AN: I know I haven't even let you respond to chapter 2 yet, but I'm on a
roll so here's another one. Let me know if it gets too corny or
predictable.
*** Lorelai closed her eyes and tried to pretend he wasn't there.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't shown up on her doorstep after she'd returned from Luke's the night before.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't made the "I'm sorry I'm suing your father can we still be friends?" speech.
Tried to pretend that they hadn't made out.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't spent the night.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't gotten in the shower with her the next morning.
Tried to pretend that, at this very moment, he was not doing what he was doing.
When she opened her eyes, she realized that he was done. He was standing up again and washing his hair with her shampoo. He was talking to her about some client who he was sure would've stayed with him but didn't. She honestly didn't care.
Lorelai sat up and curled her knees up to her chest. She was having a revelation. She hated him. It was that simple. He'd done nothing but use her and now it finally dawned on her.
All of those times that he'd pretended to care, pretended to sympathize with her about her mother, pretended that she was more than just a body to him.
All those times he'd made her breakfast hoping that it would lead to some morning sex.
The time he'd given her a key, and told her she should come over more often.
"Get out," she said firmly.
"What?"
"Jason, get out of my house."
"But Lorelai, what about..."
"GET OUT!" she screamed.
Jason obeyed. His hair full of shampoo, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
"By the time I'm out of this shower I want you and everything that ever belonged to you out of my house permanently. If you so much as call me I'll file a harassment suite against you. Got it?"
Jason didn't answer. He was already half-way out of the bathroom door. Lorelai was so funny sometimes. She'd come around, he was sure of it.
Lorelai stayed in the shower another fifteen minutes. She scrubbed his scent out of her skin and hair. She scrubbed the shower, hoping to get every single one of his skin or hair cells out of her bathroom. She didn't know if it was the shower or her tears that made her face feel so hot, but she didn't care.
She stepped out of the shower and reached for her robe, then she remembered the night that he'd worn it. She wrapped a towel around her waist and left the bathroom, stopping in the closet to get a large garbage bag.
The robe was the first thing she threw away. Then it was the sheets from her bed. Then it was all of the other sheets in her closet that had been on her bed any other time he was there. She threw on the first clothes she could grab and ran around her house, throwing away the vase she had put flowers from him in, the card he had sent her along with the magnet that had held it to the refrigerator. Returning to her room, she threw away every sexy outfit she had ever worn for him.
Lorelai was now unable to control her tears. She sat down on the floor next to her naked bed and pulled the infamous notepad and pen off of her nightstand. Without even thinking, she began to write:
'I hate you!
Your kisses were daggers.
You stabbed me a million times.
You used me, I'm broken,
Your memory haunts me.
Your touch burned my skin.
You used me.
I hate you.
I hate you.'
It didn't rhyme, but somehow Lorelai thought that it qualified as a poem. She set it aside, feeling a little better, and pulled the comforter off her bed. Curling up with it, she cried herself to sleep.
*** Lorelai closed her eyes and tried to pretend he wasn't there.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't shown up on her doorstep after she'd returned from Luke's the night before.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't made the "I'm sorry I'm suing your father can we still be friends?" speech.
Tried to pretend that they hadn't made out.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't spent the night.
Tried to pretend that he hadn't gotten in the shower with her the next morning.
Tried to pretend that, at this very moment, he was not doing what he was doing.
When she opened her eyes, she realized that he was done. He was standing up again and washing his hair with her shampoo. He was talking to her about some client who he was sure would've stayed with him but didn't. She honestly didn't care.
Lorelai sat up and curled her knees up to her chest. She was having a revelation. She hated him. It was that simple. He'd done nothing but use her and now it finally dawned on her.
All of those times that he'd pretended to care, pretended to sympathize with her about her mother, pretended that she was more than just a body to him.
All those times he'd made her breakfast hoping that it would lead to some morning sex.
The time he'd given her a key, and told her she should come over more often.
"Get out," she said firmly.
"What?"
"Jason, get out of my house."
"But Lorelai, what about..."
"GET OUT!" she screamed.
Jason obeyed. His hair full of shampoo, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
"By the time I'm out of this shower I want you and everything that ever belonged to you out of my house permanently. If you so much as call me I'll file a harassment suite against you. Got it?"
Jason didn't answer. He was already half-way out of the bathroom door. Lorelai was so funny sometimes. She'd come around, he was sure of it.
Lorelai stayed in the shower another fifteen minutes. She scrubbed his scent out of her skin and hair. She scrubbed the shower, hoping to get every single one of his skin or hair cells out of her bathroom. She didn't know if it was the shower or her tears that made her face feel so hot, but she didn't care.
She stepped out of the shower and reached for her robe, then she remembered the night that he'd worn it. She wrapped a towel around her waist and left the bathroom, stopping in the closet to get a large garbage bag.
The robe was the first thing she threw away. Then it was the sheets from her bed. Then it was all of the other sheets in her closet that had been on her bed any other time he was there. She threw on the first clothes she could grab and ran around her house, throwing away the vase she had put flowers from him in, the card he had sent her along with the magnet that had held it to the refrigerator. Returning to her room, she threw away every sexy outfit she had ever worn for him.
Lorelai was now unable to control her tears. She sat down on the floor next to her naked bed and pulled the infamous notepad and pen off of her nightstand. Without even thinking, she began to write:
'I hate you!
Your kisses were daggers.
You stabbed me a million times.
You used me, I'm broken,
Your memory haunts me.
Your touch burned my skin.
You used me.
I hate you.
I hate you.'
It didn't rhyme, but somehow Lorelai thought that it qualified as a poem. She set it aside, feeling a little better, and pulled the comforter off her bed. Curling up with it, she cried herself to sleep.