A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews. Quotes used in this chapter are from Jane Austen, Francois De La Rochefoucauld, and Hermann Hesse respectively. Thanks so much to Ari for the lovely beta. You're beyond wonderful, m'dear.
Chapter Seven: So call it quits or get a grip
He backs her across the room until she finally hits the bureau, even though she's told him that she hates that. Her hand flies out on its own accord, knocking over a picture frame arranged by her ages before in front of the mirror. It falls, smacking the wooden surface, and she hopes it breaks. Later, she wants to pick it up, and find the old, stolen moment of the two of them in pieces.
For some inexplicable reason, he continues to press harder against her, even though she's already against a solid object. She can feel the edge digging into her, slowly leaving a raw imprint beneath her shirt. Soon, she will have a long, thin dip running across the small of her back; it almost hurts.
Rory leans into him, easing herself off the wood and further into him. He stumbles back, and it's a sigh of relief to no longer feel the tight pressure against her skin. Taking the initiative, he continues to back up until he hits the bed. He spins the two of them around, graceless and sloppy, but somehow he manages not to break contact. His kiss becomes more urgent as he lowers her onto the mattress, and she merely follows his lead.
She lies at an angle, her hair just brushing the pillows located at the top of the bed. Her right foot still touches the carpet, while she bends her left, curving it around him. In her head, she wants to pretend he's someone else, and as he moves to her neck, she bites her lip to keep from saying the wrong name.
There is nothing wrong with Blake in this department. He's a good kisser, and he handles her carefully except when he loses his head. He's attentive and everywhere, but the passion she used to feel for him is missing. Its disappearance is so completely obvious to her that it turns moments like these into a mechanical process. She doesn't understand why he has never noticed; if he even realizes how faded the two of them have become.
Today, somehow, she is simply not in the mood. For him, or for any of this; playing pretend does not interest her. She is restless and sad, thinking about how much she has screwed everything up in the past week. Everything with Jess is in a shambles. She wanted to tell him that she likes being around him even if it means a strict friendship only. She wanted to tell him that she misses him all the time now, and that she needs him; she wants him to know how much he means to her.
Instead of expressing any of that eloquently, she danced around him, wading into this new form of friendship carefully. She snuck back in under the radar and got close to him without ever giving reasons for her presence. Instead of letting things take shape again, allowing the bad to ebb away and their connection resolidify, he had led her on. He had made her think that everything was alright when it wasn't.
"Blake," she mumbles, feeling his hand tickle her inner thigh. She feels a sharp pressure behind her eyes, a sensation that has been building for days. "Blake," she says again, his name coming out as a squeak as she tries to hold it in. His fingers slip across her hip, beneath the thin fabric of her panties, and she gives him a hard push in the chest.
Immediately, he springs up, shooting her a funny look. She sits up as well, brushing past him until she stands a couple of steps away.
"Rory?" he asks, unsure of where this went wrong. "What is with you lately?"
"Nothing is with me."
"We haven't had sex in a month."
"Three weeks," she corrects. "We've been busy."
"And now, we're not. You've been acting so weird lately."
"I'm fine."
"It's like you don't want to touch me anymore."
There is a sharp pain in her chest, as if her heart has slammed against a row of thorns. The tears slip out as she replays what he said over in her mind. It sounds like something an old married couple would say; two people after years and years, and it's not getting any better. She feels sick suddenly.
"Rory?" He switches to concerned now. He takes a step closer and when she doesn't flee, he gently grabs her wrists. "Rory, come on…"
He brushes away a few tears, letting the saline seep into his fingers. She leans into his hand, and it is a tender moment that she wishes to freeze. This she would not mind squeezing into a picture frame; she would display it proudly. But then she remembers why she is crying. And then Blake speaks.
"Did you get into a fight with Jess?"
"What?" she asks, startled by the randomness of the question.
"Your relationship with him tends to dictate ours sometimes."
"It does not, cut it out." She takes a step back and he lets her.
"He hasn't been following you around lately, so I thought…"
"You can be such a jerk sometimes."
