Narcissus

Author: SweetThing

Chapter: 3 "Release Yourself"

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. There, I said it. *sob* Why are you doing this to me? lol. Anyway, the chapter title and lyrics are from "Sexuality" by K.D. Lang, off of her CD, All You Can Eat.

Author's Note: I love you all! No really, thanks to everyone for your wonderful comments. I couldn't be more flattered. J Oh, and yes, this is in Rory's POV.

Dedications: Angeleyez, my always-wonderful beta who rocks, and everybody who reviewed: Jazz, LandonLover, LizDarcy, Miya, Priya, mandie, Siaram, chevie Jane, coincidence casualty, Jamie, kay, Jewls13, PixiePunk, imsagirl05, trory-goddess, Roxy, klm111a, blurred, bella, Intuition, and Green Eve. Finally, the lovely people on the Trory Thread.


Come on come on/kiss away the ones who say/the lust you feel is wrong…/how bad could it be/if you should lose yourself in me/now how bad could it be?

Caw! Caw!

That's the sound I hear as I frown and shift slightly under the cotton sheets.

Caw! Caw!

Argh! Damn crows. Why are they so obnoxiously loud? I need sleep, and it can't be earlier than six a.m. out there. Can't they see I'm busy being post-coital? I move closer to the strong frame in the bed beside me. I sigh faintly. Much better. Now if those freaking crows would just shut the hell up maybe I could---

Oh my God.

I shirk back from the aforementioned frame in horror.

That's right. I'm post-coital! With…with…ugh, I can't even say it! How? When? Why? Was I drunk? Was I on something? My half-asleep stupor raises more than a few questions. Until the previous night comes back to me.

It plays out as a linked chain of rambling, insults, and finally, The Sex. The infamous event that will be forever capitalized in my mind, said with a shudder, thought of with a grimace. I groan, half inwardly. I look over at my fellow offender.

Tristan is sleeping, rather peacefully, next to me in the ridiculously over-sized bed that was the grounds for our throwing off of the earth's orbit last night. I groan again. My mind wanders over the to the well, intercourse of last night, naturally when recalling events in chronological order. A place where I truly don't want to go. It starts and stalls there, trying to get me to analyze, rationalize, finalize in my head the things that were done. But I won't have it. This is too much.

I put my head in my hands tiredly. The comforter suddenly falls from my shoulders a little, and I remember that I am naked.

Tristan DuGrey saw me naked.

Oh Lord! I don't believe this. Just then, he lets out a snore. Ugh. It's like he could tell the sheet had fallen. Even in his sleep, he's a dick. I quickly and quietly rise from the bed and start dressing. Undies, bra (why oh why did I have to be wearing black underwear?), jeans, and T-shirt. After I am fully clothed, I sit on the edge of the bed, having no idea what to do next.

I could leave. Of course, that would be taking the easy way out, but I somehow feel that with last night's happenings, I defied all logic. Then again, Tristan will probably find me sooner or later, and I'll be forced to talk about it. Or, I could stay. Maybe we should just get it over with.

All of a sudden, he stirs. His eyes open slightly, and he frowns, his voice thick with sleep.

"What the hell is---Rory? What are you doing here---oh," he half moans, "Oh, Jesus, that's right. We---" he pauses in place of saying the actual phrase, gesturing with his hands, "Didn't we?"

I look at him and nod, my expression grim. "You got it."

He stretches and rubs his eyes, looking how I did moments before.

"I almost thought it was some kind of bad dream. You know, the ones that seem real?"

I glare at him. "Obviously that was your deluded sub-conscious. Like it or not, we willingly engaged in sexual relations last night." I wanted to be the cool, calm one in this scenario. The strong one who tells it like it is. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I am disgusted and give up.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that. What the hell is wrong with us?"

He sits up. "Hey, don't ask me. You're the one who looked at me all, 'What are we going to do now, Tristan?' I'm so scared, comfort me!' I couldn't help but respond to instinct!"

"Oh, please. So this is my fault? You're just a quivering mass of hormones that can't help yourself? Do not blame me for you obviously misinterpreting my expression. I was not trying to get you to fuck me!"

He sneers. "Ooh, Rory, I'm surprised at you. We can't have the debutant saying naughty words!"

"How old are we, Tristan?"

He waves off my response. "Fine, you know what, I admit it. I did take your expression as a sign to kiss you. But why did you kiss me back, after insulting me no less?"

I almost flush, embarrassed. The truth is I have no reasonable explanation. I decide there's only one thing to do.

