Chapter Seventeen: You are the smell before rain
She sits on the kitchen counter, idly swinging her legs like a restless little girl, as she watches Jess mix her a drink, a variety of unknown ingredients littering the counter. The resulting liquid is amber and unfamiliar, but it doesn't give off noxious gases like those concoctions she sees on TV. She sniffs the drink and frowns.
"What is this?"
"Take a sip. I promise it'll make you feel significantly less sober." When she doesn't move, he asks, "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"I asked for something strong, not something poisonous."
"Jesus, Rory." He pinches her nose to block the smell and nods toward the drink. "Come on."
She bats his hand away and takes a sip. "Oof." Eyes squeezed shut, she sticks out her tongue. He tries to grab it but she ducks, giggling.
"I think I'm drunk," she mumbles.
"See? I told you."
"You're very good at this." She smiles. "Really, your skill is remarkable."
She's being bratty and he finds it strangely endearing. He takes a huge gulp from her drink and sets it on the counter beside her.
"I wish I was more like you," she says quietly.
His throat burns and it distracts him from the change in her mood. He smirks and begins to play with her skirt. The material looks like tissue paper but it is rough beneath his fingertips; it makes a scrunching sound when he rubs it together.
"Yeah, you wish you had this skill," he quips.
"I meant being brave." He looks up at her, surprised. He has no idea what inspired this. When he let her in only a few moments ago, she seemed withdrawn. He was suspicious when she requested he make her a drink, but then that acquiescent instinct took over. He likes to please her.
"Brave?" He sounds dubious.
"I wish I wasn't so scared all the time. I wish I could be different."
His hands travel up her thighs in a comforting rather than sexual manner. He feels almost sorry for her. "I think you're confused," he says. "I'm the one who runs."
"You came back. You face things." He shakes his head but she plunges on. "You stand up for…" He thinks she's going to say 'yourself' but then it's just a dangling sentence. He doesn't know if he should fill in the blank. He's not sure of the right word.
He bends at an awkward angle to kiss the hollow of her throat. She touches the back of his neck, so he kisses her again, just below her pulse.
"I think I'll just keep on running." She sighs and he feels the release of breath on his cheek. He doesn't care if she keeps running as long as he is there, running too
His nails dig into her arm as he drags her out of the mansion. He slips a twenty into the valet's palm with the promise of more if he can pull the car around in thirty seconds. As soon as the valet disappears, Blake yanks her forward, so they stand shoulder to shoulder.
"Are you coming home with me tonight?" he asks, his voice tight.
"I promised my mom I'd go back to Stars Hollow."
"Fine." Blake crosses his arms. As the seconds tick by without the appearance of his car, he begins to fidget, digging his heel into the pavement. "Where the hell is it?"
Rory rubs her arms, shivering in the cool breeze. Behind her, the party continues with uproarious laughter as another bottle of wine is uncorked, and fresh glasses are passed around. She aches to be back in there, hidden among people that only know her by her grandparents' net worth. Right now, she wouldn't mind answering asinine questions about her plans for the future. As long as Blake wasn't at her side, she'd be happy anywhere.
"We have to start living together sometime, you know." His haughty tone implies he is so much wiser. He knows these things, and he has to explain it slowly, so she understands.
"I know," she deadpans.
"Marriage requires a couple to live together."
"I know."
"You have to co-exist with one another. Share belongings." He sighs and adds under his breath, "A marriage bed."
"If you have something to say, Blake, then say it."
He stays quiet but she can feel his eyes sweeping over her. Hesitantly, he reaches out and traces the indentations left by his nails. He cups her elbow and gently tugs. She faces him, bracing herself for another verbal assault.
"You look pretty tonight." Her eyes widen. This is not what she expected. "I like this dress on you." He runs a hand down her side, and she shivers again. "Come home with me tonight."
"I can't."
He combs his fingers through her hair, tilting his head to the side. "Come on, we'll go home, put our feet up, watch a movie… anything you want."
She shakes her head in disbelief. First he's dragging her out of the party because he can no longer take her "ridiculous, lackluster attitude", and now he's trying to coax her into a night on the couch.
"Ten seconds ago you were mad at me," she points out.
"I'm sorry." He almost sounds like he means it. "I just – I want this to work."
The car pulls up, its headlights illuminating the nearby garden, but the lush green beauty is lost on the pair.
"Then stop yelling at me." She stalks away, and the valet opens the car door for her, discreetly averting his eyes.
