Narcissus

Author: SweetThing

Chapter: 2 "Nobody To Love"

Disclaimer: [Reineer Wolfcastle voice]"My rights! The Constitution does nothing!" [/Reineer Wolfcastle voice] Heh. Seriously, folks, I don't own anything. The chapter title and lyrics are from "Harder To Breathe", off of Maroon 5's CD, Songs About Jane.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I love you guys. Honestly, I could not have imagined that this would get such a wonderful response. I'm ecstatic that you're all enjoying it. :-D Oh, quick note: this chapter is, as promised, in Tristan's POV.

Dedications: Angeleyez, my fabulous beta who told me this didn't suck (hee!) and all my reviewers: Roxy, Nate, Surya, klm11a, gilmorechick, Jamie, darasun, blurred, LizDarcy, klara, Michelle, Kate, LandonLover, coincidence casualty, and Jazz.

How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable/So condescending unnecessarily critical…/You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here/This double vision I was seeing is finally clear/You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone…


How the hell did I get here?

Those are the words echoing through my head as the world as I know it dissolves, and I realize exactly what I'm doing.

I am kissing Rory Gilmore.

Rory Gilmore, a person whom I can't stand, who unnerves me unlike anyone else, is letting me kiss her. My hand had moved, almost on its own, from her shoulder to her arm, and before my brain could kick in, (better late than never, as always), I let myself get too close. My hormones took over, and I became intoxicated by the feel of her skin. For some reason, it didn't matter that I had made her unhappiness and irritation my goal for almost three years. It had just been so long…so lonely without Charisse, despite my bitterness over our breakup. Maybe anyone would have sufficed to fill this void I have, both physically and emotionally.

But with Rory, it wasn't that she was just a warm body. She was in my position. We, for the first time since we met, understand each other. We know exactly what the other one wants. Needs.

And now, here I am, my mouth lingering on hers, terrified that at any moment, she'll get violent on my ass.

She doesn't. I let my mouth slowly move over hers, forgetting how good this used to feel. My memory welcomes it. I get caught up in the warmth, the softness of her lips, and hardly notice when she returns the gesture.

All of a sudden, something is set off. Having confirmed the other's willingness, we seem to succumb to something, a feeling that started the minute I touched her. I pull her closer, melding her into me, as our bodies relax and our mouths begin an ongoing war, surrendering to the yearning we have that only the other truly knows about. I deepen the kiss with practiced skill, and she accepts flawlessly, as our lips continue to crash together, almost frantically, showing the vulnerability we refused to earlier. It's as if we've been walking in the Sahara. We're parched.

We part for air in intervals, barely meeting eyes. My head is practically spinning; not believing that what's going on is actually going on, as my hands move lower, to her hips. She responds to this at first, a faint noise forming in the back of her throat, until she seems to snap back into reality.

She pulls away from me with wide eyes, both of us breathing heavily. I turn back away from her, trying to process my thoughts, which minutes ago were in places way beyond kissing. This both shocks and annoys me, as I'm sure Rory felt the physical signs of them.

We sit there, both more than a little uncomfortable. All I want to do is leave, and I'm sure she feels the same way. But for some reason, it becomes an unspoken contest of who has the balls to stay there the longest. The feeling in the air returns from its heated, fervent essence, back to a stone cold silence.

Finally, I decide to give. It really isn't it my nature to give up this easily, but somebody has to say something. I clear my throat.

"Look, I know that---"

But I am interrupted. We both look behind us, towards the voice.

"Rory! There you are. I had a feeling you were in the house somewhere," says Richard Gilmore.

Rory looks extremely embarrassed.

"Yeah. Sorry Grandpa, I really didn't mean to---"

"Nonsense", he cuts in, smiling, "I honestly don't blame you. If I were your age, I'd probably be doing the same thing. These functions are always more fun for the, shall we say, wiser generation, whether young people are in attendance or not." He then notices me. I turn awkwardly and give him a half smile.

"And see! What did I tell you? You managed to find an old friend," he turns to me, "Hello, Tristan. How is your grandfather, young man? We haven't spoken since our round of golf last weekend."

