Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Even the basic plot isn't mine. It's based of a musical titled "Mary Lou" (only in Israel ;)), with a change of some things to suit the plot and characters better.
A/N: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story. Some characters are not where they are supposed to be or not how they're supposed to be or not in the place you're used to see them at. You'll see.
Killing Me Softly
She paced across her room with the phone in her hand. It was about the 9th time she had called him. And every time, she got either the answering machine or Jess's step-mom.
She hated herself. She hated herself for leaving the great guy she just got to know as soon as there was one moment she wasn't needed in. She wanted him. She wanted to be the one to hold him in her arms and give comfort to. She wanted to plant a kiss on his lips, as she didn't get the chance to.
She wanted to find him. But instead, she got that same familiar voice.
"Hello." A voice called from the other line.
"Uh, hi." She coughed, trying to disguise her voice. "I'm calling from the subscriptions department of the Wall Street Journal. I was wondering if I might speak to mister Jess Mariano?" She crossed her fingers.
The voice on the other like cackled. "Nice disguise, Ror."
Sasha got to know Rory from all these phone calls. All the messages she left, all the things she wanted her to tell Jess. And she enjoyed her ability to fix those things so it'll fit her needs.
"Sasha." She sighed, giving up. "Please, please get him to talk to me." She begged, plopping down on her bed.
Sasha shook her head. "I told you. He asked me to tell you he wants nothing to do with you." She nodded to herself.
Rory sighed again. "Did you tell him I said I'm sorry?" She asked in despair.
"Yeah, he doesn't give a shit."
Rory buried her head in her hand. "Fine." She ran her hand through her hair. "Thanks anyway."
"Bye." Sasha replied, putting the phone back in its cradle. She stopped to take a deep breath. Life was good.
Not for him.
He found himself spending a lot of time in the park. He couldn't walk into the bookstore; his room was a little piece of crap. He needed air. He needed sun. He needed freedom.
He needed the life he used to have.
He lost interest in the book he was holding. He lost interest in literature. His mind was too corrupted to let any false reality take over and make it better. He couldn't bear the fact that there won't be anyone to share his love for books with, to have passionate discussions with. He couldn't bear the fact that the closest person to him was gone.
He had nothing to give him a reason to stay on his feet. He threw his book to his side and leaned back, resting his head on the grass, closing his eyes.
He opened his eyes and jumped in his place.
"You have to stop doing that." He told her with a sigh, sitting up.
Lane smiles and joined him on the grass. "Watcha doing?" She asked, looking for the book he always held in his hand.
Knowing what she's looking for, he took the book from his side and showed it to her before throwing it back down.
"Why aren't you reading?" She frowned. He always read. He sometimes read while she was talking to him. That was nice.
He shrugged. "Not in the mood."
"Oh." She sighs, sorry for asking.
"Yup." He nodded once.
She hugged her knees to her chest and looked at him. He was looking down at the ground. Maybe because he was afraid of what's above him, or what's on the surface where he lived. She knew she could read him beyond what he wanted her to read.
"How are you dealing?" She asked gently, quietly, tilting her head at him.
He rolled his eyes with uncertainty. "I'm not getting any outer help, if that's what you're asking."
"My help comes with no extra charge, you know." She smiles slightly. He returned a smile to show his gratitude.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. And she helped.
He came home, almost forgetting where his current room is. He wanted to go up there and mingle with the tiny ounce of privacy he had in there.
But something bothered his eyes. Three figures sitting in the living room. Two which he unfortunately knew, one that he didn't. He half expected it to be an assassin that was hired to take the little life he had left in him.
"Oh, goodie." Sasha faked a grin, "Look who's here."
"Having a party?" Jess asked coolly, examining the guy that was sitting on the single-seat couch, looking though papers.
Lily nodded. "You just missed the booze." She said with a smirk.
She thought she was so funny. She was in for a surprise.
"Shouldn't you be playing softball?" He asked rhetorically, feeling like breaking something. Sasha's crystal vase seemed like a neat option.
"Third time's the charm, huh?" Lily commented, leaning back.
"Oh!" He called, faking surprise. "You can count!"
"Kids!" Sasha called, standing up. Lily grunted, Jess rolled his eyes. "Silence."
She walked towards Jess, stopping not far from him.
"I have something to run past you." She said, lightly grinning.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is it heavy and moves on four wheels?" He asked hopefully.
She ignored him. "Since there's no one to take care of the bookstore anymore, we thought about possibly selling the place."
His eyes widened. Before he managed to sneak a comment, Sasha continued.
"But Mr. Gleason here," She turned to the strange man who looked up from his papers, "Who's an expert in all that involves investments and culture, told us we'll gain more if we just change the place a bit." She smiles.
He took a deep breath. "What do you want to do?" He asked, waiting for the worst.
"A club." Sasha announced proudly.
Jess shut his eyes. What the… "Club?" He echoed her, almost amused. "Are you delirious?"
She took one more step towards him. "We're doing this." She told him. "And if you don't want to… That's too bad." She turned and walked to sit besides her daughter. "It's two against one. Majority rules."
"You can't do this." He said, trying to not uncover the pain in him. He wasn't ready to let go of the biggest, possibly last memory he had of his father.
Sasha grinned. "I think I can." She replied, crossing her arms against her chest.
He shook his head in defeat. "Whatever." He said, before retiring to his room.
He plopped down his bed and ran his hands across his face.
It was a nightmare. He had to wake up. He had to wake up now.
He didn't.
It was a nightmare. She had to wake up. She had to wake up now.
She didn't.
She dug her head in her pillow, trying to find comfort in cuddling it.
Her feelings for him were unexplained. They were new and foreign and definitely strong. If there was a thing as love at first sight, she felt it.
And she left him. And he wouldn't forgive her. And he would never will.
And she will forever regret what she did.
She wanted him. She wanted to help him. She knew it was hard, he told her what was going on in his life.
And she made it worse. She knew it.
He wished she was there to pinch him. To bring him back to good. Or at least, to help him through it. But she wasn't. She was over it. She moved on. And he was there, trying not to cry over it.
He thought about his mom. His dad. Her. The store. He thought about how easy it was to lose them. He thought about how hard it will be to get something to make up for them, to fill in the void he felt after each loss. And he shed a tear.
He was crying.
For the first time in his life, he cried. And it felt so horrible that it actually felt good.