"Then why did you drag me towards the bedroom, assuming I wanted to sleep with you?"

Throw his own words back at him.

"Why did you let your self be brought into this bedroom, never saying a word or giving any signs that you wanted to stop?"

I am at the boiling point. Somebody's going to win, and it's not going to be Tristan.

"Well, why did you not only never stop, but when I asked if we should really be doing this, and I did ask, by the way, you replied, I believe, 'Maybe not'…followed by 'Oh, screw it!'"

He rises from the bed, revealing his plaid boxers (thank God for small favors), and moves closer to me. I stiffen.

"I am not the one", he hisses, speaking in a slow, almost menacing tone, "Who ripped my shirt!"

I gasp. "What? I did not rip your shirt! It's not my fault it wouldn't come off. It was a small tear!"

I then realize what I have just given away. I falter. Maybe I should just give this up. But then, something comes back to me.

I am once again defiant and look him straight in the eye.

"Besides," I say, "At that point, you had already gotten my bra unhooked!"

His mouth opens, then closes again. At this point, we are both breathing heavily, seething with annoyance (well, more hatred on my part). I wait. Wait for him to throw something equally true and earth-shattering right back at me, the smirk that never leaves his face gleaming. I look at him, my expression clearly stating that I have won. I've got him.

"Well, you—I—that's---," Tristan stutters, his earlier competitive, confident air crumbling before us. Suddenly, our eyes lock. He inches towards me, so slow I almost don't notice. My breathing becomes labored again. The atmosphere in the large, spacious bedroom becomes heated and ireful once more, reminiscent of last night.

"Aw, hell", he says, and pulls me towards him. Part of me wants to slap him, but this impassioned feel to the air surrounds me. I give in. We collapse onto the unmade bed, lips warring, bodies clashing, hands fumbling everywhere, trying to get as much contact with the other as possible. The need is back, full-force. As we get closer and closer to the "point of no return", I have one final, rational thought.

So much for me getting dressed.

*

Some time later, we lay on the bed, for the second time that day. I stare at the ceiling, holding the bold, diamond-patterned comforter rather tightly around my shoulders. I sneak a glance at Tristan, in spite of myself, to see if he's as confused as I am.

Indeed he is. He seems to be fascinated, first with the ceiling, then with his hands. He looks almost everywhere except at me. I sigh. The question remains, hanging in the air above us. What the hell are we supposed to do now? I prepare to speak. Like it or not, we have a problem here. It's time to deal with it.

He beats me to it. "So…it seems to me, that something---something must be off here," Tristan says after clearing his throat, "Because, I can't stand you…for years, my personal goal was to irritate you as much as humanly possible…but now…every time we're in a close vicinity to each other, all I want to do is---"

"You can stop right there," I interrupt him, annoyed. "As painful as it is for me to say this, I pretty much feel the same way. Minus the testosterone-laden dialect, of course. But that's not the point. The point is, why?" I shift toward him slightly. "Why, if we loathe each other as we both know we do, does this keep happening? What is it that motivates us towards each other like this, causing us to want to---"

"Fuck the other's brains out?" he suggests.

I roll my eyes. "You're charming, really. I'm serious here. I've thought about this, and I think I know why."

"By all means," he says, facing me completely, "Enlighten me. Do you have visual aids for your presentation?" He chuckles a little.

I give him a look that would have him gone in sixty seconds if looks could kill. "Fine. Why do you think this keeps happening? I'm all ears."

Tristan smirks, mocking hurt a little. "As a matter of fact, I do believe I know why this is going on," he sits up as importantly as one can when half naked under a comforter. "See, at the DeWitt's party, you mentioned having just broken up with someone. I, in turn, told you about Charisse, who just dumped me for a bastard with an ugly name." He pauses for a moment.

I, at this point, have turned around and am propped up on my side, listening. For once, we are almost on the same page about something. I can't help it when I say,

"Go on," trying to feign disinterest only a bit.

He grins. "I do believe that's the first time you've ever said that when referencing me and conversation," he's highly amused at this point.

"There's a first time for everything," I shoot back meaningfully, "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting to your point, please?"

He obliges, thankfully. "Well, like I said, we have both recently been in rather, err, serious relationships, correct? Therefore, we are both hurting right now, both, shall we say, vulnerable. So naturally, both of us are going to want somebody, anybody, to fill this void that we're feeling, at least, that's how it's been with me."

I nod. "Void" is an understatement.

