Losing My Mind
A/N: So I kept my promise and put this chapter up within the self-set two-week deadline! Ta-da! Told you I could do it. Anyway, this chapter will be longer than most and contain more action. Oh, and I changed Emily to Emma, because I realized there was already an Emily on the show. Now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado I present to you…drum-roll the fifth chapter of the critically acclaimed 'Losing My Mind'!
-&-
"You'd better go, Tristan," I say, quietly, my head hanging as though I'm already facing my mother, already acting the part of the ashamed daughter. "It would make things simpler, you know? But thanks. Thanks for everything. For saving my life and for helping me home." I look up briefly and smile a weak, though – I hope – encouraging smile at Tristan, who's standing behind me looking out of place and awkward. You can imagine the picture we make: me standing before the door, getting ready to ring the doorbell, my left leg poised behind my right as though I dragged it all the way here. Tristan, standing a few steps behind me, looking down at his white sneakers, his hands in his baggy jean pockets and his gaze periodically flitting towards me to see if I'm still OK.
"Oh, yeah," he mutters hurriedly, turning to leave. But as he makes his way down the stairs, a pang goes through my heart and something feels terribly wrong. I told him I would go to dinner with him, he showed up to pick me up, found me lying on a street, saved me from being run over by a car, accepted my refusal, watched me trying to speak to my boyfriend even though I had a broken ankle and had to drag myself to his door, and then helped me all the way home only to be turned around. The pang comes again as I muse the whole scenario, but harder this time, and more urgent, as he's at the bottom of the stairs and almost at his fancy sports car.
My eyes start to fill with tears of frustration; why is everything so complicated? What should I do? Call him back and say…what? What should I say? Or should I let him simply walk away like that, dejected and upset? Should I simply ruin his day and then suppose that my pathetic 'thanks' bridges the gap between us and makes everything OK? Why is everything in life always so. Damn. Complicated?
But I make my decision, although I still don't know what I should say. "Tristan!" I call, nervously. "Tristan…I…just wanted to-"
The door flies open and I find myself in someone's arms for the second time that day, completely enveloped and not able to do anything, shocked as I am. "Rory! Oh, Rory, you're OK! I thought…I called…Rory!" Sobs choke my mother's voice as she lets go of me and pushes me back a little, scanning me for injury as I start to get my bearings back and attempt to turn around, see if Tristan is still there. Tristan, wait, there's something I want to tell you! There's something I need to tell you! And I don't even know what.
"Mom…Mom, I-"
"Oh, Jeepers Crow, I called the police, Rory! I called the Stars Hollow police and told them to look for you and the whole town is looking for you, Rory!" Stars Hollow has its own police station? Lorelai lets out a nervous, weak laugh and I can see her body shaking, I can see for the first time now how white she is and how scared she must have been. "Thirty minutes that seemed like an eternity, Rory! And the police are looking for you…they called and they said that one of them saw you running across a street and tried to stop you but you were in another world, or something, and you didn't listen, and then you almost got hit…Rory."
Tristan is forgotten, everything is forgotten, because it doesn't matter. Slowly, gently, I lead my mother into the living room and I set her down on a couch, trying to disguise my broken ankle as I do it, though it's throbbing horribly and I know I should be at the hospital. "I'm OK, mom, see? I'm fine. You're worse off than I am. I'm OK, calm down, it's alright." I try to make my voice as soothing as possible as I lean over her and give her a hug, making sure she doesn't see my ankle.
"And I called Queen Gilmore, and she yelled at me about how I'm a terrible parent, and she's right! She's right, Rory! All I could do was shake and call people and run up and down the street and wait for you and be worried and god, Rory, where were you, how could you do this to me, why did you just run away like that? You knew what it would be like for me! I was so worried and I thought I was going to have a heart attack when the policeman said you were almost hit and I was just… so… worried!"
"It's OK, really, I'm fine! I just needed to-"
"RORY! Your ankle is broken! I need to take you to the hospital, NOW!"
"No, really, mom, I just need to have it bound up and it'll heal itself, it's-"
"It is not OK! Your ankle is broken and you are going to the hospital, now, young lady! And I mean it!"
(…)
It's the next day and my ankle is sweating inside a sort of plastic and cloth boot thing that makes sure it has the space and time to heal and doesn't get hurt or hurt me anymore than it already has. The doctor said I didn't have to have crutches if I didn't want to, because the boot is big and padded enough for me to walk on and not have throbs of pain shoot through my ankle every time I put pressure on my foot. Lorelai is finally calm, but she's still a little upset with me and warns that if I come back from school with anything else broken or she gets any other reports of my 'oddball-behavior', she's not letting me out of her sight for a year. Ouch. And on top of that, every single person in Stars Hollow, even those few that I don't know, have stopped me on the way to school and started lengthy conversations or simply inquired about my well-being, then exclaimed over the boot. Bad start to what looks to be a bad day.
School ends, the whole day going by with me avoiding Tristan and him avoiding me. Paris and Louise and Madeline, after exclaiming over my stupid ankle, see that something's wrong and leave me alone. "Uh, yeah, I um…I slipped," I say to whoever asks. And they know. Or at least they sense it. They know something is amiss so they shut up real fast. And pretty soon everyone's avoiding me and not the other way around.
