Chapter 5: Love is Colder than Death
Author's Note: I noticed I used the work 'fuck' a lot in this chapter. It's not because I'm like "Watch me be cool and dangerous by having a potty mouth!" I just really like the word. Frak is nice and all (I use it in front of grandma) but nothing beats a good fuck. And you know you're thinking about double meaning right now.
Disclaimer: The title belongs to The Virgins. Proper band for this story, don't you think? But yes, they own its brilliance.
If you heard a boy say the words 'of course I'm in love' (in reference to you) your next obvious step would be to run off and fuck another boy, right?
No?
That wasn't how Romeo and Juliet got together?
Didn't you need to play hard to get (and it was certainly hard to get you when someone else's dick was occupying your vagina)?
It appeared Rory Gilmore wanted nothing to do with love, at least not the kind Jess Mariano had to offer.
It couldn't make her anymore itchy than Logan's love stains would.
She'd rather lose her virginity to her boyfriend's wandering penis.
She'd programmed it into her blackberry.
Made a checklist of things she needed to do in preparation to become just another Chilton slut.
Go on the pill.
Max out her credit card on garters and bow bras from Tanga.
Not eat for an entire week.
Forget about all those pesky sex dreams she'd been having about Jess Mariano.
Wait, Snow White was letting everyone's favorite dwarf violate her? Tell us more!
One minute, she'd be dreaming about frolicking around in a vintage Nolan Miller cocktail dress; the next, she'd be tied to her bedpost with two silk Hermes scarves around her wrists. Her little black dress would be bunched up around her waist because, shocker, Jess' head would be buried in her white lace panties.
Oh my.
It was all very over the top (and a bit S&M, obviously) but she always woke up with her silk chemise clinging to her body.
She knew something had to be done when, one night, she found herself on top moaning like a porn star.
And she was wearing one of his favorite Burberry ties around her neck.
She immediately popped a few Quaaludes and washed it down with a Red Bull.
She always had a Red Bull on hand, even at three in the morning.
Someone obviously didn't have a future as a pharmacist. Why combine a sedative with caffeine?
Unless she was addicted to being sedated. Or maybe she thought being sedated would stop the sandman from delivering thrusting.
She was positive that her subconscious was just telling her she needed to get laid and had confused the dark, horny, charming asshole with her asshole.
Now she just needed to tell her boyfriend she was ready to be ravished.
Nothing got a guy harder than ravishing a virgin.
She applied a few squirts of Burberry London on her pulse points. She'd chucked her Dolce Vita because she was wearing it the day Jess decided to act like a fucking moron.
Besides, she needed a new scent since in five hours she was no longer going to be the Chilton Princess.
Five hours. Jess might not even be able to cock block this one.
Now came the painful part, if you forgot about the fact that no one enjoyed the pain and humiliation of their first time.
And that it was well known that Logan couldn't please a plastic vagina, much less Rory's picky one.
But anyways, it was time to tell Lorelai.
Rory was prepared to have her Zac Posen French lace top stained with coffee because when Lorelai was unhappy, she tended to channel Joan Crawford.
Translation: Douse her sex fiend in hot coffee.
Rory had chewed her nails down to the point that a French manicure couldn't even save. Time to spit it out before she ate her entire arm.
But at breakfast, when cinnamon rolls were on the table? Cinnamon rolls were supposed to make people happy.
"I'm going to lose my virginity in five hours," she stated, like it was something to be proud of.
This really wasn't a thing you discussed over breakfast. There wasn't enough alcohol on the table.
"Greta, bring me the bottle of Absolut." Lorelai was about to fix that tiny little problem it appeared.
"You knew this would happen someday." Since that was the main option people used for reproduction, Rory had a point. But no sane woman celebrated with her daughter when she was about to get banged for her very first time.
Hallmark didn't make a card for that for a reason.
"It won't be happening in five hours."
Lorelai hated when her mind went to that place where she asked herself what would Emily Gilmore do. She hated Chanel No. 5 and botox, so she loathed her mental freaky Friday moment.
Emily would probably approve of the copulating if it involved Logan.
"You can't cock block Logan." Oh yes she could. All she needed was a wire hanger or a Playboy bunny. Then Logan wouldn't be getting any from her daughter.