"Now normally, this would be a one-time thing, both us going in our separate directions, forgetting about it, blah blah blah…you get the idea," he continues.

"Right," I break in, "But with the two of us, it's different. This is what I was trying to say."

"Exactly, I was just getting to that. We are the almost exactly the same position. We both know how much it sucks to be in a relationship that you think will last forever, then getting screwed over. We're experiencing the same shitty emotions here. And in turn, we know almost exactly what the other one wants, besides the obvious, of course. Are you following me here?" He asks this like he's giving a game plan out to a football team.

"Yes," I respond, actually anxious for him to continue. I don't believe this.

"Alright. Well, since we're both in need of the same thing, and we understand the other's need for this---"

I cut in abruptly, wanting to solve the puzzle before him, "That's why we end up sleeping together! This mutual understanding brought on, like, this sexual tension, and we end up having sex!"

"And that's why the sex is so good!" Tristan exclaims.

"Exactly!"

At this point, both of us seem to realize just what, exactly, we've said. We look at each other in shock.

"Oh my God!" he cries.

"I can't believe I just said sex with you was good!" I reply in humiliation.

"Well, that's a given," he says breezily, then sees my icy stare, "B—but, that's not what's really important. How the hell can this be happening?"

"I'm not saying this isn't bizarre," I respond, "But as I was trying to tell you, it's not the questions that are the point anymore. We've answered them already. Now, what remains is this: what are we going to do about this?"

Tristan seems to ponder this for a moment. "Well, I can tell you what I want to do---or at least, part of me wants to do…but I fear for my external organs."

I roll my eyes. "Stop fearing. It's an honest question though. What are we supposed to do? Forget about this and pretend it didn't happen?"

"Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think? I mean, if we couldn't just forget about it after the DeWitt's party, I don't see how we can do it now. After we've had sex. Twice." He replies, adding the "twice" almost as an afterthought.

I breathe out, defeated. "You're right, you're right. I was just…I don't know…reaching, I guess. You know?"

Tristan nods. "I understand."

The statement reverberates throughout the room, the double meaning shaking me to the core. We sit under the sheets in silence, the question I raised sitting between us, unmoving, thick in the air. Suddenly, he seems to have an epiphany.

"Hey…wait a minute…" he straightens his posture, so he's sitting bolt upright.

"Why should we even try to forget about all this?" He rises from the bed and starts slowly walking around the bedroom.

I look at him a bit strangely. "Excuse me?" He's losing me here.

"I mean, why should this even have to stop?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I ask, incredulous.

"Perhaps," he says, "But hear me out here. We are two very wounded people at the moment, right? If we know exactly what we need, why don't we just give it to each other?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You're saying we should keep on having sex?"

"I know how it sounds," Tristan adds quickly, "But as shitty as we feel about our respective exes now, maybe this will help us get over them. We, for the first time in our lives, can relate to the other. People say they understand, but---"

"They really don't," we say at the same time. I look at him, slightly creeped out.

"So, in your theory, we would be like… sex buddies," I reply, breaking the weird silence that had fallen momentarily.

"Not exactly," he goes on, "It would serve a greater purpose than just 'getting our fill'. We would be helping each other to heal, so to speak. Plus, we might just even feel better, not only about our failed relationships, but about ourselves". He lets out a breath, finished. He waits for my input.

I mull over his words. Despite our less-than-unforgettable history, he makes a lot of sense. I don't believe I'm following and even agreeing with his logic when I finally say,

"You do make a good point, as hard as that is for me to say. But, there's only one problem."

Tristan raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"We hate each other, Tristan, in case you've forgotten. How are we going to continue this…whatever it is, without tearing each other apart?"

"Hmm…I hadn't thought of that…I guess we could just agree to try not to fight during this…you know, thing." He settles on.

"True…a…what are those things called…an armistice!" I snap my fingers triumphantly. "I guess that's settled then. Although, I can't guarantee that no fighting will ensue."

"Same here," he says.

I laugh a little. "I don't believe I'm doing this. I mean, it's you! But, you know, after Steve…"

"Your ex?" he inquires.

I nod. "The last thing I want right now is another relationship. And I think you feel the same way,"

"Believe me, I do" he replies.

"So this…there's no strings, right? I mean, I'm not going to suddenly become your sex slave, being at your beck and call all the time, but we're not dating, either. Understand?" I can't believe I just said the word "strings" in reference to a relationship. Still, I want this to be clear.

