A/N: To Marissa and Julia and all my wonderful reviewers. Thanks for the feedback, and thanks for reading. After this chapter, three remain.
Chapter Nine: My Immortal
Light spilled out onto the open doorway, and she froze, caught in the spotlight. At the sight of his face, her confidence shattered. The pieces tore through her, mercilessly slicing the interior of her stomach. Inside, she began to cry, although she couldn't pinpoint all the reasons why. There was the pain, and fear, and the unnerving knowledge that tonight, she would close a chapter in her life — one she thought she had finished with a long time ago.
Her tears clouded her head, spilling over the words of her carefully constructed speech of The Truth. The ink smudged, then ran together, blurring sentences she didn't want to utter in the first place. Now her safety was gone, sitting in a black puddle. Her head was empty except for the muddled mess, and she didn't have a Plan B, so all she could do was follow him inside.
Greetings were mumbled, she was almost sure, before he gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen. The obvious question (What are you doing here?) was never spoken out loud, and she wondered if maybe he already knew. Did he suspect that she had something important to share? A secret she wanted to divulge? Looking back on the past two days, she couldn't see a sign that would point to a secret fiancée, or anything related to such a subject. But Jess was smart, perceptive, and perhaps his senses were even more in tune now than years earlier.
They had to pass through his living room, and the scene planted curious thoughts inside her head. They didn't register at first, not with the haze that hung around her, so they lingered in her unconscious waiting to spring up and make things worse. They bided their time while the pair entered the kitchen.
He leaned against the counter while she stopped just before the table, her hand resting on the back of a chair. She didn't want to sit, even though it guaranteed she wouldn't make a fast getaway with such an obstacle in her way. Instead, her grip tightened, and the edges of the wood dug into her palm. She wished they were sharper, so she could feel real pain. Anything that would numb the turmoil that raged inside her… anything that would distract from what was to come.
It hurt. She admitted it. While she loved Sam, tonight wasn't going to be an easy task. She loved Jess too. It was as simple as that; it was unfinished business from years ago, and she couldn't just sweep the feelings away. They had been hidden, buried beneath new emotions for a new man, but now they were crawling out, breaking the surface, and she couldn't squash them any longer.
But she couldn't remember what she had rehearsed, standing on his doorstep. Delicate words chosen to explain her lies, to destroy the past and move on with her life… gone. She had to think on her feet, recall how she wanted to put this, all while quelling her desire to run away. He looked at her expectantly from his perch across the room, and she glanced down at the kitchen table to avoid his gaze. She cleared her mind of the remaining noise, hoping something, anything would fly in to help her along.
The thoughts from earlier popped up. The living room. His kitchen. This was Jess's apartment. This was where he lived. He woke up here everyday, and at night, this was where he slept. After work, he entered through the front door, dropped his jacket onto the couch, and made himself a meal. She could see him clearly, standing in front of the counter, checking the cabinets. He would boil water, pull out a box of Ziti, and open a can of tomato sauce. He'd pour himself a drink, and place one plate on the table, while she was miles away, setting her table for two.
She wanted to stand behind him while he poured the contents of the box inside the pot, and watch small drops of water splash through the air. She would stir the tomato sauce, his hands on her hips, his chin on her shoulder, and a careful eye making sure she was doing it correctly. Maybe she'd burn the sauce. Maybe he'd kiss her neck.
Her heart cracked open. She found that anything she looked at would spark a fantasy, so she forced her eyes to land on him, hoping that actually seeing him would suppress them. But she was curious… she wanted too see more of his home, of his life. This apartment was another piece of the puzzle that would explain to her who he was now. He wasn't Jess from years before — not completely. There were subtle changes that so far, only her unconscious had picked up on, but she still felt it. And she wanted to get to know this new Jess. Even though once the weekend was over, she'd never see him again.
"Can I have a tour?" She blurted out.
He didn't even bother to mask his surprise. "A tour? Of the apartment?" She nodded. "There's not much to see."
"Then it'll be a quick tour."
He shrugged. "Okay, follow me…" She followed him through the doorway they had previously walked through.
"The living room," he announced, waving his arms with flourish.
She moved past him, farther into the room, and turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. It was small and simple: a couch, a coffee table, and a bookcase, overflowing with novels. She stepped closer, and ran her fingers over the bindings. She recognized almost all of the titles, but didn't see any that belonged to her. All of them appeared to be from his own collection. A nagging feeling began to tug at her heartstrings, but she ignored it as she headed toward the center of the room. No pictures lined the table or the walls. There were no personal touches to offer her clues to the changes in him. The tugging became worse.
They walked back through the kitchen, and she stopped by the stove. This time, no fantasies took over her mind. Instead, her eyes traveled all over the cabinets and appliances. Only the bare necessities were present: stove, sink, refrigerator, and table.
