Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or Gilmore Girls. I also do not own Lifehouse or their lyrics.
Authors note: I know, I know! It's been a while since I've updated, but I have been working so much to save my for University, it's crazy. . . they want to milk you for every cent you're worth! Jeeze. . . Anyways, I'm done my rant. Thank-you for all the wonderful reviews, I'm glad the last chapter was well recieved. I was a little apprehensive to post it.
To everyone who reviewed, you have no idea how much they mean to me. . . I write for myself, but when I get all of your great reviews, it just makes me want to write that much more. I love you all, thank-you :) So here is chapter five!
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One. . .
Two. . .
Three. . .
Four. . .
Rory squinted towards the ceiling as she tallied the number of black and white tiles that made the ceiling. Her head was rested against the hard, cement door and her feet were propped up against an open box, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. To anyone else, it would look as though her spine was being bent at an unnecessary angle and her neck would have a terrible crick when she attempted to sit up, but in the eight hours she had been trapped in the diminutive storage room, she had never been more comfortable.
The empty slim-jim and twinkie wrappers were strewn over the concrete floor and 'Swann's Way' lay open beside her.
Rory sighed. "Thirty-seven," she announced triumphantly.
Tristan looked up from the 'recommended for ages 9-10' book he was mulling over, and looked at her in confusion. "Thirty-seven what?"
"Ceiling tiles," she announced as though it was the biggest discovery she had made.
"Congratulations," he commented, his voice dry. He glanced at his watch, scratching his head and looking wearied. "Eight hours. . . can you believe we've been in here for eight hours?"
"Well, it feels like we've been down here for eight hundred hours. My mom is probably going crazy with panic," Rory said with sadness lacing her voice. She glanced at the floor where Tristan's reading material had been cast. "Finally reading something that you can comprehend?"
Tristan rolled his eyes. "For your information, it was the first book I saw in this box," he defended. "Besides, there is nothing wrong with liking 'Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret'. It is very educational for those little pre-teen's running around out there."
Rory let out a laugh. "I read that when I was four."
"Well not all of us are brainiacs like you, Mary."
"Hey, I am not a brainiac. I just like to read."
"Well so do I, but I manage to have a healthy social life at the same time."
Rory could feel her defenses rise. "I have a great social life, thank-you-very-much."
"I've never seen you talk to anyone besides myself or Paris here at Chilton, and you only talk to me when you're forced to."
"That's because my life isn't here at Chilton or in Hartford like yours is. My life is in Stars Hollow, and that's how I'd like to keep it." Rory crossed her arms and sat up. She grimaced as the pain flowed from her neck down to her spine.
Tristan shrugged. "Sorry." He inched his way closer to Rory until he was leaning against the door beside her. "You know, all we ever do is fight."
Rory nodded. "Exactly why I tried to avoid you for so long."
"How did we go from acting like what some would call 'friendly' towards each other to fighting like there's no tomorrow?"
"Well, in our case with the lack of oxygen in this stupid room, there might not be a tomorrow."
Tristan raised his eyebrows. "Clever, but I'm serious here."
"So am I," Rory replied with a shrug.
Tristan leaned closer. "Come on. We have this love-hate relationship, but I like it. It works for me."
"Maybe for you. In my case, it's a hate-hate relationship."
"You wound me," Tristan said, a pout taking over his lips.
Rory could feel her defenses weakening as she looked at his full lips. His eyes were full of desire as he took in her appearance. Her pony tail was now slightly off center, and a few stray hairs had fallen loose from the elastic. She had taken off her navy blue sweater and the cuffs of her Chilton blouse were unbuttoned and rolled halfway up her arms. Her skirt was rumpled from sitting in different positions and her shoes were no where to be found. He had never seen her look so hot.
