Chapter Three: New York City

---GG---

Author Note: I just want to make it apparent, to everyone that's not understanding this at the moment that this is skipping a lot of time between chapters. Like months, even years. I just hope you all understand that this won't last for very long! Thank you!

---GG---

I close the wrought-iron gate, encasing Rory and me in an iron cell. The lift clanks into action, and I hum inside my mind slightly. As we increase our height, I can't look at her first. I make myself after a few moments, and she's smiling at me like the movie, which was inescapably horrible never happened. Her smile is so lopsided that it's sexy.

I swear, Rory is the only girl that could ever pull a smile like that off.

We'd been dating on and off for about four years – more off then on. We'd been dating ever since the day after we were almost caught in the act in her bedroom by her father.

She'd been the perfect girlfriend for a while – then she went off to Yale and I went off to Columbia. The distance was rough – so I broke it off. I didn't know how stupid that move was until later on that year at her grandparent's Christmas Eve party. We'd ended up in her bedroom upstairs, christening her bed more then three times.

That night was the last time I saw her until that following Spring – she had been dating bag boy again at the time. Well, that didn't last to long after I told her that I still had a remarkable amount of feelings left for her. We were together again within the week, and baby I was happy.

"All right," I sighed, resting my back against the wrought-iron bars, taking in her look, "All right." She laughs, and places her hands on her hips like she's listening to a lame excuse. "What's so funny, Mary?" I ask as I move towards her, stopping inches away from her.

"You are. You're what's funny."

"Whys that?" I asked, focusing my gaze on her lips. They looked unbelievably pouty, and I wondered if she'd used that stupid lip venom stuff my sister is always raving about.

"Because that movie was horrible, and you picked it. You have horrible taste, and that's funny."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she says, looking up at me and meeting my gaze with those perfect, dark blue eyes. I'd always thought they were so carefree before – but that was prior to our first big blow out.

It was massive – it ended in her not talking to me for more then three months. That was our second break up. It was rough, knowing that she was dating, and sleeping with other men while I sat around and let all the women hit on me, never taking one back to my apartment for a rendezvous in my massive bed.

We'd fought over her visiting her friend Jess in New York City for the weekend. She had wanted to cancel our plans to go to the Hamptons. I was pissed – I mean, wouldn't anyone be ripped shit over their gorgeous girlfriend going to visit some scum for a weekend without the protective eye of her boyfriend?

I bring my face down towards hers, and she breathes out. I smirk, and make to kiss her directly on her lips before deciding at the last moment to kiss the apple of her left cheek. I heard her groan, and I know that I should be devouring her lips whole by now, but the lift stopped.

"C'mon," I purr, grabbing onto her hand, and wrenching the gate upwards, pulling her into my studio apartment.

It was a simple place—one bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, living room and an office. I was studying to become an architect and all of my nonsense drawings sat sprawled over the floor of the office. It wasn't remotely cheap – but that's what you get for wanting a studio apartment on the upper east-side of Manhattan.

I didn't pay for it – my father did, and God knows that my family was loaded. The apartment was five grand a month, but being on my own, was worth it.

"Nice apartment," Rory told me as I led her by the hand to the kitchen nook.

"Thanks. Would you like some coffee?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

It's our fourth first date and it's going like it always has before. We'll talk, get overwhelmed by our emotions and wind up in bed before the coffee maker even beeps, letting us know its ready. I nod in response to her rhetorical question, and flip the coffee maker switch on. I prepared it before I went to pick her up four our date, knowing that she'd want some when I took her back to my place later on.

I wasn't expecting sex – it just always happened, not that I minded of course.

"You know me so well," she says, her voice far off, and I can tell that she's looking around my apartment, probably in search of a knick knack or two she'd bought me when we were previously dating.

"Anyone with a brain would know you always have coffee on the mind," I say leaving the kitchen nook in search of her.

The door to my office is open, and the light is on. I know I found her.

I walk across the living space, and towards the office door. My back rests against the doorframe as I watch her, letting my blue eyes settle on the back of her head.

"You? Tristan Orion Dugrey? Have a brain? I must be dreaming," she laughs, turning around and throwing a flirty grin my way.

"You've been dreaming about me, Mare?" I leer, a smirk she knew in high school plastering itself across my face. "If you've been dreaming so much about me, you could have called me up. I would have loved to make your dreams become reality."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

"Well what's taking you so long, then?" She asks, moving forward.

I snake my arm around her waist, and pull her flush against me, her chest rubbing against mine. I groan, and bury my head into the crook of her neck, laying gentle kisses there. Inhaling her scent, I smirk, before pulling away slightly, "I didn't want to make you do anything you didn't want too," I tell her, kissing the crease in her forehead away.

Rory raises her eyebrow at me, and I avoid her gaze while I kiss her hair line. "Whatever," she says, pulling away from my grasp, and looking in the direction of the kitchen. "The coffees done," she says after the familiar 'ting' sounds.

"Of course," I say curtly, brushing past her, leading the way back to the kitchen.

I pull two mugs off the top shelf of the cabinet, setting them on the counter top before removing the coffee pot from the maker. I pour her mug almost to the rim, and I pour myself only half that. I'd never been much of a coffee drinker – but when you're with Rory as much as I am, it kind of grows on you. Keywords being 'kind of'.

"Thank you," she says as I hand her the mug of stifling hot coffee.

"No problem," I say, covering a yawn up as I raise my cup to my lips and take a long, sip, swallowing the liquid with a harsh throat.

"Why are you mad?"

"What makes you think I'm mad?"

Rory shrugged, and set her cup down on the counter, before crossing her arms unhappily over her chest, "Just a woman's intuition."

"Well your intuition is severely wrong."

"Ugh!" She cries in frustration, throwing her hands in the air, "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"This! Every time things get good between us, you become this pompous jackass that only wants sex!"

"What are you talking about?" I yell, staring her directly in the eye, slamming my mug onto the counter, letting steaming coffee splatter over my wrist and forearm—I'd worry about it later.

"Forget it!" She snapped, walking away from me, and out of the kitchen, "I'm done with this. I'm so sick of trying to make things better between us."

"Rory," I yell after her, jogging to catch up. "What's your problem?"

"You."

"Me? I'm your problem?"

"What? Are you deaf or something? I think I just said that, Sherlock."

"You're such a bitch!"

"I'm a bitch, now?"

"Are you deaf? I just said that," I hissed, mimicking her. I gave her a glare, crossing my arms over my chest, hoping she would shrink under my gaze. "I think you're scared," I say, raising my eyebrows.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I think you're scared of me."

"Fine, you know what? I'm scared of everything! I'm scared of what I saw back when we were together the first time! I'm scared of what I did, and I'm scared of who I am because of what we had together." She tells me, avoiding my gaze by staring down at the floor.

"Rory…"

"But… most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you."

"Rory.."

"But I'm done… I can't do this anymore, Tristan. I know what I want – but you need to figure out what you want."

I feel helpless as I watch her walk towards the door, and into the lift. She closes the wrought-iron gates with difficulty – I can tell by the strain in her face. She bites her lip, and looks at me one last time, before allowing the lift to take her downwards, and back into the streets of New York City.

I sigh, and run my hands through my blonde hair, making them tousled and bed-head looking. I can't believe I just royally screwed up my relationship with Rory Gilmore-Hayden… again.

Where the hell are my cigarettes? I feel the need to kill myself off a little bit more tonight.