It had been a week.
An exact week.
In fact, this was the very minute last Friday that he decided to dial her number and ask her if she wanted to meet for coffee.
It was raining back then and now, it was one of those beautiful autumn evenings, when the wind blows strong and the color of the setting sun sets the buildings and the clouds over the city on fire, bathing everything in an orange glow.
Then again, there was always a chance of rain. He knew that by now. It seemed to be that kind of fall this year. You had to pack your umbrella just in case.
He stared out of his office window, having finished his work hours before. He couldn't break away from the sight, enjoying as the colors changed over the city from one minute to another.
He felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket and he sighed expecting it to be something work related, even this late in the evening.
He stared at the display for a long second as he read the name 'Mary' flash.
His heart seemed to flutter as he reread the word over and over again to be sure.
There was only one Mary in his phonebook.
There was a Mary Johnson and a Mary Miller and perhaps a Mary Wilkins too, but there was only one Mary.
He cleared his throat and turned around, resting his back against the window as he accepted the call.
"Hello?" he asked, pleased to find his voice coming out calm and confident.
He listened to the silence at the other end of the line and instantly recognized it as her angry silence. As there was several of this too.
There was her expectant silence, her reassuring one, there was the one when there was too much on her mind and everything seemed to weigh in on her, stopping her characteristic ramble.
And then there was her angry silence, the one that was like the moment of calmness before the storm hit hard and merciless.
He braced himself as he heard her take a breath.
"So you were just not going to call?" she snapped but didn't wait for an answer despite him opening his mouth to protest amused.
"We go through all this crap. All this fucking crap and you go and make me think that we are actually going to act like decent human beings and listen to each other and figure this out and then you fucking go and don't call me for a whole week?" he heard her voice, part accusing and part amused. The exact ratio that seems to be designed to let any listener wonder whether it's supposed to be humorous scolding or true indignation.
You never could tell with her.
He would have smiled, had he not been so caught off guard at the moment.
"Ror-" he tried but was cut off by a fresh wave of complaints.
"I don't know what I was thinking! That maybe you actually cared? That "See you around" actually means seeing you around. It apparently changed meanings again, it's crazy, apparently there was a whole memo on this circulating with the hip, young crowd, that I didn't get, because to me "See you around" actually means seeing the other person around..." she went on frantic, making him wonder if she really and truly was pissed. She took a breath, suddenly halting the ramble and he tried to intercept.
"Rory, can I..." he was cut off once again.
"...whatever around means. That's another lame phrase. What the heck is around? Is it around something? Is it around the block? Just around the block, like "I could be running into you any minute?" What the heck is that? How would you know you are going to be running into that person on a freaking island with ten million people?" she went on, the conversation unnoticeably shifting from playful to grave serious, making his smile fade off his face. It was just like her to get worked up during a ramble and say things she didn't intend to.
"Rory" he tried again, his voice pleading as he closed his eyes sighing.
She finally seemed to run out of effort or air or which ever, because she finished her angry rant and sighed, hurt echoing in that long breath.
"You could have called too" he simply said, his voice calm as ever, despite his whole body being on full alert.
Another silence.
This time it was the shocked one. When her lips slightly part and her eyes go a slight bit wide and she takes a sharp but quiet breath.
He chuckled silently picturing her do all this.
"You're supposed to call" he heard her murmur and he smiled even wider, picturing her pouting annoyed.
"Yeah? There was a memo about that too?" he replied and he bit back another chuckle hearing her huff.
"Fine, whatever, you know what? I don't even care. I don't know why I called" she replied hurt.
"Because you missed me" he said, without a hint of cockiness, just cool and calm confidence.
He heard her choke on her breath and he listened, giving her time to ponder her reply.
"And you are jealous" he added, seeing that she needed further provoking.
"What?" she shrieked "I am not... you know, you can go and sleep with Anna or Amy or whatever her name was, it's none of my business, okay, I don't care. But then..."
