I don't know if I can explain what I have done, if I even want to. Deleted a few chapters because it truly didn't make sense to me anymore. It was like I was butchering the story by adding a baby called Bubbles. Bubbles, I tell ya. What was I thinking??!

To everyone who have reviewed thus far… I'd like to say thank you… even though you must have also thought that it was crap.

Special thank you to the person who had spoken her mind, to shock me from my calamity… Mistystyle.

BTW, title stolen shamelessly from a favourite song of mine.

And Daniel, I owe you dinner. Love you loads.

Chapter 8: Nobody said this was easy…

Walking down the streets of New York, she felt a sense of tranquillity sweep past her. Her troubles seem so small scale compared to the people who have to struggle to live through the night. She saw a man huddled in the doorway, a ratty parka just covering his shoulders. She sighed deeply. It was days like these when self-pity just wouldn't work. 'It's true,' she mused. 'You don't have any right to intrude on his privacy at all. It's not like he's actually yours,' She shook her head, deciding that she didn't want to follow that train of thoughts either.

Okay. Rory smiled wryly, ironically at her reflection in the glass window of the up-market shop. She kicked something, her aim not being very good, but it still hit a small rock, making it ricochet off the surfaces. What is it that they say about love? He who loves the more is inferior and must suffer. The guy who said it, Thomas Mann, he knew something. Although I'm not very sure about the 'he', I'm sure it can work both ways. He or she, what's the difference, apart from sexual organs and the lack or surplus of the Y chromosome?

She continued on her walk down the street, shoulders humped, face down. It's strange how in the big cities, everyone looks downwards when walking alone in the streets, but in small towns like Stars Hollow, people looked straight at you, smiling. She sighed. What has knowing Jess done to you? Did he make you a better person? Did you make him a better person? Was the relationship meant to last? Do you even want it to?

She stopped in her footsteps, figuring that she had it all figured subconsciously, as her feet had brought her to the very place that she needed to be at the very moment. She was standing in front of the New York Tribune Office. She chuckled bitterly to herself and walked up to the co-editor's room. She knocked on the door and waited for the signal to come in.

"Hey, Rory," said the co-editor, hiding his surprise at seeing her there. It was quite late, and most of the workers had already left.

"Hi," muttered Rory. She looked at her feet. "Listen, I have to tell you something."

His eyebrow raised up slightly, but asked her to carry on anyway.

Rory opened her mouth slightly. "I can't do the interview with Jess because..." What, Rory? What reason do you have? That Jess won't co-operate? C'mon, you're a journalist for heaven's sake. They don't take that kind of crap. The key to success is persistence! So what if it's Jess? So what if it's personal? So what, so what…

The co-editor gave her a sympathetic smile. He had heard some rumours about them once living in the same town. Maybe it was painful for Rory to relive her past. "Okay, never mind. It's not like he's ever going to agree to an interview anyway. We'll find you something else to do."

Rory gave a grateful smile. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome… now how about that train disaster story…"

~***~

Jess sat, sullen, ashen faced, on the black leather couch. Black to suit his mood. Black. Black. Black. Everything about him was black. Looking around his apartment, he noticed that everything was black, brown, or a neutral colour. There was no splash of brightness, no spontaneity. Rory… she was everything he wanted… everything he needed. He needed her.

The words seem lame, cliched, and so urbane. Yet, it came from the tip of his tongue. Who would have guessed that Jess Mariano would ever say something like that about a woman? Albeit, a woman who made his heart beat uncontrollably when she flashed him a smile, a woman whose hair was the colour of coffee, whose eyes twinkled when pleasantly, surprised. She was still, if you minimised her to one word, a woman.

From young, very young, he had vowed to never give a woman leverage to hurt him. Women spells trouble. Take his mother, for example. His mother, who had been more than willing to exchange services for food on the table. His mother, who had taken a variety of pills and whatnots for breakfast. His mother who had worn a bright orange jump suit for his kindergarten graduation.

But how can he compare his a woman like his mother, to a woman like Rory?

He couldn't, that was why.

So he didn't.

~***~

Rory sat in the cosy, warm, coffeeshop that had reminded her so of Luke's. Except that it wasn't, not really. It was called One-to-one. She smiled indulgently at the waitress who had buzzed around her, asking her silly questions like whether she wanted milk in her coffee. Anybody who was anybody would say straight away that black was the way to go. Black coffee. But, apparently, nobody told this 20-year-old girl the secret. A 20-year-old girl who still wore her skirts too short and her shirt too tight. But she could tell that beneath the incredibly flustered exterior, was someone who had made her peace with herself. This 20-year-old knew what she wanted in life. Although it was guaranteed to be not the same thing that Rory herself had wanted, at least her brain and heart kept no secrets from the other.

The girl smiled brightly, too brightly, that Rory actually felt oppressed by it. "Miss, do you want anything else with the coffee?"

Rory shook her head, and drank the remnants of the coffee. It was good, but it was also time for her to go. She had caught sight of the clock. 10 o'clock.

"No, thanks. This will be all."

The waitress handed her the bill, and Rory paid it. She also left a tip for the waitress, a tip worth more than the value of the coffee. The girl had taught Rory a lesson.

~***~

It poured like it had never poured before. Rain came down in bucketful's, raining cats and dogs, as her grandfather would say. Well. Rain, had always been to Rory, something clean. Rain washed away the debris of the Earth, washed away sins, and washed away hurt and tears. Rain… was cleansing. It cleansed her soul.

She lifted her face up to the pouring water, and actually smiled. It was freedom, for herself, for her thoughts, for her body. The rain allowed her to think, to be. She knew now, if she didn't before, that she really truly was too selfish. Too bloody selfish to see anything from anyone's viewpoint but her own. Well, now she had.

So she went back to the apartment. Notice the apartment. Nor her apartment, or his apartment, or their apartment. Just the apartment. Cut the ties, it was easier that way.

As soon as she can, she'll move out of the apartment, out of his life, maybe even out of New York.

Coz it hurts to think that he doesn't love her as much as she loves him.

~***~

Jess opened the door for her. She had forgotten the key. He took in the sight, and drew in a sharp intake of breath. But still, he couldn't talk. Words just wouldn't come. He'd meant to ask her, why are you wet? Don't you know that you can get pneumonia? Don't you know that the rain could be acidic, that it probably was acidic? Don't you know that you're gorgeous?

But he couldn't talk.

So, he simply handed her a towel to dry off and walked inside his room. He closed the door.

He simply wasn't ready to talk to her. Yet.

But they will. Soon.

To be continued.

Reviews will probably (in theory) make me write more…