Notes: Rory/Jess. Vaguely. Somewhere belong the lines of G - PG. One-shot. Not continuing. Based on some stuff from episode 21 "This Week ...". No other notes to really speak of ...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. No money. No job. I'm broke ... so just .. no.
Dedications: Elise - my friend, guide, beta-er. I can't thank you enough. You're the reason why I haven't quit doing this stuff -- so maybe you're to be praised or to blame. I choose the latter, personally. Hehe -- I adore you. Julia and Marissa - because they keep telling me to write more. Arianna - because she dedicates stuff to me, and she's quite possibly the sweetest person ever & because she helped when I was having issues. And because I owe her reviews. Heh. And for Lia - because I miss her. And ... for anyone who refuses to stop believing.
Here's to the hope for a happy ending . . . & yes, I like writing about Jess returning ...
Reason For Breathing
After loving you so much, can I forget you for eternity, and have no other choice?
- Robert Traill Spence Lowell
No.
Come away with me.
No.
Don't tell me no …
No.
You know we're meant to be together …
No.
No.
No.
There is an empty space inside of him when she is not around; it is a cold, unfeeling place that is completely incapable of any emotion. He doesn't know what to make of the situation … doesn't know what he is going to do about the past, and what he is going to do next. He doesn't know.
He is an empty, hollow shell that's been abandoned on the seashores of time.
He cannot move. He cannot change his surroundings. He's just … stuck—incapable of determining where he wants to go. Some might say that he's not really alive.
Aside from these facts, he has noticed that he's lost interest in everything. The things that he once loved (books, records, music) all seem so petty now; he doesn't know what to make of it.
He knows that nothing is what it seems.
Because she rejected him.
He's finding out that maybe nothing is really worth it anymore.
(An empty, hollow shell.)
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He goes to work but feels so detached from the world around him. It is a monotonous routine that, quite frankly, he is sick of. Because … because there, people don't understand. People do not know the thoughts that are spiraling through his mind. He feels an odd urge to scream at the top of his lungs, but manages to stifle the craving.
They just wouldn't understand, and it doesn't … matter.
After work, he comes home to find nothing but an empty space. It is a cold place that he comes home to, but he doesn't complain. Sighing, he briefly contemplates on getting a plant—no? Pet—no? Or maybe a roommate—no. Silently, he reminds himself that a) he doesn't like responsibility b) he doesn't like animals and c) he doesn't enjoy the company of humans all that much.
He wasn't the kind of person that longed for companionship, and until about two years ago, he was fine with that. He doesn't like the need for another person. He doesn't like the clichéd saying of "I can't live without you." He doesn't like any of that.
It's funny how things change.
Sighing, he shuffles over to the refrigerator and pulls out a frozen box of store-bought lasagna. He pops it into the microwave, waits a few minutes, and then pulls it out. The box is hot, so it burns him just a little bit.
But he doesn't care because he can't seem to feel anything.
Nothing matters … because she doesn't lov—
He is an empty, hollow shell.
----------------------
He knows that he needs to let her go; it was clear that she's moved on. It is obviously unhealthy to live like this, he's concluded. He just wants to feel something again. He doesn't think that he can take any more of the loneliness that's resulted as the aftermath of her rejection.
God, he's sounding like a sap.
He needs to let her go.
It's time.
He's ready.
Ready, set, go! Did you do it yet?
He doesn't understand why this has to be so hard. He hates the fact that he's allowed her to get so close. She's seeped into his skin, and he's having a hard time trying to get rid of her.
He's stuck, sinking, drowning, gone …
He wants to erase her forever, but is slowly finding out that he … can't.
----------------------
Morning passes by unnoticed, and night arrives—the same time, the same image, and the same effect as the evening before. He doesn't turn the television on anymore because it has failed to serve its purpose—overtaking the unbearable silence and ridding him of the whispers in his head that he doesn't want to hear.
So he sighs, taking in the silence, and lets the echo subside.
He figures that maybe he does deserve this.
Uncomfortable all of a sudden, he shifts in his sleep but doesn't manage to find a comfortable position. He sighs and glances up at the ceiling, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, but remembering everything.
It is dreadfully lonely without her.
Maybe before her, he was (like he is now) a shell … abandoned by the tourists that had flocked to the beach during the summer time. Now, there is only loneliness, detachment, and the thought of maybe … maybe he wasn't really alive before her.
That made sense, because when she did come into his life, he'd felt whole, complete, and happy. He'd felt something. Because ... well maybe it was because when she was with him, he wasn't living for himself. Maybe he was living for her; for she was beauty, she was worth it, she was life.
She was his.
But now … now she's gone (possibly forever) and he has yet to find another life source. He doesn't know if he'll ever find it. He doesn't know if he wants to live for anyone else. He wants her to come back because he needs her.
He. Needs. Her.
Frustrated, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to get some water. He pours himself a glass in the dark, and lets the cool liquid slide down his throat. Quietly, he contemplates whether or not to pour another glass until—
A knock at the door.
—he is interrupted.
Frowning, he shuffles over and twists the knob to open it. When he manages to pull it open, and the person is in plain view, he has to take a step back in order to take everything in.
It is she who stands before him.
But it is impossible; she wouldn't be here.
She couldn't be here. She's not ...
But she is.
He doesn't know what to think, doesn't know what to feel, and doesn't know anything at that moment. The only thing that he does know is that he needs to find out what was going on. So he does the only thing that seemed plausible in his mind at that moment …
He kisses her.
Surprise strikes him when he does, because he finds her soft, warm... and real.
She is real. It's not a dream; it's not an illusion.
Real.
He feels his heart filling up with warmth, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be reborn again. He is wondering desperate, wonderful things—but they don't seem to matter at the moment. The only thing that matters is the fact that she's kissing him back.
Explanations can wait; time can standstill.
Just for them.
Nothing matters anymore because he doesn't care.
Just for this moment.
The only thing that he knows is that her lips are on his and it feels so incredibly real, and so incredibly right. And it is in this moment that he realizes (he knows!) that this is the girl he could never forget. This girl with her waves of chestnut, lullaby eyes, and licorice red lips … this is the girl that he loves.
Maybe he is meant to live for her, and maybe he's okay with that.
She is beauty. She is worth it. She is life.
Oh but … she is pulling away … putting distance between them.
No, no, no …
He figures that the moment was too good to be true, so he prepares himself for the worst. Only … it doesn't come. Instead, she leans into him and touches her forehead to his; he can feel her warmth on his skin.
"Yes," she says as he was contemplating on whether or not to speak.
Confused at her words, he cocks his head to an angle and stares at her face. "Yes?"
She nods and leans in to kiss him.
Yes.
Come away with me?
Yes.
Really?
Yes.
I think we're meant to be together.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Smiling against her lips, he kisses her back and swallows her words. Yes.