She'd prefer for him to impregnate some slut than fuck his way into her family.
He probably didn't know to aim right.
"Oh, so it's Logan who is going to be riding in on a white horse and poking you with his sword?"
It took more than a poke to do the job, Lorelai. Didn't she remember her first time on Charleston's desk?
If Jess had it his way, history would repeat itself.
Rory would have been hurt by her mother's subtle accusation if she actually had feelings.
Um sweetie, you were the one who was drinking with other boys. "Who did you think it was?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm scheduling you an appointment with Dr. Adams." Ah, the famous Emily Gilmore tactic: when your child wants to have sex, send them to a shrink.
It didn't work out so well for Emily, if you hadn't guessed.
Again, rage blocked reason. It didn't matter that sex with Logan made her want to vomit; she was going to do it and no one could stop her. "I'm not crazy to want to have sex!"
"Yes you are. This is insane behavior. Have you been abusing Quaaludes again? Or did someone give you some coke? Oh my god, you're sweating. You're on drugs again. You are not going to become a coke whore!"
Okay, Rory might have enjoyed snorting a bit more than your average heiress (who were we kidding here; every heiress shot it up her nose), but she didn't appear to be the type of girl to fuck for coke. That was E's line of work.
"Mom, it is just sex! I thought you'd want to know."
Open and honest relationships were so not in. Buy your debutante the Louis Vuitton Patchwork bag and stuff it with condoms. That was handling sex. Talking about it was almost as bad as asking your mother for tips.
"I'll buy you a vibrator. Or porn. But no sex. Ever."
Rory crossed her arms over her chest, protecting her lace top and pretending to pout about having a porn fashionista for a mother, all at once. "You can't make those kind of rules."
"You told me just the other day no one was taking off your panties." Maybe she'll be the one to take them off. Or better yet, why wear panties?
Oh yeah, the build up.
"Logan and I have been dating for four years." Man, Logan really must have gotten lost in the detour to her vagina. No wonder he fucked all those Chilton vaginas on a stick.
"You don't even like Logan anymore."
"Every relationship goes through periods of…" she trailed off, forgetting what exactly her and Logan were going through.
Whatever it was, it was drier than Barbara Walter's vagina.
"Mutual hate?"
"At least I'm not off fucking people who aren't my significant other like dad did. Would you be fine with this if I was fucking Jess?" She didn't even blink when she said this. Cold hearted bitch or not, there was such a thing as crossing a line and she'd just done it.
"I'm calling Dr. Adams as soon as I calm down enough to not rip your pretty little head off."
"Dr. Adams supports exploring your sexuality." Can you get a prescription that says 'Explore your sexuality on a daily basis'? Maybe it'll even get you out of gym if you have to explore your sexuality constantly.
"Then I'll send you to a nunnery."
"You're such a hypocrite. You were fornicating anywhere that had something stable to lean against when you were fifteen."
"Don't insinuate that your mother was a slut. It will make her do crazy things, like kill you."
"I'm having sex." Rory was indignant about this. There was no stopping her vagina.
"No you're not."
"You can't stop me."
"I'm not going to. You don't want your first time to be with a boy you don't even love."
"I love…" Rory stopped. If it was the truth, why stop?
"You love yourself and his money. Not Logan. Go buy a box of condoms. Go get a Brazilian wax. You're not going to fuck Logan."
But she might sleep with him just to prove you wrong. She was that vindictive. Especially since Logan had Egyptian cotton sheets.
High thread counts were very attractive.
Lorelai just didn't understand. No one could understand. "Excuse me. I have things I need to do." Rory chewed on the inside of her mouth, stomping off to get the keys to her Beemer.
She was so fucking angry.
How could Lorelai deny her the basic human right to get laid? How could she say Rory didn't love her perfect, Cary Grant boyfriend?
Why was Lorelai always right?
It didn't matter. She had to sleep with Logan because he wasn't Jess.
And that was all that mattered.
Her panties didn't match her bra. She'd left her black lace garters in the Fed Ex package under her bed.
She smelled like sweat and London.
So like Kate Moss?
Her hair had been blown into knots from the ride over in her BMW convertible.
She just had to focus. If she focused on Logan, everything would be fine. He'd get in, get out, it'd be awkward and then she'd leave, unsatisfied, without cuddling.
