A/N: I read over the chapter before my editing and couldn't believe I had written that crap. I'm so ashamed of it, but now I can do this. I'm going to finish this, but the right way, no matter how much I really hate this story. And the only change incase you've already read the chapter is the last paragraph. Thanx.

And I bet you've got every word I said
memorized in your head.
And you'll use every one of them,
and you'll use every one of them against me.

Don't hold this against me.
I've already said I'm sorry.
(Tell all your friends about me)
Don't hold this against me.
I've already said I'm sorry.

I've already said I'm sorry

He finds her sitting quietly on a park bench outside her dorm room. To his surprise she doesn't get up and slap him right in the face when she sees him. She merely ignores his presence all together.

"Is there room on that bench for a jackass who owes you one hell of an apology?" he asks.

She looks up at him for a moment, clears her throat and stares at him hard.

"I thought you had changed. You swore to me you were different," she says calmly.

"I –"

"And yet at the very first sign of trouble what do you do, you run and hide. You don't tell me what's wrong. You become a damn turtle and hide in your stupid shell."

"Rory, it's not like that-"

"Well Jess I really think that is how it is, because every time, this is always what happens. I don't know why I expected something more. I thought you were different. I thought this could be different. You can't even be a good friend, how could I expect we could be something more. I guess I was the one who was naïve here."

He's stunned; the ability to move has momentarily left him. He can scarcely believe these words are coming from her mouth.

"I can tell you things, I just need time to formulate what I'm going to say…" he begins child-like.

"Jess, you've had time. It's been a week since you stormed out of my dorm. Paul acted like a jerk, but that doesn't mean you have to, too. I didn't expect you to come up and reveal your life's story to me. I just thought – Well I guess I thought you would say that you at least didn't hate me. I've spent the past week wondering what you've been thinking Jess and I don't like doing that. I hate that. And I think I might hate you for that too," she says.

The last sentence hits the air and hangs for a while, hovering overhead.

"How can you even stand that guy?" he asks her quietly.

"Paul is…Paul, I guess. I didn't think this would happen again. You know, I really thought you could stand having another guy in my life. First Dean, now Paul…"

"Rory, don't-"

But her eyes are livid and they bore through him, he hopes he really isn't that invisible to her. Her look is lethal. By now she's standing up, hands flaying, obvious anger surging through her veins.

"No, I want to start this. Why did you leave Jess? Why did you leave me there, no Hallmark card, singing telegram, no smoke signal, nothing? I want to know exactly what you could have been thinking."

He sighs.

"I already told you. I thought it wouldn't hurt as much. I was already making a mess of my life; I didn't want to drag you down with me."

"I felt like I lost everything when you left and you basically tell me you were being a coward."

"Yea, I was being a coward," he admits with a sullen look.

"Why Yale, huh? Why out of all the schools in the world, did you choose Yale?"

"I should have thought that was obvious."

"I want to hear you say it."

There are a thousand words he probably could have said and yet the right ones never seem to seep from his mouth.

"You're here. I wanted to be here."

"You're wasting your time, if you're fishing around here Jess. That boat has sailed."

Her words sting him, but he knows her all too well. This is just a defense mechanism.

"Don't act like this; don't act like I was nothing. Just one chapter in your book of life. I meant more, and I know it. Don't act like this is news to you. I might not deserve much, but I deserve better than that."

"Why can't you ever grow up? I've been waiting for you to grow up and I thought you had. Why is it that you keep disappointing me Jess? I always expect too much of you –"

"You expect me to be perfect. Well I have news for you, no one's perfect. Not even you. So give me a break –"

"I feel like that's all I've been doing. Giving you break after break. You completely leave my life and pop in occasionally when you feel like it. It doesn't work that way. I don't work that way."

"I'm here though aren't I? I already exceeded your expectations just by showing up. I'm ready for this, us, you and me. I know you couldn't count on me before, but you can now. Let me – Let me show you. Give me a chance."

She stares at him, boring her eyes through his timid, rapidly beating heart.

"I can't. You're never in one place long enough to start something meaningful. I can't take that chance again, you already had one. There's no such thing as second chances."

"Just forget everything else. Just – start over with me."

"Are you crazy?" she asks incredulous.

"Most likely, but that doesn't matter."

"Well I'm not running off with a madman."

He almost laughs at her civil humor. Almost.

"We can start over."

"Stop!" she screams.

"I love you."

The words escape before he can help himself and he wishes he could reach out into the air and stuff them right back into his mouth.

"No you don't."

"How do you know?" he asks accusingly.

"Because this is what you do! You make me believe your lies and I fall for them and I end up in pieces."

"Rory, -"

Before either of them realizes it, he's pulling her closer to him and he's pressing his lips against hers. Even after the realization hits her she knows she has succumbed to him, and pulls away hesitantly.

