Jess heard the Frank Sinatra Christmas soundtrack playing downstairs for
what seemed like the thousandth time that week. He got up and shut his
door, then walked over to his stereo to turn up the Metallica that was
playing before he sat back down on his bed to organize his CDs.
This was his first warm Christmas, and he was trying not to think about Christmas at all. Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard. He had bought gifts for Lily, Sasha, Jimmy, and Jenna a week ago and they were in the bottom of his closet. He had almost bought gifts for Rory on numerous occasions, so he was glad that his shopping was all done now. He hadn't taken Jenna's advice in being romantic and calling Rory or showing up at her door. He just kept hoping that she was wrong and that this crappy feeling would eventually fade. As much as he hated to admit it, he doubted it: in the four months he had been living with Jimmy, the feeling had only increased.
He had thought about getting another girlfriend: he knew from Jenna that it would definitely be a simple task, she had told him that he was the talk of the girls' bathroom. However, distracting himself from Rory with another girl hadn't worked before and he doubted it would work this time. Besides, he didn't crave physical contact. He craved contact with Rory. It wasn't worth it with anyone else. Instead, he had decided that he would try to be good again, try to be like Rory again. Try, as much as he hated to admit it, to be a little bit more like Dean again.
He now realized why people didn't drink at all. He was going to be good, he knew, for Rory, but he tried to convince himself that it was actually for himself. He wanted to work at a newspaper, he had decided, probably the New York Times. It seemed like a big enough goal. He didn't want to be a journalist, he wanted to be an editor. A boss. He had never been a people person, but it seemed like a job he could do: proofreading, choosing what worked and what didn't when it came to writing. Hell, if he got good enough, he could eventually hire someone to do the people-personning for him. Until then, he could just BS his way through it.
He knew that in order to complete his goal, he would have to major in journalism at a big name school, so he was working harder than ever in his classes to try to make up for his so-so school record. His grades at Stars Hollow had been bad, but in the two years before, at PS 186, his grades had been fine, good even. He hadn't yet come up with the fabulous idea of cutting school, and so the grades came easily. He knew it was too late to apply now, so he had decided to do well this year at Venice Beach and then do some cool internship-type thing the next year and apply that year. That meant he would graduate college two years after Rory graduated from Yale.
He was currently sucking up for reccommendations from his current teachers. His English teacher liked him a lot because he knew about literature and had read more than the latest Surfer's Monthly or Vogue like the rest of his classmates, and his Spanish teacher liked him because they were both from New York, so he was applying his efforts in brownnosing in those classes. He amused himself sometimes with how fake he thought he sounded, but apparently the teachers didn't pick it up: his fall term report card had been glowing.
He'd had half a mind to ship a copy back to Luke to say "See? I'm not such a washed-up loser," but in leaving he had lost contact with everyone from Stars Hollow, just as he had lost contact with everyone from New York when he had left. Not that there had been anyone worth keeping in touch with in New York. He wasn't always as sure about the people in Stars Hollow, but he tried not to think about it.
He sometimes wished he kept in contact with Luke. He found that this whole thing he had going here, with the goals and the good grades was like a drug detox. He was finally realizing how stupid he had acted, and he often wished he could apologize to Luke for all the shit he put him through, but it was in the past now. Jess wasn't ever going to revisit the past, especially not that past. No way could he risk running into Rory again. Not after all the shit he had put her through. And also because he was sure that the moment he saw her he would. . .
He hadn't gotten that far in his fantasy of going back to Stars Hollow, but the rest of it was well developped. He would drive up in a hot little Italian sportscar in his fancy, expensive Italian clothes and Italian sunglasses. He would park it in front of the diner, double park it if he could find another car, like a gangster. He would waltz into the diner and sit at the counter. When Luke came out from the back, he wouldn't recognize him. Then, after a while of all the townspeople staring at him as though he was a newcomer, he knew that look well, he would reveal his identity to Luke. Luke would drag him upstairs, as he had so many times before, and he would give Jess one of his long-winded speeches. Then Jess, having genuinely listened to the entire thing, would whip off his sunglasses and apologize, genuinely. For everything.
The two men would go back downstairs, and Rory would come in. Jess would look at her, she would look at him, and he would. . .
What? Ravish her? In the middle of the diner? It was a possibility. . . although he would prefer if it wasn't in the diner.
OK, so say they met on the bridge instead. That was the great thing about fantasies: you could backstep. So, he would walk to the bridge, and she would be sitting there, and then. . .
No, it still didn't seem right. What did he want? What did he want from her? He wanted her to forgive him. But somehow he knew that, even if she did decide to forgive him, it would never be enough. He would never feel satisfied with the fact that she had forgiven him, because he knew how shitty he had been to her.