"I didn't sleep with Anna" he broke off her rant, his voice free of eagerness "not this week anyway" he added getting inpatient, despite knowing it would be a low blow.
"Oh, busy week then, huh?" came her quick reply, hurt echoing in her voice.
"You know, you're quite a critic, despite you going around to people's houses begging to have sex" he shot back, already regretting the words as he said them, realizing the shift in the conversation suddenly turned into a full blown tilt, pushing them over an edge he was so careful to avoid in their last couple of encounters. He cursed himself for saying things like that and listened, hoping she would graciously move past the whole interchange. His hopes were not granted as there was silence on the end of the line, the angry one again, then the phone went dead as she hung up.
He cursed, banging his head back against the window behind him and he dialed her number turning around and resting his head against his propped up hand on the window.
"Come on, Mary, pick up" he bargained, his eyes squeezed shut as he counted the rings.
He got to six, when she finally picked up and his ear was rewarded with another angry rant on full volume.
"You know you got some nerve bringing things up over and over again. Fine, I went to see you, because I missed you. I called you because I missed you. I tried over and over again because I fucking missed you, because I just couldn't give up on this, but obviously I should have because all you do is hold onto grudges and pretend like you never did anything wrong. Because you are perfect and this is all my fault..."
"Where are you?" he asked, his voice so calm, so quiet, he thought she wouldn't even hear. But somehow it had the power to calm her down.
He heard her sigh, her breath coming out ragged, like she was biting back tears.
"Bethesda Fountain" she mumbled and his eyes snapped open.
Images flashed before his eyes as he recalled those summer memories, during the first year they were dating, when he would sneak off of work in the afternoons and meet her by the Fountain to have some lame sandwich for lunch, her summer dresses shining brightly in the blazing sunshine. The times he would blow off work for whole afternoons if her work, and more so, her vigorous self control allowed them to spend time together. The way he would feel 16 again, walking in the sunshine with her, even if back at 16 he never really had the chance. The way her body clad in the thin and flimsy materials made his body feel as she lay back against his lap on the green lawns of the park. The way he would get aroused and would beg her not to move as he torturously tried to get control over his body. The way she'd tease him mercilessly and wiggle in his hold just to make his job more difficult. All those memories were pure bliss.
And pure pain as he opened his eyes to the cruel autumn skyline.
He took a deep breath as he realized that he could probably not mention a place in this whole freaking town that wouldn't remind him of her, that wouldn't hold some bittersweet, fucked up memory of their time together. Every single street, park and building had a story, one of their stories, and walking the sidewalks of this town was utter suffering most of the time.
"Stay there, I'll be there in a little while" he finally said, pleased to not find her protesting.
He hung up the phone without saying goodbye and closed his eyes for a second trying to calm his nerves and certain parts of his anatomy, that seemed to have been fooled by the images his mind could paint from memory. He sighed frustrated knowing that the full process would probably take him the better part of the walk to the park, and hoped the cool autumn weather would help.
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It was a grave misconception, really. That springtime was the time to be in New York. Even with all the life and green and beauty and hope that city seemed to posses between the capricious storms and suddenly warm, sunny afternoons, anyone who's ever seen the sad and true colors of Central Park during a gloriously wet autumn would know that there is no other time to be in the city than the fall. The colors seemed to dance and whisper as they moved through the trees, the sky painted a heartbreakingly similar color to her eyes in the early October sunset.
He moved through the gravel sprinkled pathways with ease, his long-long years as a resident guiding him, making him seem like a true New Yorker, even if he was just a rich boy from Connecticut. He pondered for several minutes whether he should close his eyes. For he would probably find his way to her anyway. Not precisely to her, although that was an interesting thought in itself, but rather to the Terrace. And perhaps that way he wouldn't have to engage in being occupied fully by those insanely intense colors of red, brown, green and yellow that seemed to yell and demand and make any heart surge and start screaming.
But he discarded the possibility as he realized, it might be hard to look at these colors, but it made him feel more alive than any pain could ever do, despite the rawness and sharpness.