At this point, Rory can't help giving me her patented 'See? I told you!' smirk. I ignore it and reply,

"Pleasure to see you again, sir. My grandfather's doing just fine, thank you. He and my grandmother would've been here tonight, but she wasn't feeling well."

He looks mildly concerned. "Oh, that's too bad. Tell Janlen I said hello, and send my wishes of good health to your grandmother." He smiles affably.

"Now then, Rory, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's getting late. Your grandmother insists on us leaving", he says, getting back to business.

"Of course, Grandpa. I have stuff to do tomorrow anyway. You know how seriously Lorelai takes our shopping trips," Rory responds, finding her shoes and getting up to leave.

Richard chuckles. "Do I ever. All set then?"

"Yeah. All set," she echoes, then turns to me.

"Goodbye, Tristan", she manages to get out, her face uncomfortable. She's trying to pretend that our little tryst just now didn't happen; I can hear it in her voice.

"Yes, goodbye Tristan. It was nice seeing you again," her grandfather says as they head towards the den's door.

Just as she's about to get out of my viewpoint of where I'm sitting, she looks at me meaningfully, urgently almost. She says nothing, but her expression clearly states, "Not a word, to anyone". As she exits after Richard, I hear him say, suddenly,

"Why Rory, you look flushed! Were you over-heated down there? James really needs to get this place proper air-conditioning."

"Oh. Yes, that must have been it…" At this point, they are out of earshot, so I never hear the rest of the conversation.

I chuckle in spite of myself at Mr. Gilmore's comment. Over-heated indeed. I then realize why I'm chuckling. I groan and put my head in my hands. This was definitely not the evening I was expecting when my Aunt Miriam and Uncle John dragged me to this party against my will. But of course, they didn't know that. I sigh and decide to head back outside. Maybe there will be more drunk people to entertain me.

When I return outside, it seems like the gathering is dying down significantly. People are saying their goodbyes, the wine bottles and plates empty and crowding the tables. I'm ready to leave myself. I look and finally spot my aunt and uncle, chatting and laughing with the Monroe's, I think the other couple is. I have the annoying attribute of recognizing almost everyone in my parent's social circle, having seen them on various occasions almost my whole life.

I walk up to them and try to politely make my presence known. I clear my throat.

"Excuse me, I…"

My uncle immediately sees me. "Tristan! There you are. We've been looking for you", he looks stern for a moment.

"Sorry, Uncle John."

"Oh, don't give it a second thought. We assumed you were off somewhere mingling anyhow. Have you been having fun, at least?" he laughs slightly. I guess he's not the only one who had some of that god-awful wine.

I swallow, hard. My mind keeps going back to the earlier events in the den.

"Yes, I guess you could say that." It's the best answer I can give at this point.

"Happy to hear that, my boy. Now, are you ready to leave then?"

"Of course. I'll get my car and meet you two back at the house."

"Superb. We'll be along soon," John replies. They're staying at my parent's house for the weekend.

"Alright then." I say my goodbyes to the Monroe's and gratefully walk to where my car is parked.

*

Almost a week after the DeWitt's party, what happened between Rory and I still keeps coming back into my mind, no matter how hard I try to get it out. It sneaks up on me when I least expect it, and I'm forced to analyze, like some neurotic head-case, why it happened, how it happened, etc, etc.

I've wondered whether it was the one and a half glasses of alcohol I had in me, my vulnerable state, both, or neither. I've pondered why Rory, even being upset about a recent break-up, didn't slap me across the face or worse when I kissed her. But most of all, I can't help asking the most mind-numbing question of all: Why the hell did it feel so good? Sure, kissing is nice, and we obviously both needed someone, but why didn't it repulse me? And, why can't I just let it go as one-time thing? I've loathed this girl for as long as I've known her, and yet when I came into physical contact with her, I felt like she was the only one who could take this ache I have away.

Charisse frequently being in my thoughts isn't helping, either. Oh God. Charisse. The woman I saw myself with forever. The only one who I had truly felt I loved. The bitch that went behind my back with a guy who has possibly the ugliest name in existence. I sigh bitterly. Then slowly, memories of her take over.

I had met her, surprisingly, through my parents. When I had gotten home for the summer at the end of my freshman year at Columbia, I was promptly forced into going to a party at one of their friend's (I want to say it was the Montgomery's) houses. I had dated on and off at that point, never anything serious. I was like any typical college guy: I wanted to get laid. Oh who am I kidding; I still feel that way now. I'm a horrible stereotype, I know.