The kitchen spilled right into his bedroom, with only a closed door to separate the two. Inside, there were more books cluttering up his bureau. An alarm clock rested on his nightstand table which stood next to the bed. Every item seemed to be the generic kind, bought by someone who wasn't in touch with who Jess was. When had this furniture been purchased? Had Luke done it? Perhaps Jess had picked it out when his memory was still too fuzzy. This place had to have been designed at the time when he had forgotten who he was; it showed.
Still, she wandered all over his bedroom, searching for something she couldn't place. It wasn't on the bed, on his bureau, on the table. It hadn't been in the bookshelves, on the couch, on the stove, inside a drawer. It simply wasn't there, and it made her chest ache. No matter where she looked, she couldn't find a trace of herself.
She knew it was ridiculous to think a part of her would be lurking behind a corner, but it still hurt. Their past wasn't anywhere; the only familiarity from years before were the books that lined the bookcase. That was the only evidence that proved that this was Jess's apartment. The rest was part of his new life — one that didn't include her. She wasn't anywhere here, couldn't be. She had her own life in New York, and she knew that if Jess was to search her apartment high and low… he wouldn't be there either.
This was how it was, and this was it would be. The past was the past, buried beneath new furniture and hopes for the future. Jess didn't exist in her happy corner of the world in the city, not with the new man in her life, and the job that she loved. It had taken her five years to build what she had today, and silly her had forgotten to insert a part of Jess into it. Books, pictures, any memorabilia was stuck back in Stars Hollow, trapped in an unsealed book that she was already erasing from her mind.
Even though she had done it herself, it still caused a shudder to course through her that Jess had done the same. Up until a couple of months ago, he hadn't even remembered who she was, but he had been fine. He had survived life without her, and would continue to do so. She'd leave, and he'd be left here, ready to turn a new leaf and begin the next part of his life. After five years of suspended animation, it was time for him to start anew, and she couldn't be holding onto the past while he did it. She didn't need him, and he didn't need her. Take a look around! The message was painted all over the apartment walls.
She had functioned without him for the past five years. Just because he was here now didn't mean she couldn't keep living her life without him. Right?
Numb, she followed him back inside the kitchen. Had he spoken during this tour? Had he pointed certain things out to her? She couldn't remember now, couldn't think. She stood dumbly in the center of the room while he went back to his perch against the counter. Still no words about the truth resurfaced in her mind, so she just started at a fixed point, patiently waiting. Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly, turning to face him.
It seemed as if he was tired of waiting for her to speak. He arched an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"
"No," she answered automatically. "I…"
God, where were her words? Where was her coherent thinking? She needed to get a grip on her emotions. Her exhaustion and confusion were catching up with her. She couldn't decipher the black mess in her mind, and a part of her didn't even want to. She wanted to hold on just a little longer because it'd all be over soon.
"I'm still not used to seeing you awake," she admitted. The confession slipped out of her mouth, the only clear thought in her head. It hung in the air between them before it even registered fully in her mind. She wondered where she was going with this, but at least she had bought herself some time.
"It's just so weird seeing your eyes open, and you… standing there. You were never supposed to wake up."
He flinched and shifted positions, and she almost regretted her words. Maybe this was some warped version of the truth — maybe she needed to get this off of her chest first. Then, she could go into Sam and New York. Of course… first, she needed to explain about him and the past. Then, she'd move into the now and the future.
"I remember when my mom called and told me. I was sitting on the bus stop bench, trying to talk myself into going to Luke's."
"The day after that fight," he commented.
"The night before, I was going to call you. I dialed your number a dozen times. I should have called you."
"It wouldn't have changed anything."
"I think it would have changed everything." She paused. "I'm sorry I didn't call."
"I can't believe you're apologizing for that." She didn't respond. "So, you never made it into Luke's?"
"Nope. I sat there and waited for the next bus," she explained. "Then, I sat in the waiting room for hours before the doctor finally came out and explained to us what was going on. He used all those big medical words, and my mom kept telling him to speak English."
"Sounds like Lorelai."
"I remember first walking in to see you. I can't believe how much blood you lost... oh god, I'm sorry, you don't want to hear this."
"No, I… I think I do."
She took a few steps forward, almost uncomfortable with her choice of topic. However, her instinct kept urging her on. She needed to talk about this. He needed to hear it.
"You didn't look like yourself."
"I know. A lot of cuts and bruises. I've seen pictures."
She cringed. Her voice became unnaturally quiet. "Yeah." She could still see the image in her head. It was vivid and colorful, and seemed almost tangible when she closed her eyes. "It healed really well. Almost like it never happened." She took another few steps forward, so that she now stood directly in front of him. "You still have a scar."
"It's small. Most people don't even notice it."
