person she had expected to run into. Literally. But the damage is done. She stares at his retreating back wistfully. She fervently wishes that she could feel anger toward him for his rude dismissal of her presence. But she cannot, not after what she has done to him. Not even a snide comment did he direct to her. Nothing to show her that some fiber in his being cares for her one way or the other. Just cold indifference.
It is the first time in nearly a year that she has laid eyes on him. In the split second that their eyes locked, she had felt as if nothing has changed, as if what they lost could be regained. But then his eyes had frozen over, slamming the door and leaving her out in the cold. Despite the heat and humidity, she shivers. She wants to grab his shoulders and shake him, to beg the warm, caring man she loves to resurface. But maybe he is gone for good. She has no one but herself to blame.
He resists the urge to look over his shoulder and see if she is still there. How dare she. How dare she waltz back into his life like that. No warning. No reason. Just because. Ten months, no contact, then BOOM. There she is, standing in front of him and staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Only not so innocent, he thinks cynically. He tugs at his collar, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. If only he could escape. Unfortunately, there is still the dinner and presentation to get through. He squares his shoulders and stands up a little taller. He will get through this.
***
She picks at her salad moodily. She is seated at a large round table with her peers from Harvard. Her good mood and elation at being chosen to attend have evaporated. She doesn't believe her luck. Two weeks, she repeats to herself. It is her mantra. Two more weeks until she is out of the country. Two weeks of torture, until she can escape to a country far, far away. It doesn't help that the Princeton table is a scant three feet away. By some bizarre twist of fate, she is seated almost directly across from him, though two tables separate them. She casts her eyes up, down, sideways, anywhere but straight ahead. But it doesn't help. Damn peripheral vision.
He calmly appraises her as she agitatedly taps her fork against her plate. Looks like she isn't any happier to see him than he is to see her. He wonders why she is here, what she has done to merit the invitation. Like it or not, she still intrigues him. It drives him crazy that after everything they have gone through, everything they have done to hurt each other, he is still drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. When will he ever learn?
***
He stands as he is acknowledged, grinning easily with the fake smile plastered on his face. She would recognize the fake smile from a mile away. The 'good little rich boy' smile, as he used to say. Tristin Dugrey, president of the student government and captain of the lacrosse team. Business major, with a 4.8 GPA. All around golden boy and campus stud. She claps her hands politely. It is what is expected of her.
He mumbles under his breath while they applaud. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at their superficial acceptance. Only one person remains unimpressed and not fooled. There she sits, smiling neutrally while her eyes size him up. It figures. She is still the one who sees right through him.
***
His heart beats a little faster when it is her turn. He hadn't known that she is leaving for Italy in two weeks. But then, how could he? He isn't exactly up to speed with her life. He hasn't been for a very long time. Rory Gilmore. Journalism major, 4.0 GPA. Accepted to the prestigious study abroad program at Harvard, leaving for Rome in two weeks.
It puzzles him. He wonders why he cares that she is leaving. If he hadn't known that she would be leaving, it wouldn't have affected him. But he does know, and he cares. Cruel Fate must be getting some kicks at his expense. Why has she been brought back into his life for such a brief encounter?
***
She stands at the curb, trying unsuccessfully to hail a cab. The sun is setting, taking the suffocating heat with it. She is glad to be free of that stuffy, torturous room. Free of him, free of her guilt. She wonders if she will ever forgive herself for destroying their relationship. She senses someone standing too close to her, invading her space. She turns her head and is not surprised to see him standing there. She didn't believe for a second that he would let her go away unscathed.
"What do you want?" she asks, more resigned than rude.
He stiffens at her tone. "Nothing," he says, in a deceptively friendly voice. "Just wondering if you've stomped on anyone else's heart lately."
She accepts his insult, letting out the breath she had been holding. "I deserved that."
"Damn right," he counters, his eyes flashing.
"Was there anything else? If not, I'd really like to go back to my room and get some sleep."
"Is it so hard to find something to say to me Rory? Well, maybe that isn't such a valid question. You proved that by failing to talk to me in how many months is it? Ten?"
"You know, phones work both ways." She is beginning to get angry, taking offense to his unrelentingly confrontational manner.
"Yeah? So does fidelity."
"You are so out of line," she spits out angrily.
"How?" he questions, raising his voice. "You were the one who started dating other guys!"
"We broke up! Or did you forget that part?"
He bites back his retort and falls silent. "I guess I did." Without another word, he walks away from her for the second time that day.
She feels the tears start to well up in her eyes. She backs away from the curb and starts the long walk to her hotel. Doesn't he realize how sorry she is? How much she longs to go back to that night and say yes? She hardly notices when the skies open up, pouring fat drops of rain over the city. Her face is already wet.
10/21
Chapter 10: (so would i be) Out of Line
He impatiently adjusts the knot of his tie so it is choking him slightly less than before. Summer in New York City is no time to be subjected to decorative nooses. He runs his fingers through his already tousled hair, the heat only augmenting his barely controlled temper. He curses his luck. When he had first received the invitation, he had been honored that he had been singled out. The annual gathering of Ivy League schools at a convention hall in New York City, mostly to try to one up each other with the achievements of their respective students, is basically one big public relations circus. Each school parades its best and brightest in front of the college board, hoping to be looked upon favorably, thus attracting more desirable applicants.