So it's safe to say that at the time, I wasn't really looking for a long-term relationship. Throughout the party, an elegant charity auction for some foundation or other, I was introduced to more people than I could count. It was growing increasingly boring.

Until I met her. My father pulled me aside, at one point, and wanted me to meet a new colleague of his whom he had just hired to work for him at the firm.

"No offense, dad, but if I'm introduced to one more person, I think my head may explode. They're all blurring into one, gigantic mass of Elizabeth's and George William the Firsts and pretentious surnames," I complained, although rather good-naturedly, in my defense.

"Oh please, son. You can meet one more person; it's not going to kill you. And you will do it politely. Do you understand me?" His voice was growing increasingly menacing.

"Yeah, yeah, alright." I really didn't feel like dealing with Authoritarian Dad tonight.

"Good. Ah, here we are," he replied as we approached a middle-aged man, who looked about his age. His golden brown hair was thinning ever so slightly, combed over to quell suspicions of baldness. I smirked.

"Charles! There you are," my father exclaimed merrily, "I'm so happy you decided to attend with us this evening."

"Oh, how could I pass up such an invitation from the Montgomery's? You've all been so kind to us since we moved here," he responded. His manner was truly genuine and grateful, as if he was speaking to some higher power rather than his equal.

Ah. New money, then, I thought. I briefly wondered when I had turned into such a snob. I shook the earlier thought away.

"Of course, of course. Don't mention it," my father disregarded his appreciation away with a flick of his wrist. He had such a way with people. It was like he had been born to be a socialite, just like the ones you see in the movies. Too bad he also participated in the clichéd wealthy-man activities, i.e. cheating on my mother.

Charles had a lot to learn.

The thought practically made bile rise in my throat, so I turned my full attention to this new acquaintance.

"Tristan," my father said, "This is Charles Whittaker, my newest partner at the firm. You wouldn't have found a better attorney in all of Missouri, I assure you. Charles, this is my son, Tristan."

"Nice to meet you, sir," I said naturally, making sure I was courteous enough for my father's liking, "But I'm curious. How is it that I don't remember hearing about you? I'm not doubting my father by any means, but—"

Mr. Whittaker interjected.

"It's perfectly alright", he reassured me, "In Missouri, I did mostly pro-bono cases. But then my wife got laid off of her job, and I decided to start charging, and cut down on the number of unrecompensed cases I would see. It was hard to compromise my beliefs, but we had to think of the children and our future, you see. Then, a few months ago, Carolyn's mother had a stroke, so we decided to move here to be closer to her during the recovery, and just in general. She was born and raised here, in Middletown originally."

I nodded, absorbing the information.

"Well, here's to hoping you feel right at home in Hartford," I said, raising my glass of champagne in his direction jovially.

"Tristan, really! Not only are you disobeying a federal law, you're embarrassing yourself in front of Mr. Whittaker! Apologize," my father demanded. Mr. Whittaker seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Whittaker, I'm sorry. I was rude, and I shouldn't have made you feel uncomfortable." I complied, hating to have to call my father "sir" in order to pacify him.

"That's quite alright, Tristan. I remember what it was like to be young…" he trailed off, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "Which reminds me!" He suddenly exclaimed, "I'd like you both to meet someone", he looked around and then seemed to spot whoever it was he had been looking for, "Charisse! Darling, would come over here for a moment?"

That was the moment my life changed, never to be the same again. A beautiful girl with long, lush hair the same color as Mr. Whittaker's, and stunning blue-green eyes, walked right over to us. I was stupefied, to say the least.

"Edward, Tristan, I'd like you to meet my eldest daughter, Charisse. She'll be a sophomore at Princeton in the fall. Charisse, this is Mr. DuGrey, my new partner, and his son, Tristan."

She smiled gracefully.

"Nice to meet you both," she said, holding out her hand to both of us. I watched with the wonder of a pubescent teenage boy as she shook my father's hand politely.

But I was temporarily woken from my reverie as I then saw my father look at her appreciatively, like she was a stone on one of those ridiculous pieces of jewelry he bought for my mom. His eyes were practically gleaming. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear."

