Author's note: I'm going to issue the same apology I left over at The Kid (FYI, new chapter IS up) which is, reality got in the way of fantasy, but I didn't forget these fics and am working on them once more. So, as a show of good faith, I'm giving you the next chapter of my baby.
We are the subsect is a fic that was born out of my curiosity of how Jess would write and how his fictional self would cross with the real Jess (who, in turn, is also a fictional character). Fiction within fiction is one of my favorite topics to broach. I hope you still feel up to exploring this world with me.
I have a few concerns which I will voice at the end. But for now, enjoy reading...
CHAPTER 3 - Reality
She's changed her name since I saw her last. Legally, she says.
She's picked something biblical, but I won't tell you what.
We don't talk much.
I sleep a lot.
I want to ask about the postcards, but I don't.
She wants to tell me all her plans, but she doesn't.
We are dishonest.
We are bruised.
We are alive.
Her mattress and her sheets make me scratch my bare arms. This is the underbelly of Smalltown, USA.
Nothing ever smelled this good.
- - - - - - - - - - -
An envelope addressed to him arrived at Truncheon at half-past noon on a Friday.
The address and other information had been typed onto the plain brown envelope. He wondered if it was a bill, or a will, or a lawsuit.
He placed it in his back pocket and grabbed his jacket, announcing his intentions to go out to get the paper.
The sun was out, and the salad was suffering because it was not in season. He picked through it. He didn't even bother picking up the paper. Reviews came out Tuesdays, and it was Friday.
The envelope in his back pocket made a swooshing noise as he ordered coffee, a reminder of its presence.
He opened the envelope rather violently, tapping it against the table, then tearing off the opposite end.
He took a sip of his coffee and opened the letter.
The handwriting, so familiar, burned into his fingertips.
Damn, damn, damn.
Damn it.
He couldn't read this letter, her letter, in the corner coffeeshop.
He couldn't.
Slowly, without a sound, he left a twenty on the table and took off.
- - - - - - - - - - -
She'd chewed on her fingernails for almost a week, until there were no more fingernails left to chew.
And now, she didn't quite know what to do with herself.
At the bottom of her letter, she had told him about the reviews, about this… fork in the road.
Had she taken the right path?
She knew it was contrived to think it, but she had taken the road less traveled by.
She had always taken the road of evasion before.
This time…
This time she hadn't.
This time she'd taken a chance.
Where that would lead, no one knew.
She delved into the final chapters of a recently published novel, for this week's column, and tried to shake it all off. She had done what was needed, what had been needed for a long time.
Now it was up to…
Well, it was up to Jess.
- - - - - - --
I leave the apartment days later.
The town seems to have changed in my absence. A myriad of seedy characters have found their way onto the streets and no one is as trusting as before.
Scamming quarters on corners garners me only a couple of nasty looks and a scream.
This, too, is my fault.
I left this town, damaged and bruised.
I left this town damaged and bruised.
Everything I touched, I killed.
On my dashboard, a pebble, a guitar pick.
A ghost town turned hostile.
I throw up on a street corner.
- - - - - - - - -
He walked home in a daze.
Home: an apartment with four-walls-worth of books and most of his earthly possessions in diverse piles on the floor.
A table.
White paper.
A pen.
He folded and unfolded the letter fifteen times before reading the first line.
It started, oddly enough, with an apology.
His thumb pressed into the paper with increasing force. If he'd given it any thought, he would have been afraid to tear it.
He took in every letter, every word. Her handwriting was neater, if that was even possible. The ink had pooled at the end of every other word, where he knew she'd paused looking for the next word, and the one after that.
It felt like rubbing salt in a thousand tiny paper cuts.
It felt like being in an airplane, losing cabin pressure, with no oxygen mask in sight.
It felt like he was coming undone.
And maybe dying a little.
He crumpled the letter into a ball, tossed it dismissively into the trash can next to his desk.
Twenty minutes later, he was back, laying the paper flat again, uncrumpled.
He couldn't help himself.
And so he read it all over again.
- - - - - - - - - -
She was sipping her third cup of tea when the phone rang.
Yes. Tea.
Rory Gilmore had not had a cup of coffee since she'd sent the letter.
Punishment, or something like it.
These days, when the phone rang, she jumped.
She let it ring twice.
Her mother.
Rory greeted her kindly, but cut the conversation short.
These days, she didn't really feel like talking about her life, or reminiscing.
These days, she felt as far away from Stars Hollow as from actual stars.
Far far away.
As soon as she hung up another call came in.
For the first time in a week, she picked up the phone calmly.
On the other side of the line, complete, total, utter silence.
Her heart stopped.
"Jess?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
A click and a dial tone.
- - - - - - - - -
He heard his name on the other end of the line, and his instinct of self preservation kicked in.
She could hurt him with such ease.
She could flick her wrist and end his life.
He hung up.
He took a deep breath.
He dialed again.
- - - - - - - - -
She was staring at the phone, crying.
She was willing it to ring.
And so it rang.
She picked up the receiver, slowly.
"Sorry," his voice said, at the other end of the line.
"No, don't," she said, and her hand flew up to her mouth. She just couldn't hear him apologize.
"You're here," he stated.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Ballard and 32nd."
