I exited the dorm room with a final smirk at Rory and a small nod to Paris. I didn't even want to look at that Terrance guy, the way he was staring at me.
"I guess I'll see you ladies around."
***
I reached my own apartment that night, my head pounding and my whole body restless even after that long walk/job hunt. Maybe I was thinking about this too much. I turned the key and stepped inside, retreating to my room (almost hitting a Japanese lantern and stepping on a paper fan—damn Ma-Huen and his fine arts theme/homegrown-back-to-my-Asian-roots tendencies!) and falling onto my bed with a knocked-out thud.
Just as I was about to nod off, I heard a sharp knock on the door. I emitted a brutal groan and lamely sat up to open the door. Ma-Huen always forgets his damned keys—maybe that's why his roommate left; because he became the doorman for Ma-Huen and got sick of it.
"Go out with me."
The question didn't even faze me. For the most part. Okay, I'll admit I was pretty surprised, since, you know, I knew she had a boyfriend.
"How'd you find me, Paris?"
"I followed you," she said, her voice just cracking mildly, "Will you go out with me?"
I leaned on the doorframe with my arms crossed, "How many laws have you broken since you were fifteen? And I distinctly remember Rory mentioning a Princeton guy in the Paris-major-motion-talkie."
She rudely shoved me aside and entered the apartment. "So you're saying if Jaime wasn't my boyfriend, you'd go out with me?"
Oh, Jesus.
"No."
She stamped her foot on the ground, clearly annoyed. "For God's sake, Mariano, will you stop confusing me? My inhibitions are lowered enough for me to stab you with this paper... crane... thingus—what the hell is this?!"
Paris grabbed one of Ma-Huen's pieces and examined it closely, turning it in her hand. She suddenly realised that she was here for a different reason, one that didn't include art critisism.
"Why do you want to go out with me, Paris?"
"Because I like you, and I've had quite a lot to drink. Actually, you remind me of Dustin Hoffman right about now."
I hate talking to drunk people.
"You don't like me, Paris. You never did. Remember Austen? You were ready to beat me up for my lack of feminism."
"And who are you to tell me who I do and do not like, huh?" She pointed at me menacingly with the paper crane thing, "And Emily Bronte is one of the good guys!"
"I said Austen, not Bronte."
She looked at me as if I was stupid, "I said Bronte."
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose in silent annoyance. Just as I was about to speak again, I found Paris just inches away from me. Her faces suddenly furrowed and her eyes glazed over with tears. She collapsed into me and cried.
"Please, Jess," she sobbed.
I wasn't about to give her an answer because I knew we'd both regret it once she'd sober up. Her weight soon became too much for my body (which was aching with fatigue) and we both fell to the floor.
She didn't seem to care, though.
She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and looked at me. Paris, the one indestructible machine I had once met, was now far, far away.
I didn't know who initiated it, and I'd shoot myself in the foot if I ever found out it was me, but our lips touched, and that was that. Her tears fell onto my fingers as I touched her chin and her cheek and I felt myself wanting to cry as well. I somehow understood Paris's sadness, even if she wouldn't tell me, and God help me, I wanted to help her.
Nobody was ever there for her. She was constantly surrounded by estranged figures and/or stupid people. Nobody cared if she lived up to her potential or not because they thought she could do everything on her own.
Well she can't do it alone, okay? She needs people. Real people, not people like Madeline or Louise or Lorelai or Jimmy.
I need real people with real care and concern, God dammit!
I mean, Paris does. Paris.
RorySo Jess is here. Long term. Did he do this... for me?
I inwardly slapped myself for thinking that way. Jess Mariano wasn't some puppy who followed me around, but I think thoughts that suggest that. I'm so screwed up.
Maybe he's just looking for a job in the area.
To be with me.
Shut up, head!
He's furthering his educational horizons in order to fulfill his lost inhibitions as a learned man.
Oh, God, I'm using big words—now I know I'm lying to myself.
Why was he here?
And where in pudding's name was Paris? The movie was getting cold!
I curled up into the couch and hugged a pillow. The door then opened and Joe stuck his head in.
"Hello?"
"Joe? What's up?" I got up and put the pillow down. I've always hated that question, "What's up?" It was so stupid and made no sense. Some slang was just stupid, if you asked me.
Joe smiled at me and lifted a bag of chips into my field of vision.
"Welcome to movie-night, mister!"
I shoved some crap off the sofa and made room for my new movie-buddy—seeing as Paris wasn't about to come crashing through the door with a hundred-word apology in hand.
Author's Note:
Hey kids! I'm back. Well, for the mean time. Heh. So how was everyone's vaccations? Fun fun fun?
Don't kill me just yet, Literatis—I haven't gotten to the good stuff.