"Wow."

Rory turned to see Tristan standing in the doorway of her new room.

Her new room in Tristan's apartment. Her new room not in the Pool House. Away from Hartford society. Away from her grandparents. Away from Emily Gilmore.

"Yeah..." she said, blushing ever so slightly and looking around her room a little embarrassed, and anxious. Would he think it was just a childish phase? Would he demand that she take everything down? Would he laugh at her...? "It's um... you know, decoration."

He stared at her a little dumbfounded, taking in everything she had put up around the room. "You have posters covering every inch of wall and ceiling in here, half of which have sayings that include the words death, blood, and suicide, not to mention several obscenities, and a few guns and other such weapons. Your bed spread it black, your rug is black, your teddy bear is black! Jesus, Rory, even you're totally covered in black. Everything is black. Or just a really dark blue."

Blushing she responded, "No. It's black."

He was still staring at her in stunned disbelief, and she couldn't help but feel a little defensive.

"What," she snapped, waving her arms around in a frustrated gesture,"You thought, when you saw me at the party, that I would actually wear that kind of clothes? Those kinds of dresses? Did the tattoo not give you some sort of clue?"

He held up in his hands in a slight mock defense. "I'm just saying. No need to take out your claws," he paused to look once more around the room,"Or anything else sharp and pointy for that matter."

She gave him a good glare. Pig. Arrogant Pig. Arrogant, Chauvinistic Pig.

"Rory..."

Prick. Egoistical Prick. Bloody moron... jerk. Stupid Jerk.

"Rory..."

God, he had some sort of nerve--

"Rory!"

"WHAT?" She snapped back, but quickly started to feel guilty because of how shocked and slightly hurt Tristan looked from her outburst.

"I was just going to... ask if you wanted some... coffee..." he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. Oh God. She was so stupid.

"Oh." So maybe he wasn't a pig per say... and not arrogant... well, not too arrogant... and chauvinistic might've been over-exaggerating just a tiny, tiny bit... "But, I'll just leave you to..." he trailed, and turned away to walk down the hall. Okay, chauvinistic was totally wrong.

Sighing, she turned back to look at her room.

It was... nice. Black. But nice.

And, um... er, the posters weren't really that bad... There was only... like, 2.. wait, 3... 4 posters with guns on them... That wasn't so bad, was it?

Placing a hand to her forehead she went and sat on her bed, lying back down onto the comfy duvet. Comfy black duvet. What was so wrong with this? What was so wrong with having a black duvet cover? It's not like you were actually paying attention while you were asleep. In fact, it was probably way better for sleeping! It was like... extra night! Right on your bed. Everyone should change their duvet covers to black. It would probably become the newest fad... It made perfect sense.

Yeah...

Turning her head to the side, she saw Mr. Snuffles. Her... black... teddy bear.

To her otherside was her... black dresser.

Well, come on, she thought. I must have something that's not black in here. Clothes? Well, those don't count. Maybe...

She stared at the ceiling. There was a man's face looking back at her, and he was screaming into the microphone, pictures of demons and fallen angels and basically all matter of depressed things surrounding him. To tell the truth, she didn't really know why he was so angry. In all honesty, she didn't really want to know. His eyes seemed so sad... why? Who really cared? He was famous, he had loads of cash and millions of fans, and if she had read an article correctly, he was happily married with a kid on the way.

Was he just faking it? Was it just a song? A cd? Jeez, was it just a career to him?

"Oh, God..." She winced.

"Rory..."

"Dean, just leave... please," she begged him. He wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was wrong.

"Rory... come on... I can't... if I just leave..." Oh, God.

Please stop looking at me like that.

Just say it.

Just say it.

No. Stop. No, I don't want to...

God, just say it!

"Dean! Stop!" He pressed her harder into the wall... she was crying... she was crying?

Oh God, oh God, oh God...

"Rory... oh, Rory, I missed you..." he kissed her forehead... her cheeks, her ears, her neck, her jaw, her eyelids... tasted the tears... salty tears...

Oh God, oh God...

She was sobbing so hard, her throat hurt... "Please Dean!..." she let out another sob as his lips grazed her shoulder... "Please..." she whispered it now... "Oh, God, please..."

He looked up at her; his eyes were so warm, so loving.

Please stop looking at me like that.

Just say it.

Bad memories.

Whether the men and women on her walls we just trying to make a few bucks off of the feelings people like her (ha, what would the 16 year old Rory say to see her like this now?) kept bottled up inside, or if they actually had a few tear-jerking stories of their own, it didn't really matter.

Those angry faces? Those broken hearts? Those suicidal tendencies and songs with lyrics that made you wonder to yourself, just exactly how far were you willing to go?

It fit her mood perfectly.

Yeah, it was true. It may be a stupid teenage phase, and if that was the case then adolescence was playing a cruel trick sneaking up on her at this age, but this was how she felt.