"Rory, come on. You know him and I don't get along."
"You brought him up! You do realize that you're blaming our lack of a sex life on him, right?" Inwardly, she flinches because there is a small truth there. But she is frustrated and upset, and at this point, she's past caring.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. Really. I just hate how strained things have been."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Come on! What it is going on?"
"I'm sorry I don't want to sleep with you today," she snaps. "The simple fact is that Gary is supposed to be here soon, and I don't need him walking in on us."
"That's bullshit, you're avoiding the issue."
"Which issue? There are too many issues! Maybe we've just been together too long."
She spins around and heads toward the bathroom, grabbing her discarded purse on the way. She slams the door and locks it behind her, before taking a seat on top of the closed toilet lid. The tears come faster now, but she is silent, and somehow relieved to have finally said what she's been dying to tell him for a while now. She's trying to shove their complications into his hands. Let him make the final decision; let him end them.
"Don't do this." Traveling through the door, his voice is soft, softer than she's heard in a long time. It reminds her of earlier nights with him, when he was more than an obligation. She thinks of their first time together, and for a moment, she aches for him.
Quickly, she squeezes her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of guilt that overtakes her. She buries her face in her hands, waiting this out.
"Rory?" He knocks, pauses, "Rory?"
"I don't want this to end," he tries. "Can you please come out so we can talk about this?"
Swiveling to her left, she turns on the shower, and he is drowned out. Minutes tick by and there is only the steady noise of water hitting porcelain; she watches the whirlpool slip down the drain. She feels stuck, and very ridiculous, hiding in her boyfriend's bathroom. Again, she thinks of heading out there and ending it; stopping this charade for good.
But then, automatically, she thinks of the repercussions. Her grandfather plays golf with Blake's grandfather. Her grandmother has tea with his mother. Parties would be awkward; maybe even have to be avoided. There would be gossip and disappointment; over three years to end like this? High society has strict rules, she reminds herself.
She shakes her head and rubs her temples, wondering when all of this became so important to her. Sometimes, she thinks she's selfish; other times, she remembers that most of what she does is to please someone else. Jess and Yale are the only two things she has all for herself. And Jess is (was) the only one that comes without loopholes.
Before she can stop herself, she pulls out her cell phone and dials the familiar number. She lets it ring and ring, and realizes he is not home. Finally, the answering machine that she made him invest in picks up, and she takes a deep breath, trying to summon up a steady voice."Hi, Jess, it's me. Look, I'm… sorry about last night. Your date looked really nice, and I hope I didn't ruin things. But you… you said…" She trails off, frustrated. She has no idea how to explain her anger. "I'm sorry," she settles on, because she is. She always is. "Just call me sometime."
She drops her phone back into her purse and shuts off the shower. Outside her small hideaway, she hears the front door open, and Blake greet his friend, Gary. A minute later, Blake is at the door, asking if she still wants to meet the rest of their friends for dinner. Deflated, she unlocks the door and emerges, her face tearless. Blake wraps his arm around her as they leave the apartment, and leans close. His voice is small but certain as he speaks, his breath warm against her ear:
"I love you."
-
He is barely keeping his head above water. Last night, after Megan made a fast exit only minutes after Rory, he had sunk into a low mood. He may have kicked back a beer or two or four; he doesn't remember. The only clear event in his mind is waking up this morning and feeling a grenade go off in his head. He slept straight through his morning shift, and later had to deal with several messages left on his machine from his boss, the woman who was forced to cover for him, and Len, being his usual nosey self, which meant asking if Jess had gotten any.
Well, he hadn't.
He had successfully managed to simultaneously make Rory angry and sad, and more than likely cry as soon as she got out of his sight. Then, thanks to the scene she made, Megan was scared off, unable to remember if she had even given Jess her last name.
He finally arrives at the restaurant, headache and disorientation, for the most part, still intact. He's playing waiter today, and is kept on his toes for the dinner rush. Len is behind the bar, and each time Jess passes, a question is shot his way regarding the night before. Jess has yet to answer a single one.