"I'm fifteen blocks away," he said, a reproach.
She took a shaky breath. She knew he could tell she'd been crying. "I know."
Silence.
Then he gave her a sign that there was still something of him that she knew. He took a deep breath and said, harshly, "Stay there."
And so she did.
- - - - - - - - - - -
She doesn't ask me to stay.
This town makes me sick and she cannot cure me, and these are things I know all too well.
But if she asked...
Maybe.
I load the car up.
She gets into the passenger seat.
I don't move.
Neither does she.
We stay like this, at the edge of town, for hours.
When it gets dark, we are ready.
- - - - - - - - - -
Jess approached her door and knocked apprehensively, like the stranger that he knew he'd become.
Rory opened the door quickly, too quickly. She kicked herself mentally.
No mind.
It became evident at first sight that the years had not been kind to either of them.
In his mind, she was never this thin. And her hair had a lot more red in it. Then again, she wore a braid now. Like a school girl.
She compared him silently to who he'd once been. His hair was longish now, an odd cut that went every which way. His fingernails and his teeth had that slight tinge of regular smokers.
They looked at each other, as far away from perfect as they could be. Memory had covered them in a glow that quickly shattered in the presence of each other. So all they could do was lie.
"You look good," he started.
"So do you," she bullshat.
"No, I don't," he countered.
Honesty.
It was never their strong suit. Maybe now it would be. She tucked a strand of lose hair behind her ear.
"Neither do I."
Each at either side of the doorway, they stood.
"Months you've lived here, fifteen blocks away," Jess said, finally. "Why now?"
"You asked me to let you know what I thought," she replied.
It was the most honest answer she could think of.
Silence.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked, mustering all her courage. She stood aside to let him through.
"No," he answered. But he walked in anyway.
Because it was never so much a want as a need.
Because some things he was compelled to do.
And because she had invited him.
Their relationship had been nothing if not vampiric.
- - - - - - -
He noticed her fingers were tinged in the blue ink she'd used to write him the letter. Her hands shook as she handed him a cup of tea.
He drank the scalding liquid and swore under his breath. She sat on a small couch and brought her knees up to her chest. She looked about six years old.
"I thought you were traveling the world," Jess said.
"Internet," she confessed.
"Luke never said..."
"I asked him not to."
"Oh."
Silence. He sipped his tea.
"I am sorry," she said, sighing deeply.
"What for?" he asked. He wanted to sink his teeth into her intentions, to rip open her lies. He wanted her exposed.
And, as much as he hated admitting it, he wanted her.
"For the last time I saw you. For this." She gestured towards the world with her hands. "For forcing my way into your life again."
"If you're so sorry why did you do it?"
Rory shrugged. "I couldn't help it."
"This is a big city. We could've never run into each other."
Rory nodded. She half-laughed at her own ridiculous behavior. "I have spent a long time hardly ever leaving the house. Afraid I'd run into you. Afraid I'd have to face you."
Jess nodded. He stood up to leave. "Now you can walk around in peace then. The city's yours."
"Jess..."
He turned, furious. "What, Rory? What did you expect me to say?"
Rory shrugged, trying to hold back tears. "I don't know, ok? I just thought I'd tell you what you needed to hear. Or maybe I'd tell you some truth that I'd omitted in the past and I'd be free of you." She let her empty teacup fall to the carpeted floor.
On her feet, Jess found that she seemed even smaller.
"Free of me?" he asked, confused.
"I've spent the past five years of my life with you in my head. Wondering why you left, why you came back, why you kept popping in and out of my life, why I didn't run after you. And the last chance I had to make good with you, the last chance we both had to tell the truth, you were wide open and I just shielded myself, lied to both you and myself."
"Lied?"
"Lied."
Jess shook his head. "Lied about what, Rory?"
"I didn't love Logan. I was in love with him."
"How's that different?" Jess asked. Then he thought again, "You know what? Never mind. Why should I care?"
"You shouldn't. You have a life, you moved on."
"Damn right I did," he said, taking his jacket off the chair and shoving one arm into the sleeve. "Humor me, though. Enlighten me, Rory. What's the difference?"
"Being in love is like being blind. Loving someone is like your eyes are being held open all the time, until you cannot blink anymore. It's Clockwork-Orange-ey and it hurts."
"Logan hurt you if I remember correctly," Jess pointed out, settling down a bit.
"But in the end, when all was said and done, I had no trouble letting go of him. And once he was gone, neither of us ever looked back. But I can't help looking back at who you and I once were. "
Jess ran his fingers through his hair. "What do you want from me Rory? Forgiveness? You got it. Wish granted. You're free." He spoke staring at the floor. It took him several minutes to notice that Rory was sitting down again, sobbing softly.
"I just want someone real in my life again. Someone I can talk to," she said, sadly, defeated.
Jess shook his head and opened the door to leave. "I don't think I can be that someone, Ror."
And, without a goodbye, he walked out the door.
TBC...
Author's note Numero Dos: I'm afraid I might have jumped the gun and that the meeting is much too early. But then again, I figured, after the letter came, what else could happen? Please tell me what you think. Thanks as always for reading and sticking through this even during the loooong hiatus.
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