Author's Note: I'm such a dork. I've had this story written for over a month now and when I decided to add it to fanfiction.net last week I told myself that I'd update a chapter a week. Hah, look at how that went. In my haste I stupidly didn't double check for any errors, so my previous chapters have mistakes that annoy the hell out of me; but then again I'm too lazy to fix them. But I edited the spelling errors and as many grammar errors as I could catch for this chapter. Anywho, I'm done babbling. Happy reading!
The Space Between
Chapter 4, Part 2by givemebackme
…The rain that falls
Splash in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into…
The Space Between
Our wicked lies
Is where we hope to keep safe from the pain
The rain is slowly beginning to fall, trickling through the high tree branches, making a soft pattering sound in the stiff silence with each landed drop. But the three weary figures standing outside of the Gilmore girl's residence, take no notice of it as their minds are occupied by other thoughts.
"You slept with him?" Jess's soft whisper strikes through the heavy silence and Rory winces with each syllable. Though only standing at arms length from her, Tristan feels wholly numb, watching an unavoidable tragic situation unfurl before him, feeling helpless to do anything about it. Suddenly, everything blurs and Tristan rubs his eyes to clear away the confusion—the emptiness—but with each swipe of his hand he feels the numbness slipping away and being replaced by one new unbearable hurt after another. And with the hurt comes a seething anger.
"Rory, answer him. Tell him the truth. Don't hide behind your lies anymore," Tristan spits at Rory bitterly. Through the dim light he can see her wetted cheeks, small trails running down the soft skin from saline mixed with rainwater. At his words she begins to sob, her shoulders heaving and shaking uncontrollably. Jess slowly steps back, the space between he and Rory growing, though this does nothing to sooth Tristan's pained emotions.
"It's over, Rory," Jess mumbles, his voice deadly final. The dark-haired boy's desolate face bares an expression of mixed hurt and anger as he turns on his heel and walks to his car. Rory continues to cry, holding her face in her hands, refusing, or maybe unable, to look up at Jess's retreating form. When his car pulls out of the driveway and drives off she at last looks up, her blue eyes pale with hopelessness, staring after the remnants of her life. As Tristan watches her, his heart clenches.
How can she just let him go? he wonders in silent disbelief. How can she so easily let go of someone she cares about?
At these thoughts, a sudden unexplainable fear bubbles to the surface from deep within him. Finding it hard to breathe, Tristan decides to mirror Jess's actions, needing to get away from the crying Rory and the confusing hurt. He gives her one last long look—she is unable to meet his gaze—before brushing past her. Just as he reaches his car he hears a small noise behind him.
"Tristan, wait…" Through all of the anger and hurt, her whispered plea reaches him, stopping him in his tracks. The dripping rain seems to have seeped through his body and splashed in his heart because he suddenly feels a coldness overcome him. He shivers.
Instead of responding to her plea, he purses his lips and gets into his car. He starts it up and speeds off, his mind racing at a pace equal to the car, his heart, always connected to her, stretching with tension in the increasing distance created with every stress on the gas pedal.
Once again, Tristan finds himself placing space between him and Rory, hoping that the relief he so craves will come with it.
It has been three long, lonely days for Tristan DuGrey. Three days of incessant hurt—his bleeding heart staining his entire existence, making it impossible for him to even feel alive. Three days of remembering—everything reminding him of Rory, his love for her, and his newfound fear of her. Three days of avoidance. Three days of zero progress.
Tristan has felt worse with every moment spent distanced from her.
Yet, at the same time he feels his insides squeeze in pain at the mere sight of her. Her lack of response has left the blonde in an unstable state—torn between loving and loathing—that has left him questioning everything that has happened between he and Rory.
Then again, there is one thing that he is always certain of: That he loves her.
How does a person, one torn between his heart and gut, make a decision that will ultimately determine the course of his life? Tristan has no fucking clue. But he wishes more than anything that he did.
The exhausted blonde rolls onto his side, facing the bright clock that reads 2:30 AM. Mocking son of a bitch, he thinks to himself, turning the clock away. He sighs, squeezing shut his unfocused eyes in an attempt to force drowsiness, but knowing all too well from the previous two nights that he will not be getting any sleep tonight.
He stretches his lithe limbs, feeling his muscles tighten and relax, a warm rushing feeling briefly passing through his entire body. Though physical relief is possible, mental relief is a whole other story. In the past three days, Tristan has attempted to achieve any level of prosperity by attempting every stress reliever he knows. Unfortunately, most of them, especially reading, have reminded him in some way of Rory. But luckily, one approach has proven successful: swimming.
Swimming in his backyard pool has always been a relaxing element in his everyday stressful life. Tristan would come home, slip on his suit and dive into its cool depths, relishing in the surrounding silence and the thoughtless monotony of every stroke. And swimming has always been his secret pleasure. Despite his widely broadcasted popularity at Chilton, none of his fellow students knows of his likeness towards the sport, and never will they steal the only element in his life that he has ever felt as his own.
This is why Tristan has been swimming as much as possible for the past couple of days. Nowhere in the blue depths is there a reminder of his problems or of his life at all. He alone takes advantage of the quaintness that the pool exudes, the simplicity that seeps into his every pour, and the temporary illusion of happiness.