I felt ill.

But the dream-like feeling then took over again as she moved on to me. The minute I felt my hand touch hers, I was gone.

"Nice to, uh, meet you too," I managed to reply, my usual charm faltering for one of the first times in my life.

Charisse smiled again, this time there was laughter behind it.

Her father spoke up. "You know, you two are about the same age. You should chat for a little while. I bet you have a lot in common," he winked at me.

Embarrassed as I was, it was a sheer miracle that I was able to ask, "Shall we?" and when she agreed, lead her outside, where it was quieter.

We both sat on the porch steps, in silence, until Charisse finally broke it.

"So, my father tells me you attend Columbia?" she asked.

"Yep. He tells you right", I replied, smiling a little, "I didn't think I would get in, but I guess miracles happen, right?"

She looked relieved. "Tell me about it! I was in shock when I got the letter from Princeton. I was so nervous about my SATs I almost cheated on them!"

I looked at her in surprise. "Really? You seem like a smart girl. I wouldn't think you're the---"

"Type?" she finished for me, "Yeah, I know. But you know, desperate times call for desperate measures, cheesy as it sounds. One of my friends claimed she had a copy of the answers, and wanted to know if we wanted them. I ended up saying no, and she ended up getting expelled from our high school. I guess everything works out." She ended her story thoughtfully, and shrugged.

I chuckled. "I guess so."

"Yeah. Plus, didn't you ever want to be, you know, the Bad Seed? To have one of those typical teenage rebellions those drama shows on TV always center around? I don't know, it sounds stupid, but when I was that age, I was obsessed with taking more risks. The only thing I ended up doing was getting my cartilage pierced my sophomore year of high school!" She was laughing now, obviously recalling the memory.

Her laugh was infectious. In no time, I was joining her.

"Wow", I joked, "I don't know if I can be associated with someone as wild as you. My parents might disapprove!"

"I know, I know!" She said, calming down a bit, "It gets worse. I actually ended up taking out the earring! I felt so guilty already because I'd gone behind my parent's back and had my older cousin take me. I think I went two days before I caved."

My laughter subsided. "Well, at least you tried it, right?"

Charisse stretched her legs out from the steps and yawned. "True. I've come to notice that there are a lot of 'at leasts' in life, you know? We just have to be more grateful for them."

I sat there in awe. How could a person like this actually exist? She was beautiful to the point of exhaustion, and had a good head on her shoulders to boot. I had never met someone like her. Ever. She made me really think about things in a way I never had before, and already was leaving an impression on me.

So what did I do?

I kissed her. I had no words in me to dictate what I wanted to express to her, so being Tristan DuGrey, I went right for the physical. I still cringe now, looking back on it, but thankfully, she responded.

We kissed for moment before she pulled back, shyly.

There was a slight silence before Charisse finally said,

"Well. You know, I can honestly say, Tristan, I have never kissed a guy I just met", there was a hint of a smile forming on her face.

"Yeah, but hey, at least I didn't assault you or try to get into your pants," I replied, teasing her.

At that point, she started laughing again. Hard.

"You jerk!" she said, "Throwing my own words back at me! What am I going to do with you?" Her eyes sparked, almost glowing.

I shrugged. It was so easy to be myself around her.

"That's up to you, I suppose," I responded.

Charisse rolled her eyes. "C'mon. We should be getting back to the party in there anyway", she sensed my reluctance and tried again. "Let's go, I'll 'mingle' with you. We can pretend we're actually interested in what those people are saying."

I offered her my hand and pulled her up.

"Shall we?" I questioned for the second time that night.

"Yes, dear, I do believe we shall," she answered with mock elegance.

I grinned and followed her to the door.

From that point on, we became inseparable. Whether I was hanging around at home or at yet another parentally forced shindig, Charisse was almost always with me. I got to know her family, and I loved them as well. They were the kind of people I had always wanted as relatives, and I was practically their surrogate son after a while. I fit right in.

After we had been dating for about nine months (my longest relationship, for the record), and had survived the semi-long distance part of being together, I began stopping at jewelry store windows, just for the hell of it, and seeing what kind of a ring I would buy for Charisse if the day ever came when I would propose. It was more of a hypothetical dream of mine, but I couldn't help it. I loved her.