That was the reason it was a good idea for him to stay away. If he stayed away, then he could avoid this uncomfortable situation. He would go on living his life, and he would know that, somewhere, she was living her perfect life, better off without him.
This was his first warm Christmas, and he was trying not to think about Christmas at all. Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard. He had bought gifts for Lily, Sasha, Jimmy, and Jenna a week ago and they were in the bottom of his closet. He had almost bought gifts for Rory on numerous occasions, so he was glad that his shopping was all done now. He hadn't taken Jenna's advice in being romantic and calling Rory or showing up at her door. He just kept hoping that she was wrong and that this crappy feeling would eventually fade. As much as he hated to admit it, he doubted it: in the four months he had been living with Jimmy, the feeling had only increased.
He had thought about getting another girlfriend: he knew from Jenna that it would definitely be a simple task, she had told him that he was the talk of the girls' bathroom. However, distracting himself from Rory with another girl hadn't worked before and he doubted it would work this time. Besides, he didn't crave physical contact. He craved contact with Rory. It wasn't worth it with anyone else. Instead, he had decided that he would try to be good again, try to be like Rory again. Try, as much as he hated to admit it, to be a little bit more like Dean again.
He now realized why people didn't drink at all. He was going to be good, he knew, for Rory, but he tried to convince himself that it was actually for himself. He wanted to work at a newspaper, he had decided, probably the New York Times. It seemed like a big enough goal. He didn't want to be a journalist, he wanted to be an editor. A boss. He had never been a people person, but it seemed like a job he could do: proofreading, choosing what worked and what didn't when it came to writing. Hell, if he got good enough, he could eventually hire someone to do the people-personning for him. Until then, he could just BS his way through it.
He knew that in order to complete his goal, he would have to major in journalism at a big name school, so he was working harder than ever in his classes to try to make up for his so-so school record. His grades at Stars Hollow had been bad, but in the two years before, at PS 186, his grades had been fine, good even. He hadn't yet come up with the fabulous idea of cutting school, and so the grades came easily. He knew it was too late to apply now, so he had decided to do well this year at Venice Beach and then do some cool internship-type thing the next year and apply that year. That meant he would graduate college two years after Rory graduated from Yale.
He was currently sucking up for reccommendations from his current teachers. His English teacher liked him a lot because he knew about literature and had read more than the latest Surfer's Monthly or Vogue like the rest of his classmates, and his Spanish teacher liked him because they were both from New York, so he was applying his efforts in brownnosing in those classes. He amused himself sometimes with how fake he thought he sounded, but apparently the teachers didn't pick it up: his fall term report card had been glowing.
He'd had half a mind to ship a copy back to Luke to say "See? I'm not such a washed-up loser," but in leaving he had lost contact with everyone from Stars Hollow, just as he had lost contact with everyone from New York when he had left. Not that there had been anyone worth keeping in touch with in New York. He wasn't always as sure about the people in Stars Hollow, but he tried not to think about it.
He sometimes wished he kept in contact with Luke. He found that this whole thing he had going here, with the goals and the good grades was like a drug detox. He was finally realizing how stupid he had acted, and he often wished he could apologize to Luke for all the shit he put him through, but it was in the past now. Jess wasn't ever going to revisit the past, especially not that past. No way could he risk running into Rory again. Not after all the shit he had put her through. And also because he was sure that the moment he saw her he would. . .
He hadn't gotten that far in his fantasy of going back to Stars Hollow, but the rest of it was well developped. He would drive up in a hot little Italian sportscar in his fancy, expensive Italian clothes and Italian sunglasses. He would park it in front of the diner, double park it if he could find another car, like a gangster. He would waltz into the diner and sit at the counter. When Luke came out from the back, he wouldn't recognize him. Then, after a while of all the townspeople staring at him as though he was a newcomer, he knew that look well, he would reveal his identity to Luke. Luke would drag him upstairs, as he had so many times before, and he would give Jess one of his long-winded speeches. Then Jess, having genuinely listened to the entire thing, would whip off his sunglasses and apologize, genuinely. For everything.
The two men would go back downstairs, and Rory would come in. Jess would look at her, she would look at him, and he would. . .
What? Ravish her? In the middle of the diner? It was a possibility. . . although he would prefer if it wasn't in the diner.
OK, so say they met on the bridge instead. That was the great thing about fantasies: you could backstep. So, he would walk to the bridge, and she would be sitting there, and then. . .
No, it still didn't seem right. What did he want? What did he want from her? He wanted her to forgive him. But somehow he knew that, even if she did decide to forgive him, it would never be enough. He would never feel satisfied with the fact that she had forgiven him, because he knew how shitty he had been to her.
That was the reason it was a good idea for him to stay away. If he stayed away, then he could avoid this uncomfortable situation. He would go on living his life, and he would know that, somewhere, she was living her perfect life, better off without him.