It is half past six when he sees her enter, the boyfriend at her side. Another man stands with him, and he produces a fuzzy kind of familiarity within Jess, but not enough to register a name. Jess has met some of Blake's (and by extension Rory's) friends on occasion, but none of them have ever stuck.
With his incredible luck, the three are added to the table already filled with four others, directly in the middle of his section of the restaurant. He's not ready for this; he doesn't want this. Immediately, he turns and heads over to a very idle Len.
"Switch with me."
Len glances up at his friend, a bored air surrounding him. He raises his eyebrows with disinterest. "Go away, I'm getting paid to stand here."
"Switch with me, and think of all the tips you'll get."
"Yes, but that means I'll have to actually go and move around. I'd much prefer just standing here, getting paid for the one or two customers that approach."
"Len, you know how I'm always doing you favors?"
"Flip, reverse that. I do favors for you."
"Last night, Megan came back to the apartment. Rory was there. I kicked her out, and Megan left right after that. I did not have sex with either," he explains, finally giving Len the information he craves, "and I'm currently experiencing the never ending hangover. Rory, who right now hates me, just got here with her boyfriend. You take over my place and I'll bartend until they leave, alright?"
"I have never, not once, heard you say so much at once. I just… are you flustered?"
"Shut up," Jess snaps.
"You're flustered!"
"You can keep my tips and anything I make here, I give to you."
"Done deal. Rory's the brunette, right? With the blue eyes?"
"Go."
"Fine, fine, don't want you any more flustered than you already are."
Len walks off and greets the table, offering menus and taking drink orders. Jess studies Rory carefully from his position behind the bar, doing his best to stay out of her line of vision. She looks uncomfortable and detached from the conversation that is going full speed around her. Every once in a while, she glances around, and he knows she's looking for him.
A customer appears, someone young and forgettable, his order barely leaving a mark on Jess's memory. Robotically, Jess mixes the drink and delivers, moving closer to the center of the bar to do so. When he glances up he finds Rory staring back, finally having found him here. She tries to muster up a smile but it is a distressed and guilty one. She ends up looking away, pretending not to have spotted him at all.
The guilt hits him hard as he remembers the night before. He yelled and accused and barely gave her a proper explanation. A part of him wants a do over, so he can have her back. He grabs a napkin from the stack that sits nearby, and pulls a pen from his pocket. He scrawls down a quick message and when Len is close enough, he gives it to him, and asks him to deliver it with Rory's plate. Len, thinking himself more as a covert spy than the messenger pigeon he actually is, agrees.
Rory gets her meal several minutes later, the plate's appearance startling her from the stupor she has fallen into. Her time here has passed slowly, stretched out by conversation from Blake's friends. She knows each fairly well, all good acquaintances from college, people she met through Blake. They are nice enough, and kind to her, eliciting a pleasant reaction out of her when she sees them. But tonight is unbearable. If she had known they'd be having dinner here, she would have vehemently refused to come.
"Hey, Rory," is mumbled as the hand that brought her plate is drawn away. She looks up and she realizes it is Jess's friend, Len. He smiles at her, and she recognizes the smugness in it. He's playing a game; she can practically hear him taunting, I know something you don't know.
Rory turns to the food in front of her, adjusting the plate so it is closer. Upon doing so, she finds a folded napkin wedged beneath it, and her heart skips a beat. She takes it out and places it in her lap, but finds that no one is paying attention anyway. Unfolding it, she reads:
Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
Over and over, she reads it, savoring the words. It is alright. It can be alright. This is his acceptance, right? This is his assurance that their friendship can continue. He is her escape from what she cannot bear, and he knows that. He is more though. Does he get that too?
She pulls a pen from her purse and uses her own napkin to write something down. Over the sea of heads crowded in the room, she finds Len, and he grins at her. Walking over, he comes to a stop next to her, and asks if everything is alright with their meal. A few frustrated grunts are let out, most disbelieving that he has returned so quickly.
He plays messenger again.
He delivers the new napkin to Jess, almost giddy with the novelty of all this. Jess's scowl sends him away, so he can read the message in private.
There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not.