With her mother gone, and sour pasts with some of the people in that small town she had grown up in, moving back was not an option she was yet ready to start perusing in the pamphlet of her life. Especially having to face Luke… and Lane… and Babette and Miss Patty, and god, him. She did not want to have to look into his face and see the guilt and the – ugh – the love. She did not want to be loved by that monster.

Which was kind of ironic if you thought about it.

The one person who loved her – the one person who could give her what she needed most right now, the one person who could offer her something she had been secretly craving for ever since her mother's death… was the one person she hated the most.

True, though, it wasn't entirely his fault. If she was completely honest right now, it was true that no one could have predicted the car accident. It was just one of those things.

She knew that. She had been in a car accident herself, hadn't she? It hadn't been Jess's fault, it was just something that happened. It was just bad luck.

Sixteen-old Rory had been rather forgiving, that was for sure.

But this.

Her mom, dead. Dead. Deaddeaddead.

Breathing out deeply she hugged her Mr. Snuffles to herself, and reached over to the dresser for a smoke. Lighting up, she inhaled it and let the tears roll silently down her face.

She would be fine, soon enough. And then she would have to go see about that coffee, and probably apologize to Tristan.

So maybe something else good was coming from moving in with Bible Boy. Maybe he could bring out the good, innocent, unjaded Rory that was slowly dying inside herself.

Maybe, tomorrow, she would buy a pink T-shirt.

She laughed to herself bitterly.

Yeah, right.

Next Day, 8 am, Tristan's apartment.

After she had cried a bit more, and finished off her cigarette last night, Rory had gone to get coffee, and apologize to Tristan as well as she had intended.

Things were good between them again, thank god, because she really didn't want to live with someone whose every conversation would be awkward and forced everytime she was in the immediate vicinity.

Anyway, Rory couldn't really complain about her living arrangements, Tristan had been right. It was a good idea. And it pissed off her grandmother.

Though not as much as she would have liked, seeing as how Emily had been slightly subdued by the fact that Tristan was from Hartford society, and therefore was deemed at least acceptable. For now.

And that was direct quote. 'For now'. She's almost felt like laughing when she first heard it.

Instead, she'd opted for slamming the pool house door.

Ahhh, good time, good times.

The only sort of not-so-good thing about this whole thing was that Rory had yet to meet the girlfriend of one Mr. Dugrey, and that just proved to make her even more anxious, which as a result just made her more edgy, which as an extended result, made her feel like clawing her eyes out, and anyone else's eyes that happened to have the misfortune of coming into her line of vision.

She couldn't help it. Though she wanted to believe Tristan was a new kind of guy, not so asshole-ish, finally interested in girls with a little more substance… Well, he didn't exactly have the best track record in girlfriends. She didn't want to have to be the shit out of another blonde bimbo… not only would that most likely upset Tristan, she wouldn't have a place to sleep anymore.

Oh, shove a cow in it, she chided herself. You haven't seen him in years. You have no idea what kind of a girlfriend-record he's keeping nowadays.

Now she was awake. Great.

She opened her eyes to see an annoying bright light shining in them.

Stupid sun. She covered her face with her black blanket, which proved as a very excellent sun-repellent.

Well, until it was suddenly ripped from her hands.

"OH MY GOD!"

Holy mother of pearl that was loud, Rory thought. She covered her ears with her hands, her eyes tightly shut to block the sun since someone had taken away the blessed sun-repelling blanket of the gods…

Wait.

"Who are you?" She asked, opening one eye, squinting, then closing it again. She was definitely going to have to change the angle at which her bed was facing the window. This was extremely disorienting.

"Who am I! WHO AM I? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!"

Oh. Reason and logic saw it's way into her brain. Tristan had some explaining to do.

She heard loud running footsteps from somewhere above her. They sounded rushed. This was probably not part of his master plan. The idiot.

"Um," Rory said, swinging her legs out from the covers, and stood up, and reaching at her dresser grabbed her shades and put them on.

She saw dark red hair framing a pretty face… well, it probably would be pretty if it wasn't looking at her like she was something she'd found squished and bloody on the bottom of her shoe. She looked down. And those were rather nice shoes… she would probably have that exact same expression, if she had found something like that on those shoes if they were hers.

"Hi." Yes. That was exactly how she managed to get into Yale.

Oh, god… why did she have to go and bring that memory back into her head?

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She shrieked at her. She started backing up and grabbed a mirror from Rory's desk, then proceeded to wave it at her threateningly.

Rory blinked, but Charlotte – yes, this must be Charlotte – didn't know because Rory was wearing her sunglasses.

"Yeah…" she said, coming her fingers through her hair. "I know exactly how you feel." She walked over to the window (slowly, as to not provoke the red-haired girl in front of her) and closed the blinds, then took off her glasses.