But in the end he must come to the surface and breathe in air filled with loss and pain; and ironically, come to the surface to breathe in life itself. It has always been during these moments, when he takes his first deep breaths of air, that he feels the most sorry for himself.
In all his life, Tristan has found what most people consider the most difficult for them to in actuality be the easiest for him. Money has never been a problem, obviously, and neither has education and all of the other necessities a growing child needs. On the other hand, though, Tristan has also discovered the things most difficult for him are what others find the simplest, such as family, friends, love, and any emotion in general.
When Tristan had at last decided to stop running away, and had accepted that no matter how much space separates him from his problems, he has since found nothing but disappointment. And now having come to the point of restless sleep, Tristan realizes the disappointment's devastating affects on his entire being. Never has he felt so uncertain and so frightened by anything.
"What am I so scared of?" he whispers into the darkness of his room. His brows furrow in frustration. How many times have I asked myself this? A million at least, he thinks. Again, his racing mind draws a blank.
Clutching his covers and bringing them all the way up to his chin, he rolls over onto his other side, facing the framed picture of his first "family" trip to the Bahamas when he had been six years old. Sighing, he closes his eyes, the image of Rory floating behind his eyelids and the memory of the framed picture lingering in his thoughts. Ironically, he has never felt more alone.
The next morning, Tristan wakes with a start, a cold sweat bathing his body and staining his sheets. Lightly touching his throbbing head, he breathes deeply, trying to slow his excited heart. After giving his self a minute, he glances at the clock and is glad to see it is almost time for him to wake up anyway.
Slipping from his bed, Tristan pads across his room towards the connecting bathroom, pausing in front of his window for a moment to stare longingly at his backyard pool. If only I had time, he silently longs. Sighing, he steps from the wood floor of his room onto the porcelain tile of the bathroom, causing a chilled shiver to course through him.
Is that really me? Staring into the mirror, he barely recognizes the tired face looking back at him. He glances briefly over his sculpted body, inspecting the tanned skin and the defined lines separating each muscle. Under normal circumstances he would be smirking, silently praising his ego, but in his current mood he merely frowns, finding no satisfaction in what he sees. A thought suddenly comes to his mind, causing him to snort.
"Funny how the one thing you thought would at last satisfy you, DuGrey, has only brought you grief," he states out-loud to himself. Sighing, he shakes his head, and goes about his morning grooming, getting ready for school.
Within an hour, Tristan is once again faced with the struggle to ignore her presence seated a few rows away from him as well as his own thoughts. In that very moment he questions how he had managed to get through the previous three days and how he is to get through the upcoming one; but somehow he manages, now with only a few minutes of his seventh hour class left. He stares intently at it, watching its second hand slowly makes it way around the clock. He silently counts down every time it passes the twelve.
Three minutes…two…one. The instant the bell rings Tristan leaps from his seat and makes a mad dash for the exit. Just as he is about to pass up his locker and go directly to his car, he suddenly remembers he needs his science book and he quickly turns back to head to his locker. But as he turns around, a body runs smack into him, the person bouncing off of him and losing their balance. Acting by instinct, Tristan reaches out and steadies the person, and only when his hand makes contact with their arm does he realize whom it is.
Big innocent blue eyes stare into his, glistening in the dim light of the hall. He suddenly feels as though all of the air in his lungs has been pressed from his chest, leaving him choking for air. A feeling of being overwhelmed slams against his senses and without thinking—unable to think—he lets go of her arm and dashes down the hall and out the school doors to his car.
When he reaches his car he leans against it, catching his breath and trying to steady his spinning head. He leans forward, first resting his arms on the top of his car and then resting his head in his arms, trying to calm is pounding heart. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of those eyes looking up at him, so surprised, so beautiful…
"Tristan!" her voice calls out. His entire body stiffens, the pace of his heart quickening even more, his spinning head suddenly cloudier than before. This can't be happening, he complains to himself. But when she catches up to him, out of breath, he straightens up just in time to come face to face with her, realizing all too well that it is indeed happening. He clenches his jaw to keep from letting out a frustrated groan.
"Why did you run away?" she asks the instant she catches her breath. Tristan instantly tenses, the double meaning of the question not going unnoticed. His set jaw firmly tightens as he attempts to control his swelling emotions.
"Rory, I don't want to talk about this," he says through gritted teeth. She seems to notice his upset state because she hesitates. He takes advantage of that moment of hesitation and unlocks his car, throwing his bag in. Just as his first leg climbs in she suddenly speaks up.
"Tristan there are really a lot of important things I would like to talk to you about-"
"Dammit Rory! Don't you get it? I don't want to talk about it. And right now I don't want to talk to you." The harshness of his tone causes Rory to step back in surprise, her eyes flashing with hurt. His stomach instantly clenches.
"I just…I just can't talk right now," he says quickly, piling into his car and quickly slamming the door behind him. He peels out of the parking space with a loud screech, literally leaving Rory in his dust…along with his heart.
What in the fuck am I so afraid of?