There is a faint stirring, as if there are layers shifting over in his mind. Something new is uncovered, lined with cotton and gauze, drowning the clarity out. He can almost hear it, the audio dim, the visual nonexistent.
I love you. (Her voice soft and sleepy.) Because I love you. (Over the line, through the phone, she tells him carefully.) Becau—
He cuts it off, snaps whatever thread that is delivering this lie to his mind, and crumples up the napkin, sick of her games. He pulls out a new one, wanting to write back and tell her he's tired, so tired of this.
Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
The words drift through his head, but his pen stays poised over the napkin, unmoving. Before he can decide on his next move, he feels a presence beside him. Looking up, he finds Megan, looking tentative.
"Hi," she tries.
"Hey."
She opens her mouth to speak, but instantly, she appears frustrated at whatever words she has come up with. Instead, she leans over the bar and gives him a swift kiss. Pulling away, she rests her elbows on the wood. She offers him a small, hesitant smile.
"I'm sorry I left last night," she tells him. "I should have waited or let you explain, or…"
"It's fine," he assures her. "It was an… awkward situation."
"Ex-girlfriend?"
"Something like that."
"Complicated?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"Maybe you could explain it to me over coffee sometime?" she suggests coyly, subconsciously leaning closer.
Her suggestion surprises him. With her departure last night, he figured they were over before it even began. She still wants this. Or at least, she wants to try.
"Sure."
She smiles. "So… busy night?"
There are no customers in sight. He turns so he can face her fully, and there is easy conversation.
Across the room, Rory watches the two of them interact. She has seen her smile, and their kiss, and how easy they get along. It freezes her, and she feels isolated, slowly floating away. She doesn't realize that she is staring too long until Blake nudges her after repeating her name one too many times. It breaks the trance, but he follows her gaze. Once he sees Jess, there is a stirring in his blood; this is more than he can take.
"I'm going to get a drink," he excuses himself from the table. Rory immediately realizes where this is headed and shoots up to follow him.
They both arrive at the bar, Blake only one step ahead.
"Hi, Jess," he says, the words devoid of pleasantry.
"Blake, you can just ask the waiter for something. Let's go back to the table," she begs, not needing their verbal sparring tonight.
"I just want a beer," he shrugs. Stiffly, Jess walks off to retrieve it. Blake turns to Megan. "Girlfriend?" he asks.
"Friend," she corrects. Her eyes fall on Rory. "It's Megan. If you ask Jess, he can give you my middle and last name too."
In the back of her mind, Rory knows she deserves this. Her snap at Jess was also an insult to this woman. But her snide attitude puts her on the defensive, and the fact that Jess may have been intimate with her turns her stomach.
"I'm Blake," he introduces himself to Megan, propriety still his first instinct. "This is my girlfriend, Rory."
Jess comes back with the beer, placing it on the bar.
"We've met," Megan says with less venom. She's trying to make an effort. "Although last night, I didn't exactly catch your name."
Or maybe not.
"Last night?" Blake asks, and Rory flinches. "Last night, you said you couldn't make the party because you had so much studying to do."
"I did. I had reading to do. I worked last night so we could go out today. I just went to Jess's to study. It was quieter there."
"I am so sick of never being able to reach you because you're at his apartment. And then you purposely shut off your phone…"
"Stop. Could you just stop? Please?"
"You spend more time with him than you do with me! Why? What is so special about him?"
"Don't," she warns.
Blake turns to Jess. "Did you even graduate high school?"
Jess's eyebrows shoot up, but he says nothing.
"Stop, you know he has his GED," Rory says, tugging on his arm.
"You dropped out, right? You were taking too many shifts at… Wal-Mart, was it?"
Jess scowls, the familiar creep of anger spreading through him. He glances at Rory, and his muscles tighten. She told Blake this. All of this. He can imagine the two of them sitting around, discussing him. Rory listing all of the terrible things he did throughout their relationship before he up and left her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an impatient customer standing at the bar, waiting to be served. A second later, Len is there, a couple of feet away from Jess, helping out. It gives him a small relief; someone on his side.