>
As soon as Blake's car disappears down the road, Rory jumps into her own. She has no time to change; she may miss her chance as it is. Sometimes the bar stays open late when there are stragglers. There are a few regulars that Jess likes, and he lets them stay as long as they keep buying. But other times when he is itching for a beer of his own, he kicks them out with a snippy announcement of last call.
Driving with a led foot, she arrives earlier than she hoped. The lights over the bar are still on and her heart begins to race as she slips inside and up the wooden steps.
She falters, not recognizing the man behind the bar. He is tall and black with broad, wooden shoulders that give him an imposing presence. She slouches, feeling nervous and out of her element.
"Sorry miss, but we're closed."
His voice is softer than she would have thought; almost silky. She approaches the stools but keeps her arms fixed to her sides.
"Uh, I thought Jess worked tonight."
"I'm sorry, who?"
"Jess? Jess Mariano," she clarifies. "It's his night to work." She peeks around his shoulder as if expecting Jess to be there, hiding.
"I'm new here. They just hired me. But isn't Jess the one who was fired?"
"Jess was fired?" She frowns and the room seems smaller, the walls too close. "Why…" She bites her lip and the violent snap of anger is so sudden that she nearly loses her balance. When she speaks again, she can barely catch her breath. "Because of what happened with Blake?"
"Blake?" the man repeats.
"Jess hit someone, but he was provoked. I know he was."
"He put a customer in the hospital, miss."
Her hands curl into fists. She wishes he'd stop calling her 'miss'. "But he was provoked! It's not fair. He doesn't have another job. Where's he supposed to work?"
The corner of the bartender's mouth twitches as he listens to this woman he doesn't know, harass him for things he had no part in.
"I want to see your manager."
"Miss, it's almost four in the morning. I'm the only one still here."
"Fine." She looks away, unsure what to do with the residual anger. "I'll be back to see him."
This time his mouth twitches into an amused smile. "And I'll be sure to tell him."
>
It isn't until after she has entered the building, taken the elevator, and reached his door that she realizes that she doesn't have her key. It is back in Stars Hollow, hidden in her jewelry box. She hopes, somehow, that Jess has woken up early – or maybe he never went to sleep.
She knocks twice before Len answers. Surprise is an understatement as his mouth goes slack and his eyes take on saucer form.
"Hi, Len."
"Jess isn't here."
She gives him a wary look. "If he wasn't here, you wouldn't be."
"I'm apartment-sitting."
She blinks. "Apartment-sitting?"
"Look, Rory, this isn't a good time."
"Is – " She takes a quick breath. "Is Jess in there with someone?"
"No, he's sleeping. It's four in the morning, Rory."
"So why are you awake? Slumber party?" She comes off more caustic than she means to.
"Just came back later or something."
She pushes past him into the apartment, irritated with this man she hardly knows. She heads for Jess's bedroom, Len on her heels.
As soon as she sees him, she knows something is wrong. He is curled into himself in the middle of the bed, his face an ashen gray. His skin is paler than usual, zombie-like beneath the hallway light. If Len hadn't been here, if she had found him alone, she would have checked for a pulse, certain he was dead.
She swallows a gasp. "Is that a bruise?" The area beneath his right eye appears violet in the dark with splotches of black to outline the irregular shape. She wants to pretend it's shadows playing tricks, but she can feel the discomfort growing, an anxiety writhing through her.
"What happened?" she whispers.
"Nothing happened. He's sleeping," Len whispers back.
"He… he doesn't look right."
"He's fine."
She kicks off her shoes and tiptoes to the bed. She touches the bruise and Jess's muscles jump beneath her fingers. He groans and rolls over and she gives Len a terrible look.
"What happened?" The whisper is harsh and accusing. Len grabs her elbow and roughly yanks her out the room, and she is manhandled for the third time tonight.
"Let's start with the bruise," Rory says, standing in the kitchen, arms crossed.
"He fell."
"Into someone's fist?" she prompts.
"Down a flight of stairs."
She chokes on the saliva gathered in her mouth. She coughs, covering her mouth with her hand, and tries not to look panicked. "Stairs?" The visual scares her, and quickly she wonders what Jess's body looks like beneath the sheets. She envisions black and blue and broken bones, and she wants to scream.
"Stairs," she repeats. "How? Was he pushed?"
Len sighs and rubs his forehead. He doesn't want to play this guessing game. "He had too much to drink, okay? He passed out in a bad place."
