Summary: Literati. You begin to lose your radio station. Short one-shot.
Disclaimer: I do not own GG, etc, etc.
A/N: Gah, it's been a while. Well, a long time for me. But I got extremely bored, and this is what comes of my boredom. Just a semi-fluffy Lit. Yup. Short, I know. Definitely a one-shot. Enjoy, and please review!
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You begin to lose your radio station. In an hour, it's all static and the state lines are flying. Honestly, you don't even like it very much. The DJ is loud, and he likes Good Charlotte; but sometimes he spins The Ramones when you're stuck at a traffic light. Now, the radio picks up whatever frequency it can handle and pumps you some alternative rock, the crappy kind with diluted guitars and nasally vocals. But you're sweating to the lyrics on I-95, accelerating through white lines and pavement.
A rest stop at three in the afternoon. The scene is sickening and the smell of packaged everything is wrestling your stomach. You're not even sure what state you're in until you see the oversized, printed cotton t-shirts with New Jersey across the chest. An Indian man behind the counter asks if you want one. All you want is for this to stop. You buy a soda.
You thought it was over. You've got the shakes. Great. The aspirin in your palm begins to melt. There are no more than two sips left in the can of Coke, so you swallow the pill dry. It almost resurfaces from the turbulence in your stomach. You suck cold outside air, outside of his apartment, outside of your mind.
Wait. Maybe it's her apartment. It's under his name, of course, and he pays the bills. She stays there, but she's a guest, and she probably uses guest towels. The less fluffy knockoffs of the kind he uses. You stop thinking about the towels.
The thick heart behind your tongue makes you choke a little, when you spread your fingers over the door. She answers after you rap your knuckles through the wood. She has that glassy expression, more relief than surprise, and you can see the bottoms of her front teeth through her parted lips.
"Jess." She exhales your name, blowing it like smoke from her lungs. The door opens wider, pushing light over the pool table and bar chairs.
"Did you know there's no tax in Delaware?" You spill, slipping into the apartment.
"What?"
"No sales tax in Delaware. I bought a pack of…I bought a drink there. On the way."
"No, I didn't know that…" Her eyes circle your face.
"Well, it's true," you nod.
"Oh. Jess, I thought---I just--- what are you doing here?" she stutters, beautifully, and your mouth lingers open.
"He's not here, is he?"
"No."
"Look. I drove here, Rory. Thinking. Thinking I'd turn around when I saw his car out front. You love him?" You're so out of breath in a manic way and your fingers are hot on her forearm.
"I loved him," she sighs. The clock on the wall is dead with weight and the curtains drag over the night backdrop. You step closer. A time-stopping heartbeat in your chest quiets as you lean into her face.
"You love me?" You ask with a smart smirk, the famous teenaged one she has dreams about. No immediate answer, but her fingers curl around your wrist. A tingling shoots through your hand. Her mouth pushes into yours, her teeth pulling gently on your lip. It's the skin on skin contact you needed, still high from her yesterday kiss. In the back of her throat, the deep, hollow dip, you think you hear her moan "yes".