A/N: Don't hate me! I had to do it, no matter how depressed it made me. But there are bigger and better things planned for this, don't worry. Much bigger and much better.
Also, I just realized that Logan's last name is a brand of ketchup. Just sayin'.
Andddd, background music for this chapter is .com/watch?v=LEt1xwwcqoU. I always have thought it fits perfectly with Rory and Jess' relationship.
He was shaking. This could not have just happened.
She picked Blond Dick at Yale over him.
She kissed him and still picked Ketchup Boy.
She had come all the way to Truncheon to break his heart again. And she had known exactly what she had come for. Did she really think she was going to sleep with me to get back at that cheater? And did I really tell her that she could tell him that we did? Was I on drugs?
The truth was he had wanted to do it. He had lived like a eunuch since he was seventeen waiting for her. He wanted to make his fantasies come to life, but of course his fantasies never come true. Since when could he even hope he was that lucky? Never, he thought.
He wrote her a book. He wrote her a book! Did she still not care that he got his life together for her? All for her, for no one else, not even himself. He didn't care about himself. It was all for her.
His heart shattered into about a million pieces, and he absentmindedly thought it was ironic that she had meant to hurt Logan, but ended up injuring him instead. That was all his life was, irony.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and chugged. He needed to get drunk. Maybe he would forget that this amazingly horrific day ever happened. Halfway through the bottle of Bud Light, though, he started to cry. He wasn't even intoxicated, he was in the middle of broad daylight, and he was crying. It was really pathetic how much of a hold Rory Gilmore had on his heart. He didn't think that she realized how truly killed he would be because of this. Maybe she didn't care.
He should have been able to let her go, he should be able to get over her, especially after this fiasco, but he knew without a doubt that there was still a huge part of his soul that loved her more than anything else in the world.
These are the times that I wish I didn't give up smoking, he thought wryly. He had really changed. If she had given him the time to explain, he could have told her about the GED, about the college classes, about even the reviews from the Philadelphia Inquirer and Pittsburgh Post Gazette about his book. Despite the downplaying of his novella, he was really proud of it.
He didn't get it: what could possibly make Blond Dick better than he? He wasn't the greatest guy ever, but at least he didn't drive a Porche. What a jerk. He never remembered Rory being the superficial type. Maybe he didn't know Rory at all.
That's not it, he told himself. You know her better than anyone. He thought back to the last time they had seen each other, when he practically screamed the truth at her. She obviously needed to hear it, judging from the way she acted, the way she held herself up, like she was afraid to let go for fear of spontaneous combustion. He remembered how her face had gone into total surprise when he mentioned her birthday. What happened to make that memorable? Did Dickhead forget it or something?
He was an emotional wreck.
He shook his head, and downed his third beer. Things were getting fuzzy. He had imagined what it would be like to see Rory Gilmore again, but the one thing he knew for sure was that things were not supposed to go like this. "Maybe we'll catch up at a better time." What is a better time? And why was their timing always shit? Why couldn't he get this one thing that he wanted? Did life have to hate him this much?
There was nothing left to do when it came to Rory Gilmore; he had exhausted all of his opportunities. Either she had to come to him, or there would be no them. And he wanted a 'them' really, really bad.
As for now, he would wallow with some Ben and Jerry's chunky monkey, that bottle of vodka he forgot he had, and Almost Famous.
He snorted. Lorelai herself would be proud.