After school I know what I have to do. Slowly but steadily I make my way to Dean's house after leaving my backpack in my room and changing into the fancy clothes I wanted to wear for Tristan. Now I want to wear them for Dean, which is the right thing to do anyway, something I should have done all along.
When I tell mom that I have to go somewhere and she probes a little further – which is totally understandable – I sigh then tell her. "Dean's. I'm going to see Dean, mom." And she remembers what happened when she mentioned him yesterday and looks at me quizzically.
"Oh, Rory, did you two break up?" she asks once again in her motherly voice, putting a hand on my arm after an awkward pause. She smiles as though she knows all.
"Something like that," I inform her after thinking for a while, feeling bad about not telling her the whole truth. But then I run the story through my head and don't feel so bad anymore…Oh, see, what happened is that Babette accidentally dropped a safe on my head and something went loopy inside the old noodle and I haven't been the same ever since. And therefore I thought Dean was a stalker or something so I yelled at him and told him he was creepy and I didn't like his hair, which probably didn't go down well. Then I was almost hit by a car except Tristan saved me. Did I mention that I went really, really loco, so I thought I liked Tristan? Crazy and very not Rory-ish, I know. So anyway Tristan saved me from dying, which is why I have this stupid, itchy cast thing on my ankle in the first place – no, not from Tristan, from almost dying – and- what's that? Why did I run onto streets at full speed again? Oh, yeah, because I suddenly remembered I wasn't crazy but apparently I still was, because I almost died, and I wanted to go to Dean and tell him this story. I'm sure he'll forgive me as soon as I tell him the same thing I just told you. Speaking of which, what am I planning on telling Dean, exactly?
"OK, well hon, what was it about?" Lorelai asks, breaking my reverie. "Because if it was about something dumb, like not being able to tell him you love him, I wouldn't worry about it. Oh, and if you'll take it I have a tip for you; sugar-coat everything around guys. They always take it when you do. Funny, it's the same with me; if you put lots and lots of sugar on a frog's liver and tell me it's a marshmallow, I'll gulp it down."
"Uh…thanks for that?" I offer, raising an eyebrow at Lorelai and trying not to laugh. She grins down at me, and then I remember the other part. "Oh, and breaking up over not being able to tell him 'I love you' isn't dumb, mom. It's a really important, critical part of a relationship. I mean, if I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?" I slip my arms through my coat-sleeves lithely and quickly before she gets the chance to say something else and detain me even longer, then exit the house.
'If I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?'
(…)
"Emma?" I interrupt her ramblings regretfully, because I delight in watching her talk. Everything about her – her voice, her face, her hands, her body – is so expressive. And her beautiful, red lips moving make me want to…
"Mhm?" she pauses her speech about the beauty of Shakespeare and his extreme genius and yet the flaws in the minds of modern-day people who 'think they understand Shakespeare' to listen to whatever dumb thing I have to say.
She looks so pretty, so perfect, sitting there with her dainty hands resting on her lap, grinning as though today, spent with me after I invited her over yesterday to talk about Shakespeare, is the best day of her life. "Are…" I gulp and my voice quivers. "Are we..." I can't do it. "You look beautiful today, Emma," I tell her with a weak grin. I can't do it! Why can't I ask this beautiful girl the question lingering on my mind: 'Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?'
"Thanks, you look very dashing," she compliments, grinning at me. "Anyway, like I was saying, I think Shakespeare is pure genius. Most people think Romeo and Juliet is meant to be a great but tragic love story, supposed to show how selfish feuds are and how pointless too. And I agree half-way with most of that, but I have another theory. I mean, Juliet was 14 years old and Romeo was…what? Well, much older, we know that. And he was previously 'madly in love' with a woman named Rosaline until he set eyes on Juliet, who he then proceeded to fall 'madly in love' with and forgot about Rosaline completely. So the point is that men are very pretentious, can't be trusted to love one woman for always like women do with men, don't even know their own feelings well, and don't hesitate to take advantage of pretty young girls. And in Hamlet, some people think that-"
"How do you know?" I blurt, my eyebrows knotted as I listen to Emma's accusations of Romeo.
She stops and looks at me in confusion. "How do I know what?" she asks, her pretty green eyes suspicious.
"How do you know that the truth isn't this: Romeo thought he loved Rosaline, but it was a mistake. He found the right one, the real one, 'his true love', in Juliet. How do you know that all men are unreliable? And how do you know that if they had both lived Romeo would have eventually cheated on Juliet by finding someone else he claimed to be 'madly in love with'? How do you know he hadn't, in truth, found the real one and didn't plan on loving any other girl, ever, in his lifetime?"
Emma's eyes are wide and her lips quiver. I finish my spur-of-the-moment, forceful speech and suddenly feel awkward. I wait for her to say something. She doesn't.
"Sorry." I attempt to laugh, loosen the tense atmosphere. "I guess I got a little carried away there, sticking up for Romeo." Another fake chuckle. "But if girls are always sticking up for their sex, why can't boys, right?" I smile at her. Still she remains exactly as she was when I finished my speech.