And then, about two weeks ago, all of that came crashing down. I discovered that the person I cared about the most had been cheating on me. The fact that I hadn't noticed or even picked up on any signs that she seemed detached, absent-minded, or anything like that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that I caught them.

I had gone over to Charisse's house that weekend to surprise her and take her out because the class I was supposed to have had been canceled that day. It was raining, but I didn't falter. I drove almost four hours in a fucking thunderstorm, and finally, I reached her front doorstep. I knocked three times.

I rang the bell, momentarily forgetting that it was broken.

Then I suddenly remembered: I had my own key. I cursed myself silently. Jesus, what is with me? I thought. I turned the lock and entered the modest-looking yet lavish house her parents owned. I looked around. I saw no sign of anyone yet.

"Hello? Mr. Whittaker? Charisse? Baby, are in you here?"

That's when I heard the shower running.

Oh, so that's why she's not answering, I thought with relief.

I headed towards the bathroom door, more than familiar with the house. I figured I'd poke my head in, tell Charisse I was there, and then wait for her to get dressed. It's not like I hadn't seen her naked. I smirked in spite of myself.

I opened the door. Steam was billowing up from the showerhead, covering the mirror with a frost-like fog. The water drummed against the wall, drowning out all noise, pounding, pounding on the stall.

And the two bodies that inhabited it.

"Charisse, I—"

That's when I saw him. I froze with rage. My chest felt like someone had ripped it open for an autopsy, and started stabbing it with a scalpel.

I stormed out of the bathroom and out of the house, my mind whirling, my stomach churning at what I had just seen. I was in total shock. How could she have done this to me? For how long? How could I not have sensed that something wasn't right?

I got in my car and drove for hours, not thinking, not feeling. I couldn't let myself. The pain was too much. As I got home that night, one final thought floated across my mind, light and unanalyzed.

Oh, so that's why she didn't hear me.

The day after that, I confronted Charisse, and she admitted that she had been seeing the bastard (I prefer to call him that instead of his proper name, which I feel is worse than the term "bastard") for almost a month now, but she hadn't wanted to tell me, because a part of her thought that maybe we could work it out, and that she would stop seeing Bastard.

"I know it doesn't help, but I am sorry, Tristan", she said, her voice full of sympathy. It made me sick.

"You're right. It doesn't help. But, just humor me here: did you ever really love me at all?" I asked.

She looked slightly grim. "I did. But Brice…he makes me feel so…alive, you know? He inspires me", she saw my look, "Oh God. I'm sorry. I know you didn't need to hear that. I did love you though, Tristan. I just don't think I felt the same way about you that you did about me. I just want you to be happy."

I almost laughed. She was already putting my feelings for her in past tense. I suddenly hated her. Still, I mustered up enough dignity to reply,

"Well, I want you to be happy, too. I just wish…"

Charisse put her hand over mine at the table we were sitting at.

"I know."

And now, almost two weeks later, here I am, still thinking about her like some super-sensitive guy who cries at movies. I sigh heavily. I rise from the chair in my father's study I've been sitting in. I look at the clock. Jesus. It's been almost an hour since I came in here. And I have to work tomorrow. Ugh. I've taken a job as an intern at my father's law firm, to make him happy, and now, every weekday from eight to three, I'm forced to get up during my summer break, and cater to him and his partner's every whim. Add some paper work and case study, and I have The Job From Hell! Office Space has nothing on me.

I groan and stretch, and head down the stairs of the deserted DuGrey mansion. My parents are at an auction, and will most likely be pouring themselves into bed around five a.m. I "had a headache" and saw them off, promptly proceeding to loaf around the house the rest of the day. I walk towards the kitchen. I'm starving.

Fuck. There it is again! What the hell is wrong with me? Thoughts of that night in the den keep invading my mind, without warning, and I can't get the picture of Rory's tear-stained, needing face out of my head. I slam the counter with my fist in frustration.

Just then, the doorbell rings.

I look up in surprise. Who would come over here now? I'm certainly not expecting anyone. Whatever. I stride to the ornate oak door and pull it open.