"You're a bartender now," Blake says, almost like an accusation. "You must be proud."
"Hey," Len cuts in, mixing a drink. "I'm a bartender."
"You also go to college. This is something you do for money until you graduate. For Jess, this is all there is."
"Screw you," Jess snaps. "I'm sick of you acting like you're better than me. You're just pissed off that your girlfriend hangs around me more. Don't take it out on me, alright? It's not my fault she follows me around."
Rory shoots him a hurt look, crushed at what he says. He ignores her.
"You say one more thing and I'll kick you out. I don't need you making a scene," Jess warns.
Blake scowls at him, and turns on his heel, heading back to his table.
"Len, I'm going on break."
Jess walks off, brushing Megan's shoulder with his hand, a wordless apology. Rory darts out after him. She follows him to the alley next to the restaurant, where he begins to pull out a cigarette. She lays her palm flat on his back, wanting to talk to him, to make him feel better.
"He's going to propose to you at graduation," he states, turning around to see her.
"Excuse me?"
"I bet you anything it'll be graduation. Before you can move or make solid plans. He's going to propose and then that's it, it's sealed. You're Lorelai, but the way they wanted her."
"Stop it."
"I sure hope you've been taking notes at those Friday night dinners, because that's going to be your life. Parties every god damned weekend, charity events that you don't even know what for. But hey, don't worry, you can hire me as a butler or the poolboy, and then you'll still be able to fuck me whenever you want."
She slaps him hard, and it leaves a thousand tiny prickles running across her palm. He stares at her in shock, his eyes wide. For a split second, she thinks he might strike back, he looks that infuriated.
"I don't know why I waste my time with you. You're this close to a deadbeat drunk, who has absolutely no future, and one of these days, I'm going to turn around and you're not going to be here anymore. Because that's what you do, Jess. You run. You fail. Well go ahead, run away! I don't need you."
She turns and hurries out of the alley. All he can do is touch his cheek, and trace the handprint she left behind.
It is late, and Jess lies still, staring up at the ceiling. He has stripped down to his boxers, ready for bed, exhausted from the day's work. His eyes grow heavy as the room blurs, his eyelashes fluttering. Suddenly, he hears the front door open, and then close, and he listens as heels click down his short hallway. In the doorway, this unnamed person pauses, and Jess hears two thumps hit the floor. She's removed her shoes.
From his peripheral vision, he can see her walk toward the bed. She perches herself at his side, looking down at him, a silly smile on her face. She says hello, and without waiting for a return greeting she launches into the story of how she was at a party an hour and a half away. She left early, feigning a headache, and called a taxi to take her home. Somehow though, when she got into the cab, she gave the driver his address instead. She finds this funny. Jess finds her tipsy.
She lies down beside him, and studies him with clear blue eyes. His blood speeds up; this is awkward. They are in the beginning stages of this new relationship where she still holds all of the power. She chose to cross the line, so she controls this. He cannot touch her; it's not his choice. She has to make the first move. But then, he is tired of waiting, tired of being passive under her hand.
He rolls onto his side, and kisses her delicately, waiting for her to crumble beneath him. Her mouth is warm and stained with wine; he loves the taste. He pulls away to look at her, and when she doesn't try to get out of his grasp, he leans in again. Before he can make contact though, she sits up, kneeling in front of him. He follows her lead, slipping his hands over her shoulder, across her neck. She leans into him.
He slides closer to her, kissing a curve from the corner of her eye to beneath her earlobe. She lets out a ragged breath, and he hears her choke on the words.
I'm still with him, she says, not telling him that she tried to end it.
He meets her eyes, and touches her lips. I know, he says, and he doesn't care. She wants him, and that's all that is important right now. He kisses her again.
She opens the door without asking who it is. She is not expecting company, not at this hour. But this is Stars Hollow; she isn't worried.
Her eyes widen at the sight before her, and she thinks she's gasped out loud.
"Hi, Mom," Rory says, wringing her hands together. She sniffs back her tears, but it's no use. They fall harder. "I'm sorry."