Losing My Mind
A/N: Oh, jeez, I realize this fourth chapter must have taken a ridiculously long, monotonous time to appear on the site. Sorry! I can't promise, but I'm pretty sure that the fifth one will be up within less than two weeks. What would you do with yourselves otherwise, right?
-&-
It's the next day, after school – which I decided to skip, for once, under pretense of being sick, which is partly true; sick from giddiness over the thought of going out with Tristan – and I'm trying on lots of different outfits in preparation for this evening. Lorelai still doesn't know anything about it, because she was over at Sookie's last night. I had pop-tarts for dinner, of course, so I was OK, and she knew it. She called me a thousand times anyway to make sure of it, but I could hear Sookie's giggles so I know she really had fun last night even though she worried about me so much. I'm planning on telling her the minute she gets home…
"Rory? Rory, I'm home! And I have…pizza! And more pop-tarts for the morning, too. Did you say you liked blueberry pop-tarts? Because I got cherry. I think blueberry pop-tarts are gross. But interesting. They're blue. Blue! A blue pop-tart! How unusual and fascinating is that? I think some scientists should research the miracle of blue pop-tarts and if the company that makes them uses plastic or…plastic to make them. Because, as fascinating as the color blue is on a pop-tart, it tastes like plastic painted blue. Not that I've ever tried that, but I have tried the equivalent, which is blue pop-tarts."
Mom's home! And what an entrance. I race down the stairs and present myself to her with arms spread out and a 'ta-da!' lingering on my lips, which are pulled up into a wide grin. "Ta-da!" I announce, almost letting out a giggle.
Mom drops the bag she was holding up, inside which are boxes and boxes of cherry pop-tarts, "In case we run out." Her mouth falls and her eyes quickly take in my appearance before she lets out a shriek. "Where did my Rory go!" she yells in mock horror, dropping to her knees as though begging me to return her daughter. "Who is this monster standing before me, pretending to me daughter, who is probably stuffed inside a black limousine's trunk amid tools used to perform this new Rory's evil deeds?"
I roll my eyes and hop down the final stairs, then morph into my serious mode. "So, watcha think? Pretty?" Lorelai raises one eyebrow and does several circles around me before nodding her head slowly.
"It needs a few adjustments…but otherwise it's pretty good. If I just snipped a little here and added some fabric right there…" She's holding up one of the sleeves with her head tilted to one side, her eyes that of a professional. Suddenly she looks up. "Wait…why the outfit? Is it your fifth month anniversary with Dean, or something? Or your 20th week anniversary with him? Ooh, I got it! It's you and Dean's fifth day observing Kirk making out in the movie theaters with his suspiciously acquired, gorgeous girlfriend Lulu and throwing pop-corn at them anniversary! Tell me I guessed it!" She pauses again, the eager expression on her face replaced with one of a concerned mother. "Why aren't you laughing. Did you break up?"
"Mom…" I whisper, my face utterly pale and my limbs shaking. "Did you say 'Dean'?" She nods slowly, a frown now pulling her lips downward.
"Did you break up, honey? Because you know what happened last time; you made up after you told him you loved him. I'm sure this is a trifle again, something that can be solved with a, 'Dean, Dean, please take me back, I love you!' speech adopted from Romeo and Juliet, which you have now memorized by heart after being forced by the frightening Paris to perform it with the very hot and yet supposedly 'annoying' Tristan." Lorelai is trying her hand at humor again, but she doesn't realize that she's only worrying me more.
"D-dean…" I mutter, ghostly pale now and stuttering. "Are you sure that you said 'Dean'? And not…'Lean' or 'Mean' or something? Are you sure, mom?" Please say no, please say no, please say this was a joke and you and that creep are both in on it.
Her voice is soft, reassuring. "Rory, if you don't want me to say his name anymore, that's alright. But I just think that this can be easily resolved if you would only-"
"No!" I yell without meaning to. "No, no, no! That's not what I'm talking about! Please, just tell me if you were talking about a tall guy named Dean, with floppy brown hair and warm brown eyes…? And his voice is kind of like this?" I try to imitate his strange tones, my lips quivering with anticipation.
Slowly, Lorelai nods. "Honey," she tries again, genuinely worried.
"No, mom, you don't understand," I say desperately. "I…I said…I thought…I made a terrible mistake…I said he was…I said we were never…" Abruptly, I grab my jacket from a peg hanging on the wall to cover the ridiculously fancy outfit I'm wearing and sprint out the door, out onto the street. I run across several streets but my eyes are straight ahead and I don't care if I get hit by a car or not. I nearly do, several times.
I see his house, it's in front of me now. Just one more street to cross…Suddenly I trip, quite possible over mid-air, and sprawl flat on my face on the street. I don't even realize the pathetically large danger I'm in, lying, my ankle probably broken, in the middle of the street. My mind is foggy and only one thing is clear, I remember only one thing; Dean is my boyfriend, who I love very much, who loves me very much, who I just yelled at and gravely insulted.
I don't even have the perseverance to get up from my pathetic position. I just lie there, my mind whirling. Safe, Babette, losing my mind, head hurts, Tristan, said yes to a date with that creep, yelled at Dean, thought he was a stranger, losing my mind, love Dean, Dean's hurting inside the way I am, I should really get up, I hear a car, will I die here, on a street, inches from Dean's house, would be fitting, I'm pathetic, why does anyone like me, why does Dean like me, he shouldn't, I'm pathetic.