But it didn't matter. After this, Jess wouldn't follow her into the bathroom or play 'I Never' with her or breathe on her neck, his smell of cigarettes turning her on more than anything Logan had ever done.
She was sure Jess only wanted her because she was a virgin. It was his thing to chase virgins.
Oh sweetie, sometimes it was shocking how naïve you were.
She hadn't called before she came over, so Logan could be in the hot tub right now with half the senior class but she didn't care. She'd do it in front of all those girls if she had to.
She wasn't exactly using her brain at the moment, if you couldn't tell.
Rory held down the button for Logan to buzz her up to his penthouse like it was some emergency.
And in her mind, finally sealing the deal with your girlfriend was a big fucking deal. She had worn a see through lace top and kitten heels.
He wouldn't stand a chance. All she needed was a whip and she'd dominate his ass.
"Logan, let me the fuck up! This is an emergency!"
"Ace, is that you?" He sounded stoned. Or blown. Or maybe he was blown and stoned.
"Who else would it be?" A hooker he hired for the day to do his laundry and make him come? Your arch nemesis? His best friend? His dealer? See all the options, Miss Gilmore.
"Well…"
Only the dumbest fuck in the world would answer that question truthfully.
"Logan, buzz me up! I'm cold." Uh, it was like 80 degrees outside. Someone wasn't into foreplay, obviously.
"How cold are we talking?" Logan smiled that dopey Cheech and Chong smile. He couldn't help it. When you were high, hard nipples were even more awesome.
"Stop being a pervert." If this was any hint as to how Rory was going to be during her little sexual experiment, we might as well tune in to Animal Planet. At least the animals got into it.
"You suck at dirty talk."
"Well, right now, you suck at turning me on." To turn Rory on, you'd probably have to fuck her against a stack of old books or recite some passage of Jane Austen while you were thrusting in and out.
Unfortunately for Logan, he'd never quite grasped the concept of reading.
Oh to be rich and illiterate.
"Fine babe, buzzing you up." He wasn't in the mood to have his hand slapped away as he was on the cusp of unhooking her bra today.
Nor did he want to listen to her bitch about how inadequate he was and how as soon as she left, she was going to go fuck all his friends with the year's supply of condoms she'd bought from Costco.
If it wasn't sold and Barney's, chances were Rory wouldn't buy it, so she could only pretend to buy condoms in bulk for so long before Logan called her on her bullshit.
"If anyone is up there, shove them under the bed." Or she would throw them out of the window.
"No one is up here."
"Are you working on that monogamous thing?" Aw, maybe Logan did want 3.5 kids and a golden retriever with Rory.
Along with your standard mistress.
"It's hard to be monogamous when you won't let me touch you."
"Well maybe we'll have to change that," she responded coyly, before entering the elevator to his penthouse.
This should be interesting.
If you didn't know it was Rory Gilmore, Audrey Hepburn wannabe, future DAR bitch, you'd think Logan had hired a lady for the afternoon. There was no kiss on the lips. No slap to the face (although depending on what Logan's fetish was, that wouldn't rule her out as being a lady of the night). No ordering of caviar, champagne and strawberries.
She eyed his golden chest, perfectly waxed because water polo players were just a tad bit gay. And there was something about being aerodynamically something, but honestly, boys waxing each other and frolicking around in water only conjured up images of boy bands and Project Runway.
"Take off your pants."
It wasn't good to shout commands at someone when they were slightly stoned and in need of a bag of Fritos. "What?'
She rolled her eyes, knowing why, if she could, she'd fuck herself. She was brilliant, beautiful and filthy rich. Everyone else was just a disappointment. Too bad it'd be weird if she ran down the beach into her own arms.
Maybe Dean or Bleam could help her with that cloning. "Do I have to do everything myself? Take off your pants!"
He blinked a few times, finally realizing his girlfriend was wearing a completely see through lace top. And somehow, she'd ripped his bong water stained t-shirt off. Did she want to have sex? No. She couldn't be giving up her virginity just like this. The day she finally decided to consummate their relationship, he'd have to dress up like a hobbit and go on an adventure in search for the key to her chastity belt or some shit like that. It couldn't be this easy. "I'm confused."