And then, finally, she speaks, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. "I don't know. And I guess I won't ever really know. But I'm willing to let someone prove me wrong."
I feel that same, strange feeling that coursed through my veins when I starting blabbing about Romeo now, except this time I know what it is. I know why I said all those things, I know the real meaning behind them.
And I know that it's right when our lips connect, and suddenly I'm kissing my Juliet.
(…)
I arrive at his doorstep and when I hear Dean's and a female's voice my racing, excitable mind jumps to the conclusion that he's talking to his mother, or Clara, or some other perfectly innocent female that he's related to. I test the door and it's unlocked, so I push it open and step inside, almost holding my breath in anticipation. What will I say? Hi, Dean. Sorry if this is unexpected, but-
Now that's unexpected.
"You're eating her face." In my shock, I let it slip out. Oops. The two detach themselves with looks of guilt on their faces, as though they've been caught in bed together and not just kissing, and turn to look at me.
"Mom, I just-"
And then he stops. Gasps. Gapes.
"Rory." It's stated as a fact, not a question or an exclamation.
"Sorry, who?" the petite blonde next to him asks, eyebrows knit.
"Rosaline," Dean murmurs. And the blonde understands.
But I sure as hell don't.
'If I don't love him then why am I going out with him in the first place?'
(…)
"Rosaline." There's my Rosaline, standing before me as beautiful as ever, even more beautiful than ever, as she's wearing clothes that only accentuate her sparkling, light blue eyes and her curves. She's obviously confused, which starts to give way to hurt as her mind assesses the situation.
"Dean." She says it the same way I had said her name. Dry. To the point. And a little hurt. Surprised. Confused. Numb. What's happening?
While she stands there, taking it all in, and I sit there, taking it all in, and Emma watches patiently and anxiously, I'm able to give my Rosaline a proper looking-over. She's beautiful, let's admit it. Her pants are bell-bottom, faded blue jeans that cling to her legs as though for dear life. She's wearing modest brown boots that aren't overdone at all. Her shirt is a deep crimson, setting off her hair and her eyes in comparison, and the sleeves are long and flow at the end. Her dark, mahogany hair is twisted up in a bun but a few strands hang down to her shoulders loosely, as though she simply, quickly slapped her hair into a bun without caring. But I know that girl-trick and it doesn't work on me. She cares very much. And she came to my house…
And suddenly she has that steady, determined look on her face that I know so well. That I once thought I loved with all my heart. "Dean…I just came here to say sorry for how I acted…before. Something serious happened and I was just…it's inexcusable. I just wanted to say sorry to you. And I won't lie; I came here hoping to say sorry, be forgiven, and be your…your girlfriend again. But I've been replaced. And I was an idiot, and a bitchy one at that, if I thought you would sit around moping, waiting for me to come running back to you with lame excuses. And I'm happy…I'm happy that you're not that kind of guy. But I already knew that. I knew from the start that you were too good for me Dean, but I dismissed it. I have to face it now. So, anyway, I'm happy…for you, as I already said."
I listen to her voice choke with tears as she says the last words and watch numbly as Rory, my Rosaline, runs out the door and down the street, hiding her tears. "Good-bye, Rosaline," I murmur, grief seeping into my heart. She wasn't Rosaline, she was Rory! I love Rory! But when I look over at Emma, sitting beside me and holding my hand for comfort, though I hadn't noticed it before, I know that Rory was my Rosaline. Although, for someone out there, she is a Juliet.
"I bet that never happened to Romeo," I tell her with a watery smile. "He was too cool and slick for that." Emma smiles slightly at me, but doesn't say anything. She knows this is my moment, my moment to battle with the emotions inside me. And she has to wait and see what will come out of it. "What happened to Rosaline in the end, anyway?" I ask her after a pause.
Emma shrugs. "The last we hear of her she's at the ball where Romeo meets Juliet. But she doesn't interfere with the romance, because she never loved Romeo in the first place. He was madly in love with her but depressed because she rejected his advances."
"Oh," I say, lamely. "So Rosaline never really loved Romeo? Was he her Rosaline?"
Emma smiles gently. "In the play, no, Rosaline never loved Romeo."
"Oh." I pause, studying my fingernails. "But Romeo loved Juliet," I point out in a whisper.
"True."
"Is there a Romeo and a Juliet for everyone? And what about those people who think they have a Juliet but they really have a Rosaline?"
"That's why divorces happen."
"Oh. So is there a Romeo or Juliet for everyone?"
"I believe there is. Not everyone finds their Romeo or Juliet. But some lucky ones do."
"Do Rosalines get Romeos?"
"There is a Romeo for everyone, even Rosalines and Parises, but it depends if you find them or not."
"What's a Paris?"
"The male equivalent of a Rosaline."
"Oh." A pause. "I found my Juliet."
"I found my Romeo. I think. Please don't turn out to be a Paris."
A laugh. And then serious again. "I hope my Rosaline finds her Romeo."
"Me too."
