Kissing Tristan was like what she remembered of being drunk, that one time.
She couldn't think, could hardly feel, but she never wanted it to stop.
Knew that she never wanted this to end, never wanted him to go away, and
she leant forward, trying to get closer, more, further, although
technically there wasn't any further they could go.
But that tiny voice was a grain in the oyster and she forced it down, beneath the numbness, below the spreading pleasure, until it was gone.
A handful of seconds and Tristan's fingers tightened on her arms. He was still kissing her, his tongue stroking inside her, but he was hurting her and it wasn't a choice at all to pull back.
Soft again, apologetic eyes, rather flattering to think she could make him lose control, and she was halfway through the move forward when metal clanked behind them.
A third person. In the room. Watching them.
Rory had to open her eyes to look at Tristan, but she knew there was someone there, knew that he was aware of it from the stiffness of his body. Tense, still as a mannequin or a corpse, and staring over her shoulder.
Jess, it had to be Jess, her boyfriend, watching them do this, watching her kiss Tristan, her boyfriend Jess-
Luke. It was Luke.
Shocky eyes staring back at her, open mouth matching hers. Disbelief that trounced anything she could summon.
Luke, her mother's boyfriend, her boyfriend's uncle. All those things she had never thought to see on his face: shock, disbelief, betrayal and - yes, she had betrayed him, too, hadn't she? Perhaps more, because - well, you expected it from your boyfriend, not your best friend, right? And had she had any idea what she was getting into, with Jess? Better by far that it had been him to know, to witness-
Luke, who might as well have been her father.
Rory's neck hurt, even more as she aligned her body with it. "Luke. Luke, this isn't what it looks-"
A step back, and it had been her, she had made that wounded look on his face. An invented delay before speech scrolled across her brain, because otherwise she would have crashed down.
"You-"
"Luke. Please." Broken voice, and tears stung, how had she escaped that knowledge until now? "Just let me." Turn back time, erase all this; make it up to Jess, to you; just make it up, lie, pretend. Anything.
Nothing. "You. Rory, you-" Eyes darting about, taking in their rumpled, creased clothing, the candle-sticks burned down to nothing in their pretty, pretty holders and, damningly, the still-inflated couch. Hot pink, to cap it all.
"You had sex. With him. Tristan."
Breaths expelled loudly with every sentence, like he was taking punches to the stomach, but the tone was carefully non-confrontational, giving her, even now, the chance to refute. Asking it of her. She couldn't.
"Yes." It had never been a struggle to hold up her head before, on a neck gone liquid, but her eyes were glued to his face.
A moment more of denial, and then something far too close to grief; her eyes slammed shut against the sight and nausea rose steadily.
"Luke, no-" A weak, pathetic thing that couldn't possibly be coming from her. "Please, no.." Weaker.
Luke straightened, coming back into focus behind his eyes and, oh, yes, it was Rory who would hurt here.
"Yes. You have to go now. Jess is coming down now and - I need time to think. This isn't over."
Bending to retrieve his keys from the floor and then he was taller than she could ever be. And he was waiting for the appropriate response, but she couldn't move, turned to stone or maybe salt. She should have paid better attention to her Bible. Then she'd know what to do. Would have known.
"Go." Harsh. Luke had never been that, not with her. "Leave. Get out of here, Rory. Now."
One menacing half-step towards her and she was stumbling backwards, tripping over her own feet. Another body guiding her towards the door, but her eyes remained on Luke's, still wide and fearful like his, but lacking the fury. That anger overwhelmed everything else, and she couldn't tear herself away from it until the door slammed shut in her face.
Somehow, she made it a street and a half before collapsing. An empty lot on Evergreen that would be swarmed by children in a couple of hours. Shining shards of glass incredibly, regrettably, absent, and nothing like this belonged in Stars Hollow.
The stone scraped her elbows as she sank to the ground. Felt like it tore to flesh, and she wondered what her blood would look like on the wall. If there'd be streaks of gaudy, cheerfully wet colour when she turned; if playing children would stumble across it unknowing, later, dried to brown by the sun. It would be flaking, by then; they might mistake it for chalk. It would be drifting on the wind, travelling like jimmy-joes.
The faint, stabbing pain in her arms wasn't helping, and Rory really thought she was going to throw up, head going between her knees instinctively, and, hey, she was wearing underwear. Who knew? Really wanted to throw up, but couldn't. Felt incredibly sorry for herself because of it. Wanted to cry because of it, and she couldn't even force this out of her body, let alone her mind. It had set up camp; was here to stay.
A pebble hit the wall beside her and she was suddenly aware of Tristan hovering on the edges of her existence. But she had known that he must be there: impossible that he should leave her. "Gonna split the stones, huh?" he remarked, squinting into the sky.