"We're going to have sex," she stated slowly, unbuttoning the first button on her Zac Posen blouse.
"Fuck off." Wow, not the right response at all.
She shoved him onto his bed, deciding that she would have to do this all herself. She'd taken sex ed. She'd watched Body Heat. She could do this, even if she had to guide his penis the entire way.
It was a good thing she was flexible or her current position would certainly cause her to pull something. "Rory, you're straddling me."
She felt nothing. No erection pushing against her. Nothing. "Why aren't you hard? Shouldn't you be hard?"
"I'm stoned." Marijuana had the same effect as cold water.
"Do I need to do something to get you hard?' She figured a hand job couldn't be too hard, right? And he was wearing pants, so nothing would get on her five hundred dollar top, thank god. Semen ruined everything.
"Your mouth might help."
She immediately frowned at the thought of giving him a blowjob. Talk about undignified. She was way too good to take part in an activity like that. And swallowing? Only sluts swallowed. "Um, no. I'm not into that."
"I'm kidding babe. Did you do some coke or something before you came over here? Your pupils are super dilated."
"I'm straddling you and you want to talk?" She stopped, a sob enrapturing her chest. It wasn't like this in Love Story! They were so in love. And he probably fucked her all the time.
And then she died. Dream big, Rory.
"Why won't anyone fuck me?" Chanel Inimitable mascara dripped down her neck. She'd succumbed to ugly crying, her face blotchy and red, snot dripping out of her nose.
It was super attractive.
Logan sat them up, leaving her on his lap. First she wanted to do it, with her on top, by the way, and now she was a blubbering mess. Maybe she really was bipolar. "Whoa, whoa, please don't cry. Slow down. What's going on?"
"Nothing," she hiccupped, "is wrong."
He brushed a few pieces of hair out of her face, leaving a kiss on her temple. He was trying to appear sensitive and understanding. He was trying to be the perfect boyfriend. Too bad he'd failed miserably the first four years. But maybe he had more control over his penis now.
"You're crying."
She pushed his hands away from her face, not wanting an intimate, loving experience. She wanted him to fuck her without being a sweet, perfect boyfriend. God, didn't he understand? "Because you won't take your pants off!"
"You want to have sex now?" Normally girls who cried before sex weren't the ones you wanted to fuck. Date rape was such an annoying crime.
"This isn't the Special Olympics of fucking. Please, catch up." She pushed him back down on the bed, attacking his face in something that resembled mauling more than kissing.
He tried to turn his head so she could at least give him a hickey instead of poking his eye out with her darting tongue, but she was not getting his subtle hint. "Rory, you're eating my face."
"Cosmopolitan said I needed to be aggressive." One cannot argue with the authority on relationships and sex. If Cosmo said do it, you must obey, no matter how disgusting and slightly illegal.
Wasn't he supposed to be doing the ravishing?
Right now, she was more like the witch from Hanzel and Gretel than those hot, sexy singles you ordered online.
Rory was aware he wasn't made of candy, right?
He pushed back, throwing her off the bed and onto the floor. Coordination really wasn't their thing.
"Sorry, Ace. I was trying to flip and…" And you threw your ninety-pound girlfriend into the air. Brilliant!
She noticed a red liquid gushing out of her knee. Well, no one ever said your first time was easy. At least she'd have a battle scar to prove she did it. "I think I'm bleeding."
"Shit, really? Where?"
"It's okay. It doesn't hurt that bad. I can get through this," she stood up, ignoring the red stains on her porcelain skin. A little blood never hurt anyone. Besides, if Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton got turned on by each other's blood, Logan might do the same, if he was a vampire.
If they ended up wearing a vial of each other's blood around their necks to prom, be worried. It wouldn't be a big deal if they had sex in the limo, but blood around their necks would be so unsanitary.
"Sex isn't something you're supposed to just get through."
She wanted to laugh in his face. Sex was undignified, painful and sometimes, boring. It wasn't something she was going to invite the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders to witness.
There wouldn't be any one, two, three 'Gimme an O!' cheers.
"Come on Logan, just fuck me," she whined. "I have an appointment with Dr. Adams in an hour."
"No."
She must have misheard him. No one said no to Rory Gilmore. "Please, you've been begging me to do it with you ever since you found out where your penis would go."
