A/N: Your basic season four Rory/Jess, I just felt the need to write something like this after watching the episode Chicken or Beef. Also, these season four DVDs: Breaking my heart. The scene in Last Week's Fights with Luke and Jess had me sobbing uncontrollably. That's all. Read on.

You find the number. The slip of paper Luke gave you when you came home from Europe. You remember his face, the way he slid it across the counter in the diner with a simple nod. The words he said before he took his hand off of it, before he let you have it. He said, "It had nothing to do with you." And then there was the pause. "He wanted me to tell you that. He's sorry."

You remember the way you looked up, entirely too eager. "He said he was sorry?" Was that all you wanted from him? An apology? Was that all it would have taken? No, but it was something you thought you deserved.

You remember the disappointment you felt when he answered you, "No, he didn't say that. I could tell, though." That wasn't good enough. You wanted him to say it out loud. It was so easy for him to mean things, but you wanted him to say these things that he meant.

You find this slip of paper where you placed it that night. You took it from the pocket of your jeans and slipped it in between the pages of the book you had been reading. It wasn't a book that symbolized anything. It wasn't a book you read while with him. It was just the book you happened to be reading. A book so irrelevant that you can barely remember which book it was. You search all of them, opening every one of them, flipping through their pages until finally the slip of paper flutters to the ground.

You pick it up with a surprising calm settling around you. You find the phone, buried under a pile of your dirty clothes. Now, your fingers decide to tremble. You let them fumble their way around the keypad and they still somehow manage to find the right numbers. Each of the ten digits being pressed down so easily. You almost wish one of the keys would be stuck, an excuse not to go through with this.

This was a rash decision anyway. A choice made in a moment of weakness. You hadn't planned on actually going through with it, but you're angry now. You're upset now. You have to do this now. You will not stand idly by.

You've dialed the number and you're holding the phone to your ear. Your breathing is erratic at best. Short, shallow intakes of air and long staggered exhaling. However, you're doing what you always do whenever you call anyone. You're imaging them in the moments just before they reach to answer the phone. You're imagining him there with his father. You're imaging his suntanned hand reaching for the phone. You're imagining the way his body moves around the kitchen to the phone that hangs on the wall. You hate that you're imagining his body.

What you don't know is that this is not the scene at all. He is actually lying face down in his bed with the curtains drawn. He is actually not speaking with his father at this point in time. And he certainly isn't suntanned. But, he does hear the phone ring and he does reach over to answer it on the fifth ring.

You are about to hang up. You think no one is answering. You think you should call later when you can breathe properly. Your mouth is dry, your digestive system is shutting down. Your once rumbling stomach has ceased and desisted. Your throat is tight. You start to feel sick on ring number four. By ring number five, your vision is blurring.

Then, you hear his voice, ragged and quiet on the other end of the phone.

You remember why you're doing this. The feeling comes welling up inside of you and you remember what caused you to go searching through those books for this number. Your breathing returns to normal, sadness and rage replacing nervousness.

You speak with a jarring confidence: "Do you know what I did today? I stood across the square from the church and watched Dean get married. Do you know how that made me feel? He moves on and finds his future wife. I move on and find…I find you. A guy who won't even talk to me, who just leaves, who treats me like crap. Do you know what it felt like to see him smiling with her? Do you? No. You have no idea, because you obviously don't ever feel a thing. That could've been me. I was thinking that. What a ridiculous thought, but it's what I was thinking. He invited me to the wedding, you know. I didn't go. Luke told me not to go. Speaking of Luke, you broke his heart. He won't admit it, but you broke Luke's heart, leaving the way you did. God. What did I ever see in you? Why am I even talking to you now?"

You stop, because you're running out of air and because you don't want this to be like the last phone conversation you had with him: unproductive and one sided.

He says: "Rory…" And that's all. He says your name. He says your name and there it is. That's what you saw in him. He says your name and you're weak again. He speaks again: "I don't know what to say here. Did he tell you it wasn't about you? That I didn't leave because of you?"

"Yes, he told me. And it doesn't make any difference. You still left. I still had no idea…" You bite down entirely too hard on the inside of your cheek. You bite until you taste blood. "I didn't even know you! I was with you for six months and I still have no idea who you are."

"I'm sorry." He says it, what you wanted him to say. He gave you your apology. You listen as he breathes in slowly. "That was probably the stupidest thing I've ever said." He laughs.

"And the biggest understatement I've ever heard." You let bitterness lace your voice. You let it bite into him. You want to hurt him.

Neither of you says anything then. You listen for noises on his end of the phone, but hear nothing but his breathing and the soft sound of a radio playing somewhere.

"I wasn't ready." His voice rips through the silence and it almost startles you.

"I know you weren't." You are not forgiving him, though. You make sure he knows this, "This doesn't mean I forgive you. Not at all. You…You embarrassed me. You hurt me." You don't like the soft tone of your voice.

"I know." His voice is also soft now, almost indistinct.

"Well, good. I have to go." You regret this phone call completely. Like your entire relationship with him, it was just a decision made in the heat of the moment with a less than favorable outcome. Like your relationship, it leaves you dissatisfied and just as confused as you were before.

"Rory, wait."

"What?" The anger returns. This time because you wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone just then. He pulls you back in, like always.

"I don't know. I just…I miss you. I want to talk to you."

"Now you want to talk. Right." Your laugh is caustic and you hope he catches it. You are about to hang up the phone. Your hand is pulling it away from your ear. You pull it back suddenly and say, "I'm not giving you a second chance. I don't miss you. I am not pining. I made this call just to let you know how horrible I think you are."

Your thumb is hovering over the button that will end this call when pressed down. Just before you apply pressure, you hear his voice, speaking quickly and desperately, "Rory, I love you."

You hang up. You hang up and say to no one, "It's not enough." And then you pick up the phone again and dial the same numbers and say it to him, "It's not enough." And you hang up for good.

You're doing it again, what you do after you've hung up the phone. You imagine that same person. You imagine what they're doing after they hang up. This time, however, your mind is blank because you don't want to think about him.

You don't realize that he is still staring at the phone. That he is mumbling to himself about how stupid he has been, how that was not something to say hurriedly over the phone. You don't know that he regrets it just as much as you do. You don't know that he listens to the dial tone until that mechanical female voice comes on. You are not aware of how badly he wishes it were as easy as hanging up and trying again.