And standing there in front of me is Rory Gilmore. My mouth opens in surprise.

"Uh, wow, what are you—"

She cuts me off promptly, looking somewhat determined despite her nauseous expression.

"Don't say anything. Yet. I have to tell you all this before I forget, or lose all desire to once I talk to you for too long. I'm not sure why I came here tonight, I know I could've called but I didn't have your number, and I thought about calling my grandparents for it but I then I realized that they would probably be asleep already, but I really needed to talk to you for possibly the first time in my life, so I was forced to come over here", she pauses for breath.

I try to cut in, "Well, yeah, but what about the yellow pages? I mean, those are—"

But Rory will have none of it. "It didn't cross my mind, ok? Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I'm quite sure you remember our little…uh, let's call it an encounter, in the DeWitt's family room last week", I nod. I'm almost afraid to say anything.

"Well, I hope you know that I would like nothing more than to forget about it, write it off as a one-time moment of weakness, and move on. But the thing is, not only have I been having trouble moving on lately, I just… I just…" she falters. I coax her to continue slightly with my eyes. Maybe I'm not insane, after all.

"I just keep thinking about it, ok? Ugh! God! I don't what it was or even what it is, but my mind keeps going back to it. It won't go away! It's like this really bad song that you can't get out of your head, and the more I try to make it stop the louder it is, and I can't figure out why! You, honestly, make my skin crawl, Tristan. All through high school and even last week, you irritated and made me want scream at you or rip out your lungs, or…I don't know, something violent. Very, very violent. I used to tell people who didn't know you that you were the one person in my life that I truly hated. From the depths of being, the bottom of my heart. And yet, when—what happened at the Dewitt's--- err, happened…it didn't make me sick. I wasn't angry at you. I wanted to be so much, but I wasn't. I'm going to kill myself for saying this next thing because you're probably going to gloat about it to all of your equally wealthy friends for years to come, but it actually felt…well, it didn't feel disgusting. It kind of felt---"

"Good?" I steal the word from her with surprising timing.

She looks at me with frustration and relief. "Yes! And I can't even fathom why it would because as I've stated before, I have not disliked anybody more than you throughout my whole life, if there was a fire and I had to save either you or my books, it would be a toss-up! I mean, sure I was vulnerable, we both were, but I never thought I'd end up being 'comforted', and that's said with huge air-quotes, by you!" She looks at me with extreme disdain. I seethe. That's all it takes.

"Oh please, you think you're so high-and-mighty? You're not the only one who wanted to be mad and disgusted! This won't get out of my head either, and it's not a fucking picnic, I'll tell you that right now. I have not met anyone who rubs me the wrong way as much as you did and still do, and yet when I was kissing you, the last thing I wanted to do was stop! And I hate that I felt that way, and I hate that it felt like I needed not just any random woman, but you, specifically, to make me feel like that! It sucks, and—"

She interrupts me suddenly. "Oh God."

Her eyes meet mine, slightly terrified. "I thought that was just me."

I sigh, tired, and lean against the doorframe. "Well, you thought wrong, apparently."

Rory seems to tremble a little.

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Her eyes are shining with something I can't quite read. Yet I recognize it for some reason.

Then, something falls into place. The sharp, heated feeling from the night of the party returns, hitting me full force. I can sense it taking over as I move closer to her, and say,

"That depends…on what you want to do", my voice is growing lower, suggestiveness flowing from my tone like the river Jordan. What the fuck is this?

I continue, inches away from her mouth. "Because, you know...I'm totally open to suggestion. And experimentation."

Her breathing is becoming irregular as she tries to avoid my mouth. She swallows.

"God, you're a prick," she says ardently. Her eyelashes start to flutter lazily.

Those are the last words out of her mouth as we practically lunge at each other, frantically trying to close the space between us. Our mouths connect and detach, connect and detach, too many times to count. She almost knocks me over as I stumble into the house, trying to move backwards without the benefit of sight. Rory finally just gives up and hops slightly, so that her legs are around my waist. My lips move to her neck. Hands are everywhere as we stumble towards the bedroom.

Each now having a greater appreciation for the excuse, "It must have been the humidity."


When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love/You'll understand what I mean when I say, there's no way we're gonna give up…/Is there anyone out there, cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe…