Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.
Spoiler Warning(s): Last Week Fights, This Week Tights. Recipes and Raincoats.
Rated: Rated R for suggestive and harsh language.
Acknowledgments: Jewls my beta, lovin' her like a two dolla' whore.
I Think of Ice Cubes
Chapter Five: Wash My Face With His Clean Soap
He checks the bathroom before I use it when we get back to his place. The studio is empty and only a cheap lamp lights the room, I can see into the windows of the apartment house across the street. People watching TV, a man washing socks in his bathroom sink only wearing his underwear and a t-shirt, a couple arguing; I stay to the side of the windows so no one can see me; feeling like a spy.
You can go in now. he says entering the room holding a full trash bag. I'm just gonna head down to the dumpster, be back in a minute.
I watch his back retreat then move over to his bathroom. It's simple white tile and white porcelain fixtures, surprisingly there's a claw footed tub with a shower curtain and not surprisingly the shower head and curtain both look like they might fall off at any moment. The mirror/medicine cabinet over the sink is smudged a little, I don't dare open it because it too looks like it's going to fall off the wall. There's only one huge striped beach towel hanging. I can only guess that some of the things he took down in that trash bag were towels that should have been thrown out years ago because three people cannot all use one towel no
matter how massive it is.
I only came in here to wash my hands, but there's no soap except a sliver of green chalky stuff sitting on the edge of the sink and a can of shaving cream on top of the toilet tank. I opt for the sliver of green turning the faucet on to a mild flow rubbing the green stuff between my hands only a weak lather comes up which is fine. At least I know it used to be soap and Irish Spring at that I can smell the distinct smell permeating my hands as I wipe them on the beach towel which feels clean enough and still has a Tide-y scent to it.
He's banging away in the kitchenette when I walk out of the bathroom wiping excess moisture on the back of my skirt. The pan that held the Spaghetti O's is soaking in the sink full up with suds along with a stack of miss matching dishes. He's drying some plastic cups with a dish towel, looking how I used to know him, before I knew him.
You don't have to do that you know, I'm not exactly polite company as much as my grandmother likes to think I am. He looks up from his drying.
It needed to be done anyway you're just the best excuse I've had in awhile.Well nice to know I'm good for something. I say. Can I at least help? He concentrates hard on finishing the cup then places it in a cupboard.
Sure, grab a towel. he points his head at a towel stuck through a drawer handle. He's already grabbed up another cup and is working methodically on it. He hands the cup to me when I've taken up the towel.
You dry, I'll wash. I nod in agreement.
After fifteen minutes of passing plates, pans, cups and mugs to me and occasionally directing me to utensils proper places. we finish a pretty good sized load of dishes. Including what I assume is their whole plate collection, which was wholly amusing because some of them we're either cartoonish or perverted. When he nonchalantly handed me a dripping wet plate, which I thought was white, he nor I didn't bat an eye. But once I turned it over and found a very nude woman staring back at me his eyes nearly popped out of his skull, but he held fast and didn't even flinch to grab it out of my hands. He only muttered, it's Todd's then took up a Brillow pad and attacked the Spaghetti O's pan. Or when a Religdebles plate passed between us I commented. Todd's too? He shook his head and said I nodded and stifled a laugh when he muttered.
I can tell he's nervous around me, not like how he was before we we're together, cocky always trying to crowd my space. He stays out of my personal space now the only contact between us is when he hands me a dish, or when we sat next to each other on the subway. But I can tell there's something underneath all this space he's giving me. Maybe he thinks I'm damaged goods, which is ridiculous because he's been damaged goods since the day we met.
looking through the refrigerator because I asked if he had anything cold to drink.
he says into the fridge. I'm guessing you don't want a beer? he holds up a can of Heineken and a bottle of Bud in the other his back to me.
No thanks.
Wine Cooler kind of woman, huh? I shake my head but he can't see that.
I say again.
he finally turns around holding an unopened bottle of Poland Springs water.
Don't be afraid of me. His facial expression doesn't change but his eyes do, they go softer like a light has been turned on inside his head, which I now realize is a very creepy thought.
I'm not afraid of you. He says twisting the top off the bottle and handing it to me, still making sure that we don't make any real physical contact.
Yes you are. I say.
If I was afraid of you as you call it, you wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here, I would have had a sixth sense telling me that you were waiting for me here, I-- would not have walked through that door Rory.
Than how come you're giving me space, and, and barely touching me? I say kind of embarrassed. He leans against the closed fridge bracing all his weight on his legs.
You used to crowed me before, even before you knew me-- now it's like I've got the Bubonic Plague, do I have pustules or something, do you see rats in my wake?
He laughs at that because I know I sound ridiculous and needy and girlie and just plain stupid.
I sound stupid, don't I? I say to the floor. My shoes are fascinating.
No. Yeah, well kind of. He admits.
Sorry, I seem to be saying that a lot lately, sorry.
It's okay. he says.
I'm still looking down when the tips of his shoes come within an inch of mine. He's breathing so shallow it's barely audible.
I don't have to give you space, you know. he says to the top of my head. I look up into his face. But you're kind of giving off a vibe. He says gently.
I am? He nods.
I wanna touch you Rory, I just don't know if it's okay.
It's weird huh, we never really had to check before, except you know-- that one time. I trail off.
Things feel so different. I pull my arms around myself which I know is body language for I'm Uncomfortable, he steps back one step. He doesn't know that I feel different because I truly know what he's always wanted from me. Not that that was what he only wanted from me, I have firsthand knowledge and I keep wanting to step towards him, but then take a step back. Oh forget it. I say taking the one and a half steps towards him wrapping my arms around my neck and simply hugging him. He's taken by surprise I know but after a second he wraps his arms around me his chin resting on top of my head, my face turned to the side pressing into his shoulder. I missed you. I whisper.
Me too. He says. He smells like tea, Ivory Soap, cigarette smoke, Speedstick and sweat.
You smell like Dove Soap. he whispers in my ear.
You smell like Speedstick, I say while nuzzling into his neck. and Ivory.
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E
We're lying on his bed, in his bed, it must be passed midnight. He said he has work in the morning and both his roommates don't get back till past 2 am. I asked him if I could stay and he offered to sleep on the floor which I refused. So here we are, spooning, in his bed, I never let myself imagine us spooning before but now I can't imagine us not. He's breathing softly on the back of my neck, his arm draped over my stomach. I made myself call my mother when he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, made a stiff exchange told her I was staying at Lane's. She told me to have a good time and I told her goodnight, hearing a rerun of I Love Lucy on in the background and Luke calling her name. Sometimes I wish this rift was healed already and we could go back to our old ways but I can only imagine her reaction if I told her who I was really with. When Jess walks back into the room he's wearing boxers and a t-shirt. His knees are knobby and I don't care.
I found a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, you can use it if you want. He says.
I say thanks and he tells me he left it on the edge of the sink along with his toothpaste. When I go inside I notice that he's set a newish bar of Ivory soap where the green sliver had been and a white hand towel on one of the room's two racks. I look myself in the eyes while I open the toothbrush box. I scrub my face clean of city grime and makeup, my face turning pink from my scrubbing and the hot water. I get soap in my eyes and make it an excuse to let out a few tears. When I come back into the room he's sitting on his bed Indian style reading a book.
I'm sorry I didn't set out anything for you to change into, but I really don't have anything clean for you to borrow.
That's okay. I say sitting next to him and unlacing my shoes. Will you read to me? I ask lying back against his stack of pillows.
That's how we ended up spooning. He read to me for about an hour. Me lying against his pillows, him sitting at the foot of the bed reading out loud. I fell asleep and when I woke up we were under the covers fitted together like a committed couple. He rolls onto his back and I take the opportunity to take off my skirt and my bra, dropping the bra over the edge of the mattress covering it with my skirt.
Did you just do the Flashdance move? His voice sounds sleep heavy.
Modified version yes I answer.
So technically you're braless and lying in my bed?
Not technically, literally.
Just checking.
You're very... odd, did you know that?
I've been told from time to time, I'm sure you have too.
I have.
He rolls onto his side draping his arm over my stomach like before.
Is this okay? he whispers.
It's very okay. I whisper into the dark.
I say.
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E
I decided when I was brushing my teeth, that I would not have sex with Jess tonight and I still believe I'm going to adhere to that decision. Even when I roll over thirty minutes after our okay exchange and give him Eskimos kisses till he wakes up.
I wanna kiss you. I tell him, his eyes still trying to focus. His nose brushes mine, his night stubble scratching at my skin. He kisses me lightly then pulls away.
he says. Then he kisses me again. His hand comes up to clutch the back of my head, his fingers flexing and unflexing in my hair. It's sweet and soft, nothing beyond warm touching of lips. He cradles my face in his palms his mouth opening the tiniest bit, his tongue brushing light on my lower lip, his teeth coming out to pull, tongue soothing his bites.
Credits: Flashdance is a movie from the early 1980's about a welder by day exotic dancer by night who really wants to be a ballerina.