"You don't want to do this. I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm a bit above a pity fuck, if you hadn't noticed, sweet cheeks."
"Do you want me to beg?" She tried to give him a kiss on the lips, something to get the blood flowing to the right place.
That would be Viagra, sweetie. Check Mitchum's study. He surely would have a few tablets on hand.
Logan wanted nothing to do with her. He pushed her back, hoping she'd trip and fall into a rabbit hole lined with Prozac. "No, I want you to leave."
She stumbled back a few steps. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. "If I leave, we're over."
"I'm not really into ultimatums."
Who would of thought fuck me or we're over would have been a bad ultimatum?
"You're such a dick. Do you know how lucky you are to be with me?" It depended on what your definition of lucky was. If your ideal match was killer legs, red lips and psychotic tendencies, then yes, Logan was the luckiest motherfucker alive, after John Mayer.
He smiled that perfect 'I'm a rich asshole' smile he had been using since kindergarten. Even when he ate glue, he was superior. "I'm a Huntzberger. I can have whomever I want. I believe you're the lucky one."
"Yes, four years of not being satisfied makes me the luckiest girl in the whole wide world."
"You don't even try, so don't put this all on me." Well, offering your body was kind of trying, even if she didn't mean it.
She bit down on her chapped lips to keep herself from crying. She preferred to bottle up any emotion that wasn't filed under 'crazy bitch.' "I don't know what I was thinking."
That Jess liked virgins and you were a virgin?
"You've been ignoring me since your mother's party and then you just show up here and want me to fuck you and you're the one who's mad?" Again, when did Logan become morally superior to all of us?
"I get to be mad."
He knew if they fought much longer, he'd be doing her on top of his Xbox. The only good thing that came of their fighting was that it generally got him to second base without having to say please. But today he was too stoned to want to do much with her. "Whatever. I'm not in the mood to deal with your shit today."
"Go fuck yourself." Don't use the nice towels! They will never be soft again if you whack off into them.
"I will and then I'll fuck E, because unlike you, she actually knows what to do."
Her hand went flying through the air, immediately making contact with his jaw. "I hate you," she spat out, angry tears flooding her eyes.
He grabbed her wrist, pressing his fingers into her hand as a warning to not try and slap him again. "The feeling is mutual, darling." He tossed her yellow submarine colored Coach clutch she'd laid on his bed at her, practically shoving her out of his penthouse. "Dr. Adams really needs to up your medication."
"I hope your dick falls off." Well, E was the black plague of vaginas.
"You've gotten boring lately, Rory. And don't think I didn't hear about E finding your panties in the library." Was that before or after he did Madeline in sacred stall number 2?
"So that's what your little fit is about?" No matter how many girls Logan bedded (or did against a hard object), Rory couldn't do anything but sit at home and pray to the Chanel Gods.
Possessive much?
He held her wrist a bit tighter, like he was trying to remind her that in his sick Logan way, he owned her. "You know I don't like to share."
"Neither do I." Oh Rory, you were so ironic.
"I guess we have a problem, then." Then either kill each other or break up!
"That's all we have in this relationship."
This time it was him whispering in her ear. She hated how he always smelled like pot and dick. He could at least figure out that his natural musk was not attractive. "And you fucking love it. You can't be with someone and actually be happy. It's not in your DNA."
Thank you for the psychoanalysis, Huntz.
"Well you sabotage any chance we have with every passing vagina." Or maybe he kept them in his closet now.
"If you hate me so much, leave." He gave her a little push toward the door, knowing she'd be back for more once she figured out Jess or whoever was messing with her perfect little fantasy world where she was Holly Golightly, got what they wanted, aka, pussy.
"Gladly."
Rory carried the look of a girl who had tried to have sex with herself, but had run out of batteries. And then somehow, she had fallen on top of a large, black woman who had beaten her with an umbrella.
Right.
Her face was trying to pull off that tragic look of a girl who didn't own under eye concealer but loved to cry her eyes out.
Everyone knew it took a lot of makeup to look natural, so she just looked like a homeless freak that had wandered into Barney's and gotten lost in a Zac Posen top.
She waited for the elevator in the lobby of Dr. Adams office, praying she didn't see any of her fucked up friends when she wasn't even wearing shoes.
