Losing Honor In Literary Devices
Chapter 2
Disclaimer: I am no way affiliated with Gilmore Girls. The show belongs to the CW. I am no was affiliated with Rory or Jess, Milo Ventimiglia or Alexis Bledel. Or Homer's Illiad or Odyssey. This is simply a fan fiction.
Just for all of you who haven't read it, this fic refers back to a lot of stuff in Homer's Illiad and Odyssey. The books describing the Trojan War, and Odysseus's journeys after it trying to return back to his wife Penelope, and home Ithica.
Thanks for all of the support for this fic!
She didn't sleep well that night. She hasn't known the feeling of sleep in a long while. Too long. The musk still filled her lungs, suffocating her as she tried to sleep. Fingers wrapped around blankets, turning her knuckles white as she gasped for air, biting the covers between her teeth until her jaw hurt.
She had no honor. But yet, we have already established that.
She woke up alone, just like how she had gone to sleep. The covers on the other side of the bed were neatly made, cold, and lonely. Kind of like her. She raise out of the blanket cocoon that she had buried herself in just to have the cold air rush to her body, wrapping around her, tensing her muscles.
She walked into the living room, bare feet leaving the carpet and plodding across the wooden floor. The answering machine flashed red, and there were three new messages on it. Rubbing her eyes in a desperate act to vanquish the sleep that resided there, she traveled to where the plastic box sat atop a bookshelf.
It took up the space where classics were supposed to dwell. Not that she ever had time to read anymore. She hadn't lost herself in a good book since he left her. But never mind that. She made a mental note to replace the books that used to be there.
She solemnly hit the button to play the messages. All three of them were from Logan. One telling her that he wouldn't be home last night – surprise there, one just to "check up on her"- doubtful, and another saying that he had to work late again tonight – right, the kind of work that would leave you satisfied, with a random woman's hair tangled in your fingers.
She deleted them with the push of a button, and walked over to the bathroom. The granite tiles were cold against her feet, and she stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes were dark, and shaded over. Her lips were chapped and her hair was mangled. The oversized t-shirt hung limply around her body. Her skin was pale, and it displayed her freckles clearly.
She thought this must have been how Odysseus looked when he dressed up as a beggar to disguise himself from the people of Ithica. Rory, although did this to disguise herself from the person she had become.
She turned on the water. The bathroom immediately clouded from the steam that was being generated from the shower. She pulled the shirt over her head, it getting lost in a nearby corner. It exposed her bare back. She was thin. Each of her ribs were clearly visible. She hadn't felt like eating lately. It required too much energy.
She thought that it might be depression. But depressed people don't know they are depressed, do they? Something about denial. She remembers reading it in some magazine while waiting for Logan to get home. She waits too much. Again she is Penelope, weaving that blanket alone in a corner, with no one to help her.
The water pours down her skin, scorching the porcelain as it traveled down the curves of her shoulders to her lower back. Mascara from the previous night cascaded down her face, and burned her eyes.
She stepped out. Her auburn hair snaked around her face, dripping water from the ends to the floor. She stood in front of the mirror once again; this time the steam had hidden her, to where she only sees white. She is a ghost. Or at least she has become one, she can no longer see herself. She brings up her hand to the mirror, and steadily draws lines, and slowly, she can see herself again. Not that she wanted to.
She got dressed, and sat down on the couch. It was stiff, not well worn in. The phone sat across from her on the coffee table. It taunted her. She knew she made a promise to cal him, but she was scared. She didn't now what to say. Their last conversation clearly demonstrated that.
That spear in the back of her mind taunted her. It constantly told her she had no honor, and her only response to it was to push it further back into her mind, proving its point. Finally she grabbed the phone, and dialed the number until her fingers froze at the last button. The door of the apartment swung open, and Logan stood in the doorway.
She quickly hit the end button, and threw the phone onto the other side of the couch. Something always stood in their way.
Forever together. Forever apart.
Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, with a smug smirk plastered on his face. He thinks that he is suave, but the only person that she knows that can flawlessly pull of that smirk is the man that she refuses to battle. Achilles.
"Hey Ace." She silently cringed at the nickname. She hated it, but it had made him happy, so she let it go. He walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her frail body. She stiffened at his touch, and snapped her eyes shut.
He wasn't supposed to be there today. According to his message, he wasn't supposed to be there until tomorrow evening. She, although was smart enough not to bring it up, knowing that it would just start another fight. So she let it go.
Oblivious.
Her hair was still damp, and it left his shirt moist when he finally let her go. She let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding, before taking her seat back on the couch. She picked up the phone, and caressed it, acting like it was her last possession on earth, and smiled.
Logan eyed her, confusion written on his features. He had gotten past asking her why she did things. He walked into the bedroom, grabbing a bag before returning to stand in front of Rory.
"I'm going out tonight. Don't expect me back until tomorrow sometime. I'll call to check up on you. Okay?" He asked her, placing a small kiss on her cheek. Her face burned, and he turned to walk out the doorway, closing the door behind him. He probably didn't even know that she didn't speak one word to him, yet alone why.
Her hands were shaky this time when she dialed the number. She held the phone to her ear when he picked up. Her voice was small.
"Jess, I need help." She spoke slowly into the phone; her eyes were shut, silently praying that he would say something; anything.
All the while that spear had dusted itself off, and had moved somewhat before returning to its original place, only to be slightly less dusty.
She was in dire need of a backbone.
Okay, I don't like it as much as the first chapter, but I felt the story needed this as a base for what is coming up. Sorry about the slight Logan bashing. I am a total Lit shipper. So once again, sorry. Thank you for all your reviews! I'll update again when I can, and if I get enough reviews. Thanks! Review!
-missed the train