Disclaimer: I own nothing. Shocker.
Summary: Jess writes Rory a letter, but finds he has nothing to say.
Between the Lines
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The letter, scribbled on a page ripped from a cheap notebook, lay in front of him, on the new table he had purchased from some ridiculously overpriced furniture store, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side. He contemplated it with narrow eyes, picked up his pen, and began to write...
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Dear Rory,
I'm just writing to let you know that I'm doing well, and have recently published my second novel. It's no East of Eden, or The Fountainhead, for that matter, but the critics seem to like it and it's been a small success on the market. I hope you've been in good health, and I congragulate you on your upcoming marriage with Logan. Best wishes for a happy future together, and I hope that---
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The letter stopped abruptly. The pen froze in his hand, and a blot of ink formed on the sheet. He watched it, transfixed as it seeped through the paper, blurring the words into meaningless scratches.
He tore another sheet from the notebook, and tried again.
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Right from the beginning. When I first meet you. Do you remember what I said? That I knew we were meant to be together from the moment I saw you? The memory burns a hole through my vein. Your dorm. You were with Dean. I had just come back again. I came and left and came and left and it makes me a little dizzy to think about all the times I packed my bags to see you or get away from you and everything in my life just revolves around you, you, you...Frankly I'm tired of it. I'm sick of being your substitute, your back-up plan because I could never be good enough to be the first thing you wanted.
I don't know why I'm even bothering to write to you. It's all so fucking pointless now. I'm supposed to be composed, so together because I finally have my own life, my own career, and I'm not supposed to need you anymore. But it's all a blatant lie, and we both know it, because I would be nothing without you. I just published a book, and it's about you, your eyes, your mouth, your expression, your beautiful mind and wit...and I need to stop. And you want to know why I've always been so monosyllabic? Because I'm scared of all the things I would say if I didn't keep my mouth shut.
I'm rambling. I think I just need to get this out, and maybe, maybe if I write down everything, everthing I feel will be transferred to paper and then I can throw this away and not need you. Maybe that's why I started writing in the first place. Maybe I wrote for closure, I don't know. I'm trying to get rid of you, but I don't know how and I want to so bad and I want to just forget everything and move on and I want this to be over and I want...I want you. I still want you still need you and what's happening to you, Ror, you're so screwed up now and, and I think I want to try and fix you if you would only give me another chance, it's not too late too late too late---
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He stopped. His hands shook.
Then, as if he meant to do it all along, he crumpled the letter in his fist, and threw it into the awaiting fireplace.
He closed his eyes, waiting for her to disappear.
Fin
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A/N: So, whaddya think? I usually write fluff but I thought I would give this a try. Hate it? Love it? I won't ever know if you don't review...