AN: Big thanks to Michelle for assuring me it doesn't completely suck. Expect...5ish chapters out of this one.
TwistPt. One—She had a history of killing herself
A box is a very defined object. It's always going to have six faces. Top, bottom, sides. Never varies, always reliable. Albeit, redundant.
A box is very confined. Rigid. It cannot be expanded, made to fit any other form. You've got four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and that's all you get. No changing, no going back. That's all you get, stay inside it.
Her life has become a box. It is a box, and she wants to scream, because its walls can close in as much as they cannot expand. Now, she is suffocating within the routine she chose. The routine where logic overrules all, sensibility is a most treasured quality.
Damn logic. Damn sensibility. They are driving her crazy, or perhaps she is already there, but she can't tell. These walls, they're closing in, and she can't see a thing. She thinks she maybe claustrophobic, but she's never been too fond of space either. (Gaps, they scare her. The further people get, it's more likely she'll lose them.)
Things didn't have to be like this, and she knows. She sure as hell knows it, and it makes her sick. She hates herself; she hates the repetition she lives in. She tries to hate him, but it's too hard. But she tries, and she wants to hate him.
Instead, she thinks she may love him.
And that is bad, so very bad. Worse than suffocating in the walls of repetition. Not only does she want, she desires, she loves, she needs. (She does need him, though it doesn't appear so. She desperately wishes that everything could be, as it seems.)
But she can't have him.
She said no.
It's over and done with, close all the doors (slam them shut) there's no going back.
There's no use crying over spilt milk. Rather, a relationship turned sour too soon before its expiration date. It's over now, dwelling won't fix things.
But she wants, aches, to fix things.
Her throat is burning now, she can't breathe, and she can't even tell if her damn feet are touching the ground. She might be crazy, no, she's sure she is. She keeps on loving, after telling (demanding) him to let go.
Crazy. What does that make him?
She doesn't know. She thinks for a second that maybe she doesn't care, but that can't be right, because the burning's started up again, flooding her throat. She's gotten caught up in that game of pretend again. She's gotten quite good at it, and it's quite a shame, because she used to be such a smart girl.
She's just going through the motions now. She doesn't even know who this creature called 'Rory' is anymore. That girl is so fake to her, sneaking around, sleeping with married men. (Man, she corrects herself automatically. There was only one, but that doesn't make it any better.)
But the pressure's building up, and reality's caving in on her. She's being crushed, and she doesn't want to scream, but she thinks she needs to, or else she'll never get out.
Her throat is swelling, and the only noise that would possibly come out is a faint "Jess".
She expects the word to taste like poison on her lips, but it is surprisingly sweet, and she craves to taste more of it.
But she can't because she said no. (She hates that word now.) She screwed up, and she has to learn from her mistakes. Grow up.
She doesn't want to grow up, she wants to be happy. She wants to be with Jess. She wants too much.
She's dying in this reality. Everybody has his or her expectations. Go to Yale. Have a perfect boyfriend, perfect friends. Everything had to be so freaking perfect!
She just wants to be able to screw up. But she can't, and she brought this all upon herself.
How hard could it have been to say yes? Very hard, that's for sure.
But had to have been easier than saying no. Watching his face, feeling her heart sink down, lower and lower.
She felt like such a bitch that night. And maybe she was. Just a selfish little Yalie rich-bitch. She sure felt like it.
She wants to breathe, needs to get out of this place, a fancied up prison.
So she does. She gets in her car and drives. She doesn't really know where she's going to end up, but it doesn't really matter. Just as long as nobody knows her there.
So she gets there. (Wherever there is. Some little restaurant on the side of the road in New York. Far away from New Haven, and that's all that matters.)
Of course, he's there. Wonderful. Why couldn't fate leave her alone, pick on someone it's own size? Damn it, damn him.
A part of her is ecstatic, and wonderfully naive. How cute, she actually thinks he'll take her back. Right.
She does her best to avoid him, but knows she won't be able to keep it up for long. Something's screaming inside her, wanting to run into his arms. But she can't do that, and she knows it.
They make eye contact, eventually. Blissful, awkward, painful. There's a flutter in her stomach, and she's not sure if it's good or bad. He turns away, but looks back over his shoulder directly at her before disappearing out a side door.
She decides to follow him, against her better judgment. He looked good. His hair was a mess, his eyes had a worn look, but he still looked good.
They talked a bit. She can't really remember the words; she doesn't think she comprehended them at the time. She's sure some kind of awkward greeting was exchanged. Next thing she knows, she's falling into him, kissing him, just because she felt like it. (So nostalgic of her, really.) He's pushing her away, but she refuses, and eventually, he gives in to her. She always had that effect on him.
The box is lifted over her head now. She is free and she can breathe. She needed this, needed him. Running her fingers through her hair, tasting the cigarette smoke lingering in his mouth, she loves it. She knows she can't have it completely though, and that's her fault. She knows she's just going to get hurt again, and that's her fault too.
She doesn't really care, because she was going insane. She was going insane, and she needed him.
Right now, it was okay. She'd feel like hell later, but she was tired of 'later'. She'd worry about it then.
She pressed him closer to her, kissing him deeper.
Searching, wanting, needing.