By now, Tristan had made his way into the room.

"Charlotte!" He said breathlessly, and his eyes looked kind of crazy… all sleepy and panicky. She turned to look at him, and Rory almost felt sympathetic towards Tristan. She could tell Charlotte was not planning on allowing survivors during this endeavor. "I can explain," he said, holding up his hands like he was trying to calm her down. Bad move. "Please, calm down." Wow. Her observation skills were indeed improving.

"No, I will NOT calm down!" she screamed at him, still waving the mirror a little frantically. "There is a GIRL in here, A GIRL I HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE, living in our apartment!"

He winced. "I know, I know, just listen please, Charlotte," he put his hands on her shoulders, which admittedly relieved Rory a bit because as much as she could understand where Charlotte was coming from, that was her favourite mirror she was so carelessly swinging around. "Her name is Rory," he said soothingly, "I knew her High School. Chilton. I caught up with her at that society party I had to attend. Okay? She was in a bit of a tight-spot, so I offered to give her a place to stay. There is nothing going on between us. I promise."

This seemed a good explaination to Charlotte, since she didn't say anything for a minute.

Rory could see Tristan getting kind of tenser and tenser as time slowly ticked by. Literally, because you could hear her alarm clock ticking if you went completely silent.

Finally, she put the mirror down.

"That's Rory?" She asked, kind of quietly.

Well, that was interesting. Was she a normal conversation topic in this household?

"That's Rory," said Tristan, still in a soothing kind of voice. "And nothing if going on between us. Her grandparents kicked her out. I'm just giving her a place to stay."

She was still quiet. Rory figured now would be the best time to maybe cut in.

"Yes. Nothing's going on," she said, smiling slightly, trying to act like this was exactly what she had planned to happen. "I promise. Me and Tristan equal bad chemistry. I swear on all that is holy. Well… not that I believe in god… but you get the picture, I just mean, there's nothing going on between us, because I don't like Tristan that way… not that, you know, he's bad-looking or anything, I mean, I don't think he's hot… or, like, I'm not lusting after him or whatever, but I could see, maybe, what you might see in him… but besides that, we're not … secretly dating… or anything…" she let out a long breath, and then blushed.

They were both facing her now, Tristan raising an eyebrow at her, but it wasn't as effective as it might have normally been because he was also trying to watch Charlotte and gouge her reaction.

Finally, Charlotte walked up to her and offered her hand. "Hey, I'm Charlotte. Tristan's girlfriend." Now if that wasn't territorial, she didn't know what was. Oh, well. It was her apartment. And at least she wasn't snapping bubblegum at her and saying 'like' and 'totally' every two words. She shook her hand.

"Yeah. Rory, as you know. Tristan's told me about you… He said it was okay. I thought he'd told you by now… If it's a problem, I can find somewhere else…"

"No, no, that's fine." She sighed, and looked back at Tristan a little annoyed. Which made Rory laugh.

"Yeah, I guess he hasn't changed much since Chilton. Honestly, I don't understand what you see in him." Tristan turned his attention to her and glared, which just made her laugh some more.

And Charlotte laugh. Aha! Progress, at least.

"You and me," she said to him, walking out the door, "we have some discussing to do." She was gone from view, when she came back and popped her head back in. "Oh, and, it's nice to meet you Rory. Sorry about yelling at you earlier," at this she blushed a little, then scurried away.

Tristan sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face.

"She's nice." Rory said, trying to make conversation.

He laughed. "Yeah. She is. Sorry I didn't tell her sooner, I guess I just never found a good opportunity."

She raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Right. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Man, she walked right into that one.

"Actually, Charlotte—"

"Okay! Shut up! Blah blah blah!" she screamed, closing her eyes and covering her ears with her hands.

She heard him laughing and looked to see him smirking at her.

"Hey," he said, heading towards the doorway, "Just stating the facts, man."

She rolled her eyes. "Am I going to need earplugs for when I go to bed, Tristan?"

He just smirked some more at her, which was slightly frustrating, and reminded her of another certain blonde boy…

"Nah. We can find other places to occupy ourselves with. It won't be a problem."

"Ewwwwwwww!" She said, mock-gagging.

"Hey, you asked."

"Yeah, because I concerned for my mental health! Ewwww, now I have… images…." She pouted.

He laughed again, and left her to herself. Probably going to talk to Charlotte. Which made her feel slightly better because the red-head seemed like the type of girl not to let Tristan's charms get in her way of telling him off.

She smiled a little to herself, and then collapsed back onto the bed to get some more shut-eye.

Now that she was living here, she was going to have to get a job. Or… or go back to school.

She had to say, fate was playing a cruel trick, making Tristan's apartment incredibly close to the university campus.

She crawled back under the covers and resolved to sleep for another good hour or so. And then she would get some coffee.

And then, then, she would think about what she would do next.