Britney Spears much?
Couldn't she have gotten Alfred to stop and buy her a pair of Manolos? Bare feet made her seem poor.
The dinging of the elevator was her savior from ending up on Page Six again. She hadn't graced that trash column since the time she crashed that awful party Finn's parent's threw for his sixteenth birthday. Who knew wearing a see through chemise and carrying around a champagne bottle with something under your nose that wasn't powdered sugar would make the gossip bitches come all over their blogs?
She heard someone calling after her to hold the elevator. Too bad Rory didn't wait for anyone.
That might make sex a bit unsatisfying.
Her finger held down the 'close door' button, praying (man, she was really into God today, which was odd since she normally only worshipped Valentino) whoever was slamming their feet into the ground were here because they comforted themselves with food and would be too fat to fit through the tiny opening.
He slid between the crack, a blur of black leather and hair gel, his Burberry tie slapping him in the face.
Rory would have laughed if it weren't him.
Leather and Burberry? Only one boy in Hartford could get away with looking like the bastard son of Prince William and James Dean.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me." She reached into her clutch, extracting a cigarette. "Fuck, I don't have a lighter."
Jess ran a hand through his hair, mentally blowing himself for how brilliant he was. "No smoking in elevators, dear."
"When have you ever followed the rules?" The bad boy thing was kind of what got him all that ass.
Oh yeah. And his ass.
"As much as I love a good spanking, the security guard out there doesn't seem very frisky." That was because she preferred surf, not turf. And she already carried a gun. Didn't need another one
"She'd probably love to frisk you."
He put his hand over his heart in an overly dramatic gesture Lance Bass would be proud of. "Are you giving me a compliment?"
"Just stating the obvious. Women who are dying for a little attention succumb to your charm." She rummaged through her purse, hoping to find a lighter, a sedative or an anvil to drop on her head. "I didn't know you saw Dr. Adams."
"She helps me with my issues."
"I don't think being a slut is an issue." At least he hadn't started having sex for money. Yet.
He laughed. "Why don't you like me?"
She frowned at him. She couldn't lie and say she didn't like him. She couldn't lie and say she did like him. So she opted to be evasive. If it worked for brooding bad boys, she could certainly do it. "At this very moment? Because you won't give me a light and I really need a cigarette."
"I can tell. Did Barney's not accept your credit card?" She'd be in jail for killing a sales clerk if Barney's had denied her in front of common people, duh!
She didn't look him in the eye, instead staring at her bare feet. Her cherry polished nails were chipped. Probably from kicking Logan's door ten or fifty times. "Logan and I... we...had a fight," she struggled out.
"About me?" Smug asshole of the year award goes to Jess Mariano. Line up to knee him in the nuts, ladies.
At least if he was sterile there would be less smug assholes.
Well, there'd still be Logan and his ten illegitimate children.
"See, this is why I don't like you. You assume everything is about you. You're a pompous, arrogant, over gelled ass and you would suck your own dick if you could reach it because you're so in love with yourself." That'd take a lot of bending and grunting to make that work. It would be a you tube sensation!
"Well if I was choosing between myself and you, of course I'd choose myself."
"I am not an option," she reminded him. Unfortunately for her, being alone with him in an elevator could only lead to trouble.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his Calvin Klein black stripe suit pants. "You and me, we're a lot more alike than you want to admit."
"We have absolutely nothing in common." Except for a love of books, being insanely privileged and most importantly, being ridiculously hot without trying.
"You'd fuck yourself if you could. That's why Logan and you won't ever work. He doesn't get you." If he didn't slow down, the dreaded soulmate word was going to escape from his lips.
She scoffed. "And you do?"
Jess leaned back into the stop button, bringing the elevator to a halt. For every pair of Givenchy pants Dr. Adams bought, she was too "cheap" to replace her Tower of Terror model of elevator with something modern.
Rory would be burning her pants right off with the death glares she would be sending her for this terrible, unfortunate, possibly awesome circumstance.
What, you've never seen what happens in stopped elevators on Grey's Anatomy? Or moving elevators. Really just any elevator.
Instinctively, she started backing into the nearest corner. "You can't stop the elevator!"
A step forward. "I just did."
"Stopping is for emergencies." Sort of. But what is defined as an emergency? Two