"You can't do that," she tells him softly.

"Why not?"

"You know, we do have to talk in a relationship. One of these days."

"Or so they say…"

"Jess…"

"Ok, let's talk."

"We can't do this."

"Why?"

"Because we can't."

"Oh, well I was worried you were going to be vague…"

"I thought we already went through this…"

"Give me one more chance."

She looks at him timidly.

"I'm sorry, I just can't do that right now."

His eyes fall softly. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She turns to gather her belongings and leave him but she stops at the sound of his voice.

"We're supposed to be together. You know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. Why do you have to make this so hard?"

She turns on her heal again and he can almost hear the whistles going off in her head, Round 2.

"I'm making this hard? I'm not the one who left like a scared little boy at the first sign of trouble. You know you make it really hard to like you. Sometimes you can be so unsentimental."

"Look don't talk about what you don't know. You don't know how I feel, so don't pretend that you do."

"You won't let me in enough to know who you feel. Whenever I want to talk you hide from me. I can't deal with that anymore. If I'm going to be with someone, I don't want to have to worry every single day what they're thinking about, it's too much Jess…it's just too much."

"Rory, please…I need this, you…please…"

His words hit the cold crisp air. Lies and vague memories of promises broken swirl through her head. His demeanor hasn't changed in the least. He's still a scared little boy, asking, begging, for something to cling to.

"I can't give you another chance, because I'm all out of second, third, fourth and fifth chances. You used them all up, Jess."

"You're impossible," he tells her the full weight of her statements building into his chest. "You've always been like this."

He's trying to cut her down, but she won't let him.

"Then," she says softly," Jess why do you keep coming back?"

The statement hangs in the breeze and for a moment neither of them speaks. Her eyes glaze over him, perhaps waiting for an answer, but he hasn't a good one.

"You're right," he says slowly, turning to walk away from her, his memories and them, for perhaps forever.

She's sprawled out on the couch, watching the 11 o'clock news, thoroughly bored, but yet entirely restless. A knock disturbs her normal breathing and she gets up to receive the intruder.

"Josh…" she says.

He nods, grins and becomes his normal self.

"I'll get Paris," she says turning to yell for her roommate but his hand on her arm stops him.

"I'm not here for her," he says quietly. She realizes almost at once, the grin has slid off his face.

"He left," he says fixedly, as if that solved any question she would have asked him.

"Who left?"

"Jess," he tells her.

"Why would I care?" she asks him, so haughtily that a nearly menacing face crawls over Josh's cheeks.

"Look, he left. He didn't tell me why, but I know it was probably because you two had a row. But he did leave these," he says handing her a shoe box. "And he said something about a girl. I thought he was being a nutter. But then I remembered you."

He hands her the shoe box and he turns to leave, but not before administering the last dagger into her soul.

"Just, ya know, don't be too hard on him," he says turning the corner and out of sight.

She had settled herself ceremoniously on the foot of her bed, the contents of the shoebox sprawled out in front of her. Tears sting the corners of her eyes as her hands mingle with the scraps of paper. She picks up two movie tickets, from one of their few dates. A book springs into her view and she vaguely remembers giving it to him, and never seeing it again. Lastly a letter that was once contained in an envelope is sanctioned in front of her, bearing all her attention.

Rory,

Everything in this box is of, from or about you. I've kept it this long, but somehow I think it's no longer going to be any good to me.There's nothing I can say, or tell you that would make anything I've done or am doing now acceptable. I guess all I can say is that I'm sorry, for being who I am, and everything else that I've done, I'm sure the list is too long to fill this entire letter. I hope that in you reading this you realize that all the excuses I gave you, never added up. But I hope you know you were always the best part of me.

Jess

Seven years later an olive-skinned, dark haired man sits on the bench underneath a magnificent oak tree in Central Park. His presence is expected, as is his usual copy of the The New Yorker, which today he is thoroughly engrossed in. His eyes glaze over the page as he reads one of the sub-headings. "Today's Fiction: Coffee, Yale and Dodger: The story of one woman's desperate desire to fulfill her dreams". He blinks once, perhaps even twice, when he finally sees the name. It doesn't come as a complete shock. It's merely an acknowledgement, nothing special and certainly nothing that should make his stomach flip. "Written by: Rory Gilmore, fictional writer for The New Yorker and overseas correspondent for CNN" But it's not merely the name that startles him it's the dedication just below the heading that makes his heart pound and a full smile spread across his face: "Dedicated to my mother's wit, and Dodger's inspiration, whom without I would be nothing."

A/N: I don't actually know if there really is a fiction section, but thus I've tried to make it all the more realistic. Happy reading.  LacY