"I didn't mean it any other way," he says truthfully, "Although, it's always been a fantasy of mine to—"

"Ah! Just, stop right there, please," I cut in. He complies. We don't speak for a moment.

I wrinkle my nose. "This sounds so…official. It's pretty weird."

"Extremely weird."

Yet another silence falls. I go back and forth in my head, trying to push away the doubts that are starting to fill it. I'm still not entirely sure I want to do this. I decide to air them out.

"Tristan…do you think, I mean…do you feel like this is going to work? Like, considering that it's, well—us?" I look at him seriously.

"Well, it could…. and it couldn't, I suppose," he muses. All of a sudden, he moves closer, and the space between us lessens. He continues. "But don't you want to find out for yourself? Take that risk? It could be quite the adventure, you know…"

"Ugh!" I push him away, "You're disgusting!" The nerve of him, really! He remains where I pushed him, a foot or so ways across the room. He smirks. Gah! I despise that smirk. I despise even calling it a "smirk". It makes it sound like it's a trademark or something. Jackass.

We remain in our new positions, me near the bed, searching for my discarded jeans, him standing a few feet in front of me. There's an indescribable pause in the air, as if something is holding its breath.

A moment later, a veritable "play" button is pushed, and we are again lunging, grasping at each other, the breath letting out long and slow between us. Then, suddenly, I hear a noise. I ignore it for a moment before I realize it's not so much of a noise as a song. A very familiar kind of song.

My cell phone.

"Dammit!" Well, that's what I would've said if my mouth weren't already occupied. Lorelai's got to be freaking out, wondering why I didn't come home last night. I had told her I was going to visit Paris in Hartford. This is one of the rare breaks she spends at home, catching up with her Nanny.

I struggle to break our lips apart. "Tris—Tris---Tristan!" I manage to get out in between kisses. He misinterprets my pause for a moment. His mouth moves down, to my neck, giving me the freedom to speak properly at last. He then seems to finally hear me.

"What?"

I force myself to concentrate on what I'm trying to say. "My…cell phone….ringing…." Then, the feeling of his ministrations on my neck takes over again.

"Don't answer it," he mumbles, far too busy to really grasp the meaning of what I'm saying.

"No, you don't…you don't understand," I continue, finally breaking away from his hold. He looks mildly confused. "I have to get that." I start to rummage desperately around the room, following the sound of the ringer.

"What? Why? But I thought that---?" Tristan seems to be, as I've noticed before with other guys, virtually dumbfounded by the notion that I am stopping our so-called sexual escapades. I've come to notice that it's very hard for guys to switch gears if they've just been in the middle of anything relating to sex, or having sex. They have to get their brains to function again or something.

My phone continues to ring. "It's most likely my mother, and if I don't answer this she's going to start worrying, even though she's probably already worrying now so her worrying will be pushed to the limit and that's a whole lot of worrying, and I don't want to subject Lorelai to that, so I need to find my phone!" I ramble, frazzled. Tristan runs a hand through his hair, disappointed but defeated. Finally, I stumble upon the silver Nokia under a dresser, in the pocket of my worn-out but comfortable, so I can't bear to throw them away, jeans. I quickly answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweets, is everything ok with Paris? You didn't come in last night. Of course, you may have and I was just asleep so I didn't hear it, because I am as you know a very deep sleeper, but then again since you're answering your phone, you must be somewhere that isn't our house, unless of course you went for an early morning jog or something, meaning you did come home last night but left early, but by now I'd say you'd be back, but of course you never jog because you take after me and---" Lorelai's usual energetic chatter sounds tainted with something. I feel a wave of guilt wash over me for causing her any uncertainty.

"Mom, it's alright. Don't worry, Paris is fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry, have you been worrying?"

"Oh, don't be silly. You're a big girl; I was just making sure everything was good, since you didn't call. Not that you have to, of course, but you usually do if you're out late when you come home. So, how is Paris? Still as lovable as ever?"

I giggle slightly. Despite her taking a liking to Paris years ago, my mother still likes to crack jokes about my less-than-relaxed friend. "She's as good as she can be. We just started talking, catching up on things we've missed, and I lost track of time. Then she just invited me to stay over, since she had the extra room and everything." I am surprised at how easily I can lie to my own mother like this. I swallow.

"Oh, okay. Her parents were out of town again, I assume?" she replies.

"As always," I say, "But I'm really sorry. I should've called."

"Consider yourself forgiven," Lorelai says breezily.

"Ok then," I respond, relieved, but guilty for feeling that way. "So did I miss anything last night?"