The sun glared down, blinding her, and she knew the one about wax and feathers, even if she couldn't remember the names. Or the moral.
But that tiny voice was a grain in the oyster and she forced it down, beneath the numbness, below the spreading pleasure, until it was gone.
A handful of seconds and Tristan's fingers tightened on her arms. He was still kissing her, his tongue stroking inside her, but he was hurting her and it wasn't a choice at all to pull back.
Soft again, apologetic eyes, rather flattering to think she could make him lose control, and she was halfway through the move forward when metal clanked behind them.
A third person. In the room. Watching them.
Rory had to open her eyes to look at Tristan, but she knew there was someone there, knew that he was aware of it from the stiffness of his body. Tense, still as a mannequin or a corpse, and staring over her shoulder.
Jess, it had to be Jess, her boyfriend, watching them do this, watching her kiss Tristan, her boyfriend Jess-
Luke. It was Luke.
Shocky eyes staring back at her, open mouth matching hers. Disbelief that trounced anything she could summon.
Luke, her mother's boyfriend, her boyfriend's uncle. All those things she had never thought to see on his face: shock, disbelief, betrayal and - yes, she had betrayed him, too, hadn't she? Perhaps more, because - well, you expected it from your boyfriend, not your best friend, right? And had she had any idea what she was getting into, with Jess? Better by far that it had been him to know, to witness-
Luke, who might as well have been her father.
Rory's neck hurt, even more as she aligned her body with it. "Luke. Luke, this isn't what it looks-"
A step back, and it had been her, she had made that wounded look on his face. An invented delay before speech scrolled across her brain, because otherwise she would have crashed down.
"You-"
"Luke. Please." Broken voice, and tears stung, how had she escaped that knowledge until now? "Just let me." Turn back time, erase all this; make it up to Jess, to you; just make it up, lie, pretend. Anything.
Nothing. "You. Rory, you-" Eyes darting about, taking in their rumpled, creased clothing, the candle-sticks burned down to nothing in their pretty, pretty holders and, damningly, the still-inflated couch. Hot pink, to cap it all.
"You had sex. With him. Tristan."
Breaths expelled loudly with every sentence, like he was taking punches to the stomach, but the tone was carefully non-confrontational, giving her, even now, the chance to refute. Asking it of her. She couldn't.
"Yes." It had never been a struggle to hold up her head before, on a neck gone liquid, but her eyes were glued to his face.
A moment more of denial, and then something far too close to grief; her eyes slammed shut against the sight and nausea rose steadily.
"Luke, no-" A weak, pathetic thing that couldn't possibly be coming from her. "Please, no.." Weaker.
Luke straightened, coming back into focus behind his eyes and, oh, yes, it was Rory who would hurt here.
"Yes. You have to go now. Jess is coming down now and - I need time to think. This isn't over."
Bending to retrieve his keys from the floor and then he was taller than she could ever be. And he was waiting for the appropriate response, but she couldn't move, turned to stone or maybe salt. She should have paid better attention to her Bible. Then she'd know what to do. Would have known.
"Go." Harsh. Luke had never been that, not with her. "Leave. Get out of here, Rory. Now."
One menacing half-step towards her and she was stumbling backwards, tripping over her own feet. Another body guiding her towards the door, but her eyes remained on Luke's, still wide and fearful like his, but lacking the fury. That anger overwhelmed everything else, and she couldn't tear herself away from it until the door slammed shut in her face.
Somehow, she made it a street and a half before collapsing. An empty lot on Evergreen that would be swarmed by children in a couple of hours. Shining shards of glass incredibly, regrettably, absent, and nothing like this belonged in Stars Hollow.
The stone scraped her elbows as she sank to the ground. Felt like it tore to flesh, and she wondered what her blood would look like on the wall. If there'd be streaks of gaudy, cheerfully wet colour when she turned; if playing children would stumble across it unknowing, later, dried to brown by the sun. It would be flaking, by then; they might mistake it for chalk. It would be drifting on the wind, travelling like jimmy-joes.
The faint, stabbing pain in her arms wasn't helping, and Rory really thought she was going to throw up, head going between her knees instinctively, and, hey, she was wearing underwear. Who knew? Really wanted to throw up, but couldn't. Felt incredibly sorry for herself because of it. Wanted to cry because of it, and she couldn't even force this out of her body, let alone her mind. It had set up camp; was here to stay.
A pebble hit the wall beside her and she was suddenly aware of Tristan hovering on the edges of her existence. But she had known that he must be there: impossible that he should leave her. "Gonna split the stones, huh?" he remarked, squinting into the sky.
The sun glared down, blinding her, and she knew the one about wax and feathers, even if she couldn't remember the names. Or the moral.