"He had too much too drink?" She shakes her head, and stares Len down like a schoolteacher who has caught the class troublemaker in the act. "You're his friend! You're supposed to be watching him!"
"He's a bartender. He should know when enough is enough."
"No, Len, he's an alcoholic! He has no idea what's enough."
Len throws an arm in the air as if to brush her off. "Stop being so dramatic. He is not an alcoholic."
"I know him better than you do."
"If you really did, if you know him just so well then you would know why he drank tonight. You would have known the moment he left your house where he was headed and what would happen."
"I'm not psychic," she says, her voice small. "I didn't know." She studies the wall behind Len's head, fascinated with the cracked paint. "Did you bring him to the hospital? Was it – was it that bad?"
"Alcohol poisoning," Len mutters. "He had his stomach pumped."
She nods, her tongue pushed against the back of her teeth. She feels explosive. Any second now, a piece of her will shatter and then the rest will follow until she is only a pile of dust on the floor.
"But he'll – he is fine?"
"He's fine, Rory. He just needs some sleep."
She pinches the bridge of her nose, needing to move, to do something. "I'm glad he's okay."
"Me too."
She sets her purse on the counter and then folds her hands in front of her, feeling ridiculously proper. "I'm going to stay here tonight."
"Oh no." Len walks past her to the door. "You're gone."
She spins around, glaring at him. "I wasn't asking permission."
"Rory," he warns.
She flies down the hallway and shuts herself inside Jess's room. Len knocks but when she doesn't answer, he gives up, afraid he'll wake Jess.
She circles his bed, studying him with a scrutinizing eye. He shifts onto his back, and she sits on the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb him. When he remains still, she lays down beside him, and places a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath her palm and it's a thump-thump of reassurance. A sense of relief floods through her as she kisses his chin. Closing her eyes, she immediately falls asleep.
>
The numbers are a blur of red, but he makes out the leading six. He blinks, yawns, and stretches, but clarity refuses to come. His head is hazy, as if stuffed with cotton, and his body aches, like a dull throbbing that is barely there, but enough to remind him of the pain. The shades in the room are pulled shut, so the early sunlight cannot creep in. The dark makes him feel better, more solid. He closes his eyes.
He hears a release of breath and the rustle of sheets. Startled, he looks over to find Rory asleep beside him. Tentatively he reaches out and brushes the hair out of her face. The contact is enthralling; he feels like he hasn't touched her in years. He traces the side of her jaw before brushing against the circles beneath her eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling strangely guilty, but continues his exploration. Her lips fascinate him; they are soft and pink in the dark, like something forbidden, something he should stay clear of. He drags his thumb across them once and then again with more pressure. She stirs, and swats at her face, so he pulls back, watching her quietly.
"Mmm. Jess?" Her voice is thick with sleep and surprise. "Jess!" She sits up quickly. "Do you need something?" she asks. "Do you want something to eat, or a glass of water?"
"No." His mouth is encrusted with a foul taste. It is difficult to get the single word out.
"Are you sure?" She grazes his face, and when he doesn't object, she runs a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. It is a motherly gesture, and Jess lets out a satisfied sigh, enjoying the attention. "I don't mind."
"I'm fine."
"Can I…" She gestures with her free hand toward the bed. With his eyes closed, he mumbles a 'yes', not caring what he has agreed to. She pulls back the sheet and slips underneath
She rests her feet against his shins. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah."
She waits for an outburst of anger; a sarcastic remark or a finely tuned insult to break her. But he yawns and inches toward her.
"Okay," she whispers, pressing her lips to his forehead. "Good."
>
The next morning, Len wakes up late, some time after eleven. He is greeted with the sight of Rory elbow deep in dirty dishwasher as she rinses a stack of plates and sets them aside to dry. She is still in her party dress, the flimsy black designer gown that gives her a rich, untouchable look.
"What are you doing?"
Rory jumps and drops a plate back into the soapy water, sending a generous splash all over her dress. She appears flustered but not angry.
"The dishes. I wanted to tidy up before Jess woke up."
"He still sleeping?"
"Yeah." She rinses her hands and dries them on a nearby towel. "I checked on him a little while ago."
"Oh." Len leans against the counter, uncomfortable being in the same room as her.
"I was thinking about making him breakfast." She opens the freezer door and begins to rummage through. "There's chocolate chip eggos, but Jess hates those." She frowns. "He bought them for me." She sets them on the counter and continues to look. "He does that a lot, you know."