"Rory!" The voice is one I faintly recognize, that only pierces my dream bubble slightly and then bounces off like a ball hitting a rock wall. I am a rock wall. Rory, Rory, Rory, Rory! My name, Rory, Dean, car…
And the next thing I know I'm lying on top of a breathing, living, heaving body sprawled on the sidewalk outside Dean's house, and the thing is panting. I'm still in the bubble, oblivious to nearly everything around me, but I do realize that I'm outside Dean's house. Slowly, grimacing, I lift myself up and attempt to crawl to his door, my head aching, my side cramped and my left ankle twisted in an unnatural position. Dean, sorry…
"Rory, you idiot, what do you think you're doing?" that familiar voice groans in pain. "You were almost hit by a car and would have been dead if I hadn't jumped in and dragged you onto the side-walk. Your ankle is obviously broken but now you're trying to crawl like a two year-old learning to walk to that door-" The voice stops talking abruptly. 'That door,' I can hear him thinking. 'That door is…'
"So you didn't mean it after all. You still love him. Love him so much you would drag yourself to his door even with a broken ankle," Tristan observes bitterly, resent in his voice. "Would drag yourself to his door even after I just dragged you off the street. You would do anything for him, wouldn't you?"
The bubble is popped and Tristan's voice is the pin that did it. I collapse in a heap on his lawn and bury my head under my arm like a bird to hide my tears, but I'm sure Tristan hears my sobbing. "I said…I told him…I told him he wasn't my boyfriend! I told him to go away! I thought he was a stranger, I though he was stalking me, but he's Dean! Dean! I acted so…towards Dean! Oh, Tristan…" I'm sobbing and my body is shaking, the pain of my broken ankle forgotten.
And then his arms are around me and I dissolve utterly, letting my head rest on his shoulder, sobbing pitifully and losing my mind. "It's all falling apart, and I don't even know how! How could I not recognize my own boyfriend? How could I say such things to him?" I'm so miserable I don't even remember where I am and who I'm with. "And how," I add, still sniffling and my tears still flowing, "How could I accept to go out with Tristan? Something is very, very wrong." In my sub-conscious I feel him stiffen slightly as I add in the last part, but soon he's comforting me again.
Eventually my sobs subside and I'm left in Tristan's arms, my ankle broken, outside Dean's house, and completely confused. I quickly dry my flowing tears on my coat's sleeve and then pull away from Tristan as I finally realize the awkwardness of the situation. "Tristan," I whisper, aghast. "I…"
His cheeks are red. He's…he's blushing? "Rory, I know that was way too fast and way too close. But you were crying and I…"
The tears are flowing again but now my mouth is pulled up into a faint, grateful smile. "No, thanks. I know it must have been really awkward, and we're outside of…his house, but thank you."
And suddenly he seems happy too. "So, dinner tonight?" he asks, grinning and suddenly jovial again. "I was coming to pick you up when you…we…" he grins in a helpless sort of way, implying a, 'hey, you know.'
Suddenly I'm the awkward one again. "No, Tristan," I whisper, staring at the cement underneath me and picking at my shoe-lace. "I was…when I said I would…something was wrong." My voice is a hoarse whisper and when I look up I'm searching for forgiveness in his eyes. But there is none. Suddenly they're hard and reserved again, and he's looking at me with something equaling disgust.
"Ah, I see," he says, dryly. "'I'd have to be stupid to think that, given our history, you would ever, barring a piano or a safe falling on your head, wanna go anywhere with me, ever.' Right? I forgot that little detail."
I blush deeply and almost regret my earlier, stinging words. "Tristan I…" and then my eyes light up. "Wait! A safe…it happened! A safe fell on my head and I agreed to go out to dinner with you!" I'm grinning like a fool and a laugh escapes my lips. "Oh, that is rich!"
He doesn't seem to understand the humor in the situation. I suppose for him there is none. "So a safe fell on your head and you're saying that's the only reason you accepted when I asked you out. And now you're all normal again and your sane mind tells you I'm a jerk, albeit a jerk who just saved your life, and you would never ever, in your sane mind, agree to go out with me. Is that it?"
My eyes harden now as well. "Tristan, I would never go out with someone I didn't like just because they saved my life. I thank you very much for it, but it doesn't mean that by dangling that fact in front of my face you can make me feel guilty and obliged to go out with you. I won't go out with you because you saved my life. The day that I find anything close to like in my heart toward you, I'll tell you. That day I'll accept your offer. But even if now, crossing the street, you saved my life again and subtly made me feel guilty about it so I'd accept your offer to dinner, which is probably based on a bet, then I don't think I ever will. I will never go out with someone through guilt. That would be wrong and imply feelings that don't exist and are being forced through expectations."
He looks down briefly and when he looks back up he's gazing toward my left ankle. "You'll need help getting home," he mutters. I nod my head curtly and slowly he helps me stand, starting the process of walking home. As we cross the street where I had my near-death experience, I shoot one last glance at Dean's house. And I can swear that I see him sitting there, in his living room, playing chess with a petite girl with long hair and laughing. Dean.