Well, that's all fine and dandy for the schools, but being stuck in a lobby with thousands of other people sucks when the air conditioning decides to take a vacation. The air is heavy with humidity. He feels a line of sweat gathering at the base of his neck. He is in the middle of reaching up to wipe it away when someone jostles him from behind, spilling his drink. His patience gone and his temper flaring, he whips around to give the offender a piece of his mind.
"Dammit! Watch where..." He breaks off abruptly in the middle of his sentence. For a second, his gaze becomes softer, almost tender. Then he remembers the pain she has caused him, the hurt he still feels, and his eyes become hard and icy. Surprisingly, he says nothing more. He spins on his heel, turning his back to her, and walks away.
She feels like someone has punched her, knocking the breath from her body. He is the last person she had expected to run into. Literally. But the damage is done. She stares at his retreating back wistfully. She fervently wishes that she could feel anger toward him for his rude dismissal of her presence. But she cannot, not after what she has done to him. Not even a snide comment did he direct to her. Nothing to show her that some fiber in his being cares for her one way or the other. Just cold indifference.
It is the first time in nearly a year that she has laid eyes on him. In the split second that their eyes locked, she had felt as if nothing has changed, as if what they lost could be regained. But then his eyes had frozen over, slamming the door and leaving her out in the cold. Despite the heat and humidity, she shivers. She wants to grab his shoulders and shake him, to beg the warm, caring man she loves to resurface. But maybe he is gone for good. She has no one but herself to blame.
He resists the urge to look over his shoulder and see if she is still there. How dare she. How dare she waltz back into his life like that. No warning. No reason. Just because. Ten months, no contact, then BOOM. There she is, standing in front of him and staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Only not so innocent, he thinks cynically. He tugs at his collar, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. If only he could escape. Unfortunately, there is still the dinner and presentation to get through. He squares his shoulders and stands up a little taller. He will get through this.
***
She picks at her salad moodily. She is seated at a large round table with her peers from Harvard. Her good mood and elation at being chosen to attend have evaporated. She doesn't believe her luck. Two weeks, she repeats to herself. It is her mantra. Two more weeks until she is out of the country. Two weeks of torture, until she can escape to a country far, far away. It doesn't help that the Princeton table is a scant three feet away. By some bizarre twist of fate, she is seated almost directly across from him, though two tables separate them. She casts her eyes up, down, sideways, anywhere but straight ahead. But it doesn't help. Damn peripheral vision.
He calmly appraises her as she agitatedly taps her fork against her plate. Looks like she isn't any happier to see him than he is to see her. He wonders why she is here, what she has done to merit the invitation. Like it or not, she still intrigues him. It drives him crazy that after everything they have gone through, everything they have done to hurt each other, he is still drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. When will he ever learn?
***
He stands as he is acknowledged, grinning easily with the fake smile plastered on his face. She would recognize the fake smile from a mile away. The 'good little rich boy' smile, as he used to say. Tristin Dugrey, president of the student government and captain of the lacrosse team. Business major, with a 4.8 GPA. All around golden boy and campus stud. She claps her hands politely. It is what is expected of her.
He mumbles under his breath while they applaud. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at their superficial acceptance. Only one person remains unimpressed and not fooled. There she sits, smiling neutrally while her eyes size him up. It figures. She is still the one who sees right through him.
***
His heart beats a little faster when it is her turn. He hadn't known that she is leaving for Italy in two weeks. But then, how could he? He isn't exactly up to speed with her life. He hasn't been for a very long time. Rory Gilmore. Journalism major, 4.0 GPA. Accepted to the prestigious study abroad program at Harvard, leaving for Rome in two weeks.
It puzzles him. He wonders why he cares that she is leaving. If he hadn't known that she would be leaving, it wouldn't have affected him. But he does know, and he cares. Cruel Fate must be getting some kicks at his expense. Why has she been brought back into his life for such a brief encounter?
***
She stands at the curb, trying unsuccessfully to hail a cab. The sun is setting, taking the suffocating heat with it. She is glad to be free of that stuffy, torturous room. Free of him, free of her guilt. She wonders if she will ever forgive herself for destroying their relationship. She senses someone standing too close to her, invading her space. She turns her head and is not surprised to see him standing there. She didn't believe for a second that he would let her go away unscathed.
"What do you want?" she asks, more resigned than rude.
He stiffens at her tone. "Nothing," he says, in a deceptively friendly voice. "Just wondering if you've stomped on anyone else's heart lately."
She accepts his insult, letting out the breath she had been holding. "I deserved that."
"Damn right," he counters, his eyes flashing.
"Was there anything else? If not, I'd really like to go back to my room and get some sleep."
"Is it so hard to find something to say to me Rory? Well, maybe that isn't such a valid question. You proved that by failing to talk to me in how many months is it? Ten?"
"You know, phones work both ways." She is beginning to get angry, taking offense to his unrelentingly confrontational manner.
"Yeah? So does fidelity."
"You are so out of line," she spits out angrily.
"How?" he questions, raising his voice. "You were the one who started dating other guys!"
"We broke up! Or did you forget that part?"
He bites back his retort and falls silent. "I guess I did." Without another word, he walks away from her for the second time that day.
She feels the tears start to well up in her eyes. She backs away from the curb and starts the long walk to her hotel. Doesn't he realize how sorry she is? How much she longs to go back to that night and say yes? She hardly notices when the skies open up, pouring fat drops of rain over the city. Her face is already wet.
10/21