"Fuck spring, fuck summer" he murmured and chuckled at the long forgotten connotation. This is the time of the year, he added, the thought voiced only in his head.
He stopped suddenly, pulled back from his thoughts as he realized he arrived at his destination. With his back to the impressive Fountain that towered behind him, its angel standing over him like a protective guard, his eyes narrowed as he searched the arcades on the far back of the Terrace knowing full well her figure would be there somewhere hiding in those shady confines.
He wasn't sure he spotted her, but his legs started moving in a direction anyway, and he thought back of the pondering about eyes closed and him finding his way to her despite it all.
Sure as rain she was there, her figure crouched up on a bench telling him that she'd been sitting there for a while now.
His eyes travelled over her figure, from her black trench coat pulled protectively over her body, down to her her knee high black boots and skirt.
He cursed.
"Fuck those boots too" he murmured frustratedly, noting the returning feelings he thought he had managed to control during his short walk from his office building to the park. It would have been cause for questions, had she heard, but he was quiet enough so the strange curse wouldn't echo off the walls of the arcade.
He sat down beside her realizing she probably sensed his presence the minute he stepped foot on the Terrace, as she hardly moved, just hugged her body stronger without looking up at him.
"You cold?" he whispered, his voice strangely concerned.
She sniffed a reply and he could tell it was not just the cold causing her congestion.
"How long have you been sitting here?" he asked. Worried by the rosiness of her cheeks. She didn't reply, stubbornly staring at a spot on the ground.
"Let's walk" he said, concerned about her catching a cold, sitting on those cold stone benches, for who knows how long, but she didn't budge and he gave up trying to persuade her, sighing instead as he leaned back on the bench prepared to give her time to talk.
He stared out over at the Fountain, admiring the way the arcades framed the stark view. His body seemed to calm down, the heat from his brisk walk happily dissolving in the coldness of the air around them and he noted how comfortable it felt to be sitting here next to her, despite all that had transpired between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm, as though she'd just realized this as well.
"It looks so different in the fall" she said, looking out over the Terrace and he felt compelled to look at her, searching her face for clues to why their thoughts and memories, their minds and not just their bodies seemed to be bound together by some sick will of fate.
"Yeah" he agreed quietly "looks more real."
It didn't really make sense, what he said, at least to anyone else but him, but he was somehow confident she would understand. They did, after all share the same line of thought.
He looked back out over the Terrace and pondered why that seemed to be true for them and whether that was a peculiar coincidence.
Finding someone that it didn't take much effort to talk to, because their mind seemed to be working in such similar way. He remembered how it felt to, finally, talk to someone about things that bruised him for so long, things he kept inside for lack of having the words to explain them. With her, he felt that he didn't need to struggle to find words. Perhaps it was because she was so good with them, or perhaps it was because she read his thoughts, but that year he started dating her, he got introduced to the experience of having a conversation constituting of far more than just the words of two people exchanged.
He missed that the most, really. Those effortless conversations. With everybody else it seemed to take so much effort. Anyone else. His buddies, his colleagues, Anna or whoever she was worried about just now, waiters, clients, cabdrivers, his mother. Especially his mother.
He chuckled unconsciously.
"Do you remember that time you went inside the fountain to get that little boy's boat?" he heard her say dreamily and he looked at her confused, as he got distracted from his thoughts.
He looked back at the Fountain and recalled the memory she was referring to with a smile on his face. He seemed like such a hero that summer afternoon. To the little boy and her also. He remembered that it was the first time that for some reason he contemplated the thought of ever having a child of his own, the first time he thought about having a family with Rory. It, of course, freaked him out to no end and to compensate he pretty much ravaged her in the back of the cab on their way back to their place, to prove himself that he was still reckless and wild and too young to be thinking about dirty diapers.
He wondered if she was thinking about that same cab drive but figured she was just recalling more appropriate memories as he looked back to see her staring at the Fountain with a calm expression.