"I do." She reached out and carefully traced the thin scar with her thumb. Her heart fluttered in her chest as his eyes followed her hand. Without realizing it, the action made her move a step closer. She kept her gaze on his left cheek. "For everything that happened, I always thought it should be bigger."
She began to draw away, when he reached up to stop her. His hand landed on hers, before it slipped down so that he gripped her wrist in a loose hold. She met his gaze, and held her breath.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said. "I'm glad you're here."
Instead of an answer, he leaned forward. Just before he reached her lips, he froze. "I am too," he agreed before closing the final gap.
The dizzy sensation was back. It was startlingly similar to the one she had first experienced years ago in the hospital on that very first night. The world seemed to sway, so she couldn't stand straight, and her head swam giving everything a dreamlike feel to it. At this moment, she felt more like a bystander watching this scene unfold in front of her, and it was for mostly this reason that she was convinced this wasn't really happening. Any second now, the man in front of her was going to fade away. Then she would wake up in New York, her fingers on her lips, wondering why she never visited him anymore.
Then she felt a jolt, an unforgiving yank back into her body, and she was against him, chest to chest. She could feel his hand on her face, warm and strong. He moved it forward and pushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear, before moving it down the side of her neck. A trail of heat was left in its wake, as his hand continued down this path of her shoulder and then the side of her arm. It was done lightly, a feather touch that she felt all over. Tingles sprang up in her stomach and prickled her back, and she was certain she had just shivered. His hand finally settled on the small of her back and lingered there as the kiss deepened.
She had initiated this, and a part of her knew it. She could try all she wanted to throw the blame on Jess. He had moved forward first, he had kissed her. But what about the prom? The dance they shared as she moved steadily closer, her lips just brushing his. That had been her doing. She had started it, and apparently, he would end it. And maybe, just maybe, this was what she had wanted all along. She had decided that she needed to tell him the truth, but perhaps it had all been some kind of twisted ploy to see him. Walking there with the hope that he would make the first move — and he had. Now there they were, kissing in his kitchen. If someone were to ask Rory about Sam now, she'd probably answer with the narrowing of her eyes and a blank expression. Sam who?
He tasted like yesterday. It was a peculiar thought, but it was the only fitting way to describe it. He tasted like stolen moments, lost years, tears that remained unshed because she tried to be strong. It stirred up images in her mind, snapshots of memories long forgotten. Ones she had pushed away, deeming them lost, a part of a different time of her life. She saw the apartment above the diner, when it had appeared much larger despite the pile of boxes cluttering up his side of the room. She remembered walking through there, a lump in her throat as she sat on his bed. She had grabbed a book off of his nightstand table, and placed it in her lap. After minutes of hesitation, she had opened it up and surveyed his handwriting that decorated almost every page. Then had come the fear that the ink would fade. His words would disappear, and his memory would be lost. All evidence of the two of them together would seep into pages that she'd never read again.
He pulled away, and her mind screamed no (for all the wrong reasons). She hated the loss of contact, and she bit her lip, trying to savor the bittersweet taste of years ago. His hand remained in place on her back, and she made no move to step away. He was waiting. For what, she was unsure. Maybe for her to say something, explain why she was there or perhaps he wanted her to close the gap between them. He wanted to know if this was what she really wanted.
This was her chance! Tell him! Confess! His name was Sam, and Jess needed to know! But Rory could see it unfolding in her mind's eye. Explaining she was engaged to the most amazing guy. That she was so sorry for not telling him sooner, but she couldn't find the right moment (lie), and she hadn't expected anything to happen between the two of them (another lie), and then Jess would take a step back, away from her, away from them, tears forming, her body regretting and, and…
"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so sorry."
She moved forward once again, crashing her lips to his, and doing her best not to look back. He walked forward, and she tripped backwards until they hit the opposite wall. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she couldn't fight the feeling that this wasn't good enough; they weren't close enough. Immediately, she wandered lower, until her palms were on the hem of his shirt. As quick as she could, she pulled it over his head, breaking the kiss for only a fraction of a second. She pressed against him, and sighed at the feel of his warm skin. Her fingers traced the contours of his back.
She had done this before, the two of them, but tonight, it felt new and exciting. She was re-exploring him, trying to remember what touch would drive him crazy, and wondering if her body would still fit perfectly against his. Each taste, each feel was another piece of the puzzle falling into place, and she devoured it all at once, eager to know him again. A small spark of hope whispered that maybe she was the final piece; maybe she still fit somewhere in his life.
He began to walk again, backwards this time, leading her to the bedroom. He bumped against the closed door, and the force startled her. She pulled away and kissed his throat, while he reached behind himself, searching for the doorknob. For a moment, entry into the room was forgotten as her lips burned his skin, moving steadily across his neck. Finally, her tongue found his pulse, and it was the last bit she needed. He was breathing, he was alive, he was real.
The door burst open, and the pair stumbled inside.