"Oh, nothing big," she waves it off, "Although I did force Luke to participate in a Classic movie night."

I mock a gasp. "Wait, classic as in classic movies, or classic like the movie nights of old?"

I can practically hear her grin through the phone. "The latter!"

"You didn't!" I practically squeal. Tristan shoots me a strange look as he goes through his chest of drawers, looking for a suitable pair of pants.

"Oh, I did. Luke has now seen When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail, and Sleepless In Seattle in succession. Can you believe he's never seen You've Got Mail? Anyway, I was in a nostalgic mood, and I remembered that this was one of the first movies nights we had, when you were about thirteen? That was before I taught you about the great directors versus the mock-worthy ones. First, every girl needs to get acquainted with the good ole romantic comedy. So, I declared last night Nora Ephron night."

"Wow!" I laugh, "I remember those movie nights. How did you get him to watch with you?"

"Well, I told him it was a customary thing all husbands did with their wives…all the good ones, anyway…and that I've sat through enough Bruce Willis and Clint Eastwood movies to last a lifetime. He was guilt-ridden, and I got him."

I chuckle. "You can never go wrong with guilt-tripping."

"Ah, I have taught you well, wise daughter. You speak the truth. Plus, when he protested, I threatened to make him watch Michael instead. That shut him up pretty quick."

I shudder. "I believe it."

"Yeah. So, you're coming home soon, or…?

"Oh! Oh, yeah, definitely. I'm just about to get in the car. I'll be there in a half-hour. Traffic shouldn't be too bad."

"Ok, hon, sounds good."

"Alright, bye Mom,"

"Bye. Love you".

"Love you too." I hang up the cell and let out a breath, my earlier frazzled state waning. Tristan is now fully dressed, seemingly accepting the fact that there won't be any more sex today.

He looks at me. "So, you're leaving now, I gather?"

I nod. "I have to. I've stayed late enough as it is. If I hurry, Luke will still make me breakfast." I pull on my jeans, jumping a little before I zip and button them.

He laughs a little as he watches me. I look at him, irritated yet confused. "What? You've never seen a girl…uh, put on pants before?"

He laughs even harder. "Ooh, nice comeback! I felt that one."

I glare at him. "Shut up." He puts his hands up in a parody of defense.

I ignore it and proceed to find my flip-flops and slide into them and grab my phone from its resting place on the dresser. I start for the door. Tristan follows me down the rather long, winding staircase, waiting to speak until I reach the front door.

He stands there, a bit awkwardly. "So…"

"Yeah…well, according to our 'agreement' or whatever you want to call it, I actually am going to see you again, correct?"

"Correct," he agrees, "I suppose I'll have to call you, then?"

I almost kick him for being such an ass, but then remember he is serious. "Well, yeah, I guess. Or, you could just drop by…unbeknownst to me…sometime next weekend. My mom and step dad are going to be away. It's their wedding anniversary," I explain.

"Okay," he says nonchalantly, "Maybe I will."

"Alright then."

"Yep."

I pause for only a moment before saying,

"Well, good-bye then."

"Bye."

He opens the door for me and steps back, as I make my way towards his driveway, and my car. I feel his eyes on me slightly as I walk. I turn my head and see him closing the door behind him. I could've sworn I just saw him shaking his head a little, as if in disbelief.

I reach my car, finally, and get in. I start it up, ready to make the drive back to Stars Hollow. I've come home to it every summer since I started at Yale, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Everything I miss while classes are in session, I get to have surrounding me again. Once more it becomes a daily occurrence to see Luke and a much-aged Taylor arguing over which one of them should sell cherry cokes, and Babette and Miss Patty relaying the latest gossip. Apparently, Mom and Luke have had sex in the diner's kitchen. You could learn a lot from these women, even stuff you don't want to know. I shudder a little. Still, it's home. The purest form of the word.

I concentrate on the road in front of me, the route well memorized in my mind. Unfortunately, though, this does not last very long. Oh sure, I'm looking at the road. But my mind is somewhere else. The agreement Tristan and I made this morning sits in my mind, daring me to elaborate on it, mull it over. Only I don't want to think about it, because when I do, the grotesquely large question will be brought up again: Am I making a huge mistake? And I have no idea whether I am or not. I don't even know whether this is that big of deal to be thinking about it so much or not.