His eyes remained fixed on her pale face, her insanely blue eyes and rosy-hued lips and for some reason he stared at her for long seconds, mesmerised by the way her sleek figure looked in the black getup. It was the fucking boots, he was sure. He cursed again feeling the unwelcomed arousal.
He got up frustrated and walked out to the edge of the arcade raising his eyes up to the sky, which was now obscured by the fast rolling clouds. He could practically hear the thunder breaking and he noted that the Terrace was slowly clearing of the people, who knew better.
"I didn't sleep with her, you know" he turned around suddenly watching her raise an eyebrow surprised.
"Anna" he added, to clarify. He felt stupid suddenly, but the words seemed to spill from his mouth without him able to control them.
"I wanted to, God, I did" he went on and he saw the hurt replace the flash of relief that settled in on her eyes a moment before.
"I wanted to fuck her" he said, his words becoming cold, cruel "I wanted to fuck her and not care about anything else."
Her expression became hard, as she focused her attention back on the spot on the ground as if by staring at it, she could ignore his words completely.
"I got as far as her place..." he went on, his voice strangely floating and she squirmed uncomfortably.
"Do I really need to hear this, Tristan?" she said, getting up annoyed, walking past him, out of their shelter.
The first drops of rain started falling. Not the heavy, large drops, but the small, stinging kind. She walked towards the lake, her steps fast and small and he dashed after her, with a new found determination.
"And she was willing, God knows she was..." he went on, his voice slightly raised now as he followed her, the black, floating figure racing to get away from him.
"Stop it" she bit out, her voice frustrated.
He grabbed her to spin her around and she shot him a look.
"I kissed her" he said, speaking directly to her, her eyes boiling with anger.
"Stop it!" she repeated, her whole body tensing.
"And I couldn't go through with it" he said, his voice more astonished than considerate.
"Well bruhu, Tristan" came her reply as she tried to tear herself away from his hold. He held her strong though, his mind searching for the right words yet again. If only she would listen to his thoughts.
"I didn't feel anything" he wondered aloud.
"You usually don't" she quipped back and he scoffed, closing his eyes, trying to ignore her attempts to stab him with her words "how does that differ from any of the girls before me?" she finished her question, still consumed with trying to break away from him.
There she went, seeing into his thoughts without even wanting to.
He smiled a wry smile and looked at her, letting go of her hands. She looked up surprised by his sudden release.
"That's just it" he whispered "it doesn't. They are all the same" he went on, stepping closer to her to whisper in her ear as she seemed to be frozen in her spot, holding her breath as she listened to his quiet words.
"I am fucking cursed with wanting you" he said as he looked out over towards the lake, not being able to look at her.
They stood, their bodies eternally close, their faces only inches away from each other's, both staring into the distance. The air seemed to vibrate between the two and he wondered if his fucking arousal would ever subside. It was either the weather, or her perfume, or just the simple thought of her. But standing there, trying to control his body and thoughts seemed to be the biggest task of the last couple of months for him.
He closed his eyes and willed himself to break away. To take a fucking step, to put some distance between them, because he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach knowing this will lead to nothing more than a heartbreakingly short release and the quite good chance of him waking up to an empty apartment again.
"I'm going home" he said, walking past her, that thought suddenly giving him the strength to end this conversation.
He heard her gasp quietly, as if the distance finally allowed her to let herself take a breath.
"You can call me, Rory, if you want to see me" he said, his voice calm, determined, as he walked towards the east.
He willed himself not to look back at her, however much he wished to see her expression at that moment. He remained strong though, being almost positive that she turned around to stare after him, a little shocked but with a light smile creeping on her face.
He walked out of the park that day with a new found energy, as if he had just ran a marathon, his body spent, but strangely alive, the autumn colors cheering him on as his long steps carried him out from under the trees in the breaking storm. He was cool and confident, all of the feelings he had been struggling with all afternoon, suddenly under control and behind gates, like beasts that finally learn their place. He felt like he had nothing to lose and everything to win. He walked home and wasn't going to obsess about anything anymore that day.
Because he was strangely reassured.
And because Tristan DuGray had a plan.