"Does what?" Len asks out of forced politeness.
"Shop for me," Rory answers, closing the door and turning around. "When he goes grocery shopping, he's always buying me these snacks I like, even if it's something he doesn't eat. He hates chocolate chips. Did you know that?" She opens the cabinets, peeking past old cereal, toward the back. "I made him slice n' bakes once as a joke. They came out pretty good, but Jess refused to eat them. He said he likes oatmeal raisin much better." She looks over her shoulder at Len and shoots him a friendly smile. "Who likes raisins? I hate them."
"Yeah, me too." He watches this girl in confusion as she continues to search for a proper breakfast. He doesn't know what to say. He thinks she's speaking more for her own benefit than his.
"Whenever I come over, there's always something for me to eat. It's like I live here too." She pulls down a box of Cheerios, studies the front, and then replaces it inside the cabinet. "It's nice, you know. Having someone think of you because they want to, not because they have to." She drums her fingers against the counter, pausing in her search. Her expression is wistful. Len assumes she's lost in a certain memory; he wonders if it's a happy one.
"Should he even be eating?" she suddenly asks.
"I don't know. He can decide when he gets up."
She nods. "Okay. I guess I'll just finish the dishes."
"Oh, Rory." He reaches out to grab her wrist but freezes before he can make contact. She gives him a funny look – furrowed brow, pursed lips. "You don't have to do that."
"It's fine."
"I mean – you don't have to stay."
"Yes, I do." She reconsiders her statement. "I want to."
"Well, I don't want you here."
"Excuse me?" She narrows her eyes, wondering why he thinks he can make this decision.
"I want you gone before Jess wakes up."
"You can't make me leave. This is Jess's apartment."
"And I'm acting on Jess's best interest."
Vehemently she shakes her head. "You're not. He would want to see me. I came over to talk to him."
"Look, Rory, I don't know you very well, but I do know that I don't like you. To be candid, I think you're a selfish bitch."
She takes a step back as if wounded. She opens her mouth, ready to defend herself but Len cuts her off.
"I don't want to hear about how cornered you are or about the obligations you have. I don't need that poor little rich girl bullshit."
"You go to Yale," Rory accuses. "You're worth more than I am."
"I don't flaunt it. I don't come over to see Jess wearing thousand dollar outfits and jewelry worth more than this apartment."
She fingers her necklace, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't flaunt it. This isn't about my clothes."
"No, this is about how you fucked Jess over."
She takes another step back – and another. "You don't know anything about our situation." Her voice cracks and she looks away, ashamed.
"I know that you're engaged to a guy that is going to give you everything. And I know that Jess nearly killed himself last night over you. And I know that he's out of a job, and I know – "
"Stop it," she warns. "I don't want to hear this."
"Of course you don't. You prefer it when people pat your head and tell you what a good little girl you are. Not a fan of guilt, Rory?"
She sweeps past him and disappears into Jess's bedroom. Len reaches the door just as it shuts in his face. He sighs and goes back into the kitchen. Moments later, Rory reappears with her shoes on and purse in hand. She says nothing as she stalks through the living room and out the door.
>
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," Jess replies, lying across the sofa. He yawns and turns on his side, ready to go back to sleep.
"You sure?"
"Don't hover," Jess warns. "I'm fine."
"I believe that's exactly what you said last night before we headed out," Len remarks.
"Huh. What a coincidence."
Len rolls his eyes and sits on the arm of the couch. He grabs the remote control and begins to flip through the channels.
"Did, uh, did Rory come over?"
Len falters, nearly dropping the remote. Jess doesn't notice. "Rory?" Len scoffs. "Uh, no. Why?"
"I thought…" Jess pauses, picturing the twilight image of Rory lying beside him, running her hands through his hair. She had been so gentle and sweet, eager to help him out. He tries to remember a glint of silver, the flicker of her engagement ring. "Never mind," he mumbles. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"You gotta lay off the drinking, man," Len says lightly, immediately regretting his words.
"I would want to know," Jess begins, "if she came over."
Len hesitates, thinking of the night before, when he found Jess crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, his skin so pale, so blue, it looked as if he had drowned.
"She didn't."
Jess nods, afraid to speak lest the disappointment creep into his voice. It wasn't her last night sitting in his lap, and it wasn't her lying beside him in bed. It was wishful thinking, the embodiment of too much alcohol and burnt out hope.