Cigarette

He pulls out a lighter and his tattered pack of cigarettes.

Fumbling for a few seconds in the dark, he finally manages to get one alight.

He slowly takes a drag, exhales a relieved, but smoke filled sigh, and closes his eyes.

He's leaning against the alleyway behind the diner, rodents his only companions other than the trashcans and garbage piled up around him.

He's thinking about her. Always her. Why? He doesn't understand. She's definitely nothing special. She's got the looks. The tastes in music. Books. Wit. Personality.

Dammit, that's why. She's him, but the exact opposite. She gets to him, though; in a way no other girl has. In a way no other person has. Hell, even he doesn't understand himself as much as she does.

Still smoking, he hears footsteps coming down the street.

He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is. Her. Always her.

He drops the cigarette and steps on it with the heel of his foot, knowing how much she hates them.

She doesn't say a word, but gently brings her hand up to his face. She lifts his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye.

So, he looks.

It hurts him to see the pain. Tears and pain. Because of him.

She still doesn't talk, just stares straight into him, as if he's another book sitting on her shelf.

He understands what she's doing. It goes back and forth…they take turns reading books, and then they read each other.

That's the only reason why it works. Their relationship.

They don't talk. They don't communicate verbally at all, really.

Sure, books and music fill the air space between them. But, they don't talk. Really talk.

He knows it's too nice to last.

His whole life is fucked up...why should this be any different?

It won't be.

Simple, really. It'll be okay for a little longer, but the hill will be come steeper and more downhill as the days go by.

It might as well end it before he gets too attached.

Who is he kidding? He's in love with her. Too late for that.

Timing has always been a factor between them. A problem.

He gets bitter at the thought. First, the town prince, then it's Washington. Then it's every damn thing else.

He brings his eyes back to the girl standing in front of him.

She's concerned, but not naïve. She understands like he does.

It's going to end badly.

He locks his brown eyes intently onto hers. As an apology. He's done. Giving up.

He sees tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, again.

He softly brings his hands up to her cheek to brush them away.

Her gaze turns hard and stony. She too has given up.

They both nod in painful understanding. It's over,

One last kiss, and he's gone.

She looks in the direction he flew off to.

She knows she'll never see him again.

And it hurts, but she'll move on. Because she has to.

And she will. She knows it will be hard, but life is tough.

Jess is tough.

Rory is tough, now, too.

He did it. She's ruined. Never the same again.

She looks down to the ground. Seeing the slowly burning embers of his last cigarette, she reminisces.

He's like a cigarette. They are like a cigarette. It's good while it's there. Bad for those around you. Even though you know from the start it'll hurt you, you do it anyway. Because the pros are more numerous than the cons.

A cigarette.

She never thought she could compare someone to an inanimate object so fully, but she did. And it made sense.

A cigarette…gone for good as the fire dies out.


A/N: So, what do you think? No real timeline, just something I kinda started writing and had to get down.

It's really different than my usual style...tell me whether I should give up on the angst.

Review, please!