Well, it kind of is. I mean, it's not exactly a relationship, but it involves sex. I've never really had casual sex, (why bother if you get nothing out of it?) so to me, I suppose it's a fairly large deal. But somehow, I know that I would be getting something out of this. Plus, I'll admit it: I'm weak. The need, the aching that fills me up every time I'm not busy, and at night just before I fall asleep, is sometimes unbearable. And to know that another person has this same ache makes me feel a bit better. Not that I would ever admit to Tristan making me feel anything other than repulsed and nauseous, of course.

Then again, Tristan may have already stored away the event of this morning in his mind, never thinking about it till the next time he sees me. But on the on the other hand, he was the one who thought of this. Why would he think it was insignificant? No, he doesn't. I'm being stupid. Actually, neurotic is more like it. Wait, why do I even care what Tristan thinks about all of this? Oh, please. I so don't.

Just then, another thought occurs to me as I make a right turn. What if I'm just giving in to every guy's fantasy relationship: sex with no attachment? What if Tristan starts bragging about this to his friends, how he persuaded me into having sex with him? No! That won't happen. It can't happen! Plus, this is a two-way operation. This is a mutual thing, here, and works both ways. Scary as it is, I may just have to trust that he won't pull anything like that. That he really is hurting as much as I have been. My mind goes back to the night at the DeWitt's party right before he kissed me. His eyes…so full of something I at first didn't recognize. Later, I realized that I, in fact, did.

When I looked into the mirror.

No. He definitely is hurting as much as I am, there's no question. It's just…I don't want this to get messy. I've had enough messy for a lifetime, a whole pigpen's worth. I don't want this to be complicated, either. I've always loved the simple things. Alright, that sounds cheesy, but it's the truth. Simplicity is highly underrated these days, and it would be so nice if this "agreement" wouldn't blow up in my face. I'm not saying it's going it to be a Niles/Lillith-like parting of the ways, but I just hope it doesn't make anything worse. Although I'm not sure that's possible. Still, there is that risk involved. What if I get too attached to him?

I snort and almost ram into the car in front of me from behind. Yeah, sure, that'll happen. Ha! I giggle. Sure, I won't be able to be without my love slave! Oh, dear me! I don't think so. It's not like the sex is that good anyways. I mean, it's not bad, but it's not outstanding either. It's just…different. It starts out frantic, then slows down a bit. We never really look each other in the face. I mean, how would one describe sex with a person you abhor? There's always a moment, though, where our vulnerability is exposed. Our eyes lock, and we wordlessly confirm the other's need for intimacy before going over the edge.

It's things like this that make me doubt that this whole arrangement will work. It seems like we're just using each other. But it doesn't feel like it. I sound stubborn, and maybe I am. Still, it feels more like leaning on each other. Neither of us is very strong right now, and maybe we will be once this thing is over.

Maybe we need this. Ugh. I never thought (or wanted) to see the day when I would need Tristan DuGrey in any way, shape, or form. Or for anything. And now, here I am, analyzing our sexual encounters. I sigh. I'm nearly home. It can't come soon enough. I stop at a side-street intersection. Two people, a guy and a girl, cross the street as I wait, rather impatiently, for my turn to go. The girl looks about my age, with radiant blonde hair that goes to her shoulders. She's laughing at something her companion is saying. I look at him a bit more closely. Hmm. Brown, slightly unruly hair. Exotic eyes. Huh. It almost looks like---

Steve.

Holding the pretty blonde girl's hand. Leading her to a driveway down the block of suburban houses. Kissing her. Then, opening the door to a car I do not recognize.

Looking happy. Smiling.

All of it plays out as a slideshow in my mind, slow and pausing on specific details. Then, it all hits me, hard and thick, a violent assault on my emotions. I try my hardest to be strong, the questions swirling around in my stomach, ready to nauseate me upon me asking them. Why? How could he be so happy? Did he ever love me they way he said? Just then, the car behind me honks loudly, the driver swearing something I hardly hear. I speed away angrily, tears threatening to run down my cheeks at any given time. I hate this. I despise that every time I think I'm over Stephen, something happens to send all that crashing down. I think I'm ready for certain things, but no.

How long is two months, really? Is it enough time to get over someone? Start seeing people again? Apparently, yes, in Steve's case. Or is it a time of mourning, of wondering when you'll ever stop seeing things that remind you of them, or thinking about and analyzing what went wrong? Is it too long? Too short? None of these are questions I have definite answers to. As I approach Stars Hollow, I drive into town with a new realization of what I lack. I need strength. And if this "agreement" is going to bring me that, if there's any chance of it…

…Then maybe I do need this.