He smiled to himself as he leaned closer to her face. His lips grazed her cheek, eliciting a small sound from Rory. His teeth captured her ear lobe and nibbled lightly; he knew he was driving her crazy. His lips traced a path down her neck until they stopped at the corner of her mouth. He was about to dip down to kiss those lips he had been craving ever since they had been locked in the storage room when he heard a clear smack, accompanied by a searing pain in his right cheek.
He lifted his hand to his cheek in effort to lessen the sting, and then looked at Rory incredulously. "You slapped me!" he accused.
Rory's eyes glowered as she lifted herself from the floor. "I had every right to," she said indignantly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Tristan's mouth dropped slightly. "I thought we had an agreement!"
"Yeah, that you would never touch me again," she said pointedly. "I can't believe that you just spieled all that stuff about friendship to me and then tried to seduce me!"
Tristan let out a haughty laugh. "I did not try to seduce you! I was just going to kiss you. God, it's not the end of the world." He stepped closer to her. "Why can't I just have my cake, and eat it too?"
Rory could feel her jaw dropping. "I cannot believe you just said that." She grabbed her sweater and pulled it over her head, sitting on a box on the opposite end of the storage room. "You disgust me. I am not you're cake."
Tristan laughed. "I never knew you were so uptight."
"I'm not uptight! I just don't appreciate being used like every other girl you've ever dated. I'd rather not be a number on your list, or your trophy girlfriend for the week. What happened to your little speech about me seeing you in a different way, that I had the wrong first impression of you? Because right now, you're acting exactly like you did when I first met you; irritating, arrogant, conceited, and the list can go on." Rory looked emotionally drained as she finished her rant. "After you shared all that stuff about your family, I thought we had actually reached a mutual agreement; we would be friends."
Tristan sighed. "You are not that girl," he said forcefully, sighing. "I just don't think I can be 'just friends' with you. I'll always want more."
"Well, I can't give you more right now."
"So where do we go from here?"
"I don't know," Rory replied honestly.
A thick silence hung in the air, both teenagers looking clearly defeated. Fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door broke the utter stillness, and a voice was faintly heard on the other side. "Rory, honey? Are you in there?"
Rory jumped up and ran to the entrance. "Mom!" She called, pounding on the cement. "I'm in here, open the door!" After nine hours, the door was finally open with a resounding click. Lorelai ran into the small room and embraced Rory in a hug that almost knocked her over. "I was so worried about you," she said, bringing her face back to look at Rory's relived expression. "I had no idea where you were!"
Mr. Medina walked in and took Rory by the shoulders. "I am so sorry, Rory, I didn't mean to leave you down here. I had forgotten all about the books and then the bell rang, and I figured you had gotten side tracked, and. . . well, I'm really sorry." He glanced at Tristan. "What are you doing in here?"
Tristan ran his hands through his hair, and replied thinly, "It's a long story."
Mr. Medina accepted that, and then ushered everyone out. "Now, let's all go to our respective homes and get a good night's sleep before all of us get locked in here again."
As Lorelai lead Rory down the long hallway, regailing stories about what a nightmare it was to be at Friday night dinner alone, Rory glanced behind her and saw Tristan, alone, and felt pang of sympathy for him. She sighed, and looked away, not yet ready to deal with all the emotions that were running through her.
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I can't be losing sleep over this, no I can't. . .
And now I can not stop pacing,
Give me a few hours I'll have this all sorted out,
If my mind would just stop racing.
Cause I can not stand still, I can't be this unsturdy,
This cannot be happening.
This is over my head, but underneath my feet,
Cause by tomorrow morning, I'll have this thing beat,
And everything will be back to the way that it was,
I wish that it was just that easy.
Cause I'm waiting for tonight,
Then waiting for tomorrow,
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real and just a dream. . .
What is real and just a dream. . .
What is real and just a dream. . .
Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in,
Don't be surprised if I collapse,
Down at your feet again.
I don't want to run away from this,
I know that I just don't need this,
Cause I can not stand still,
I can't be this unsturdy, this cannot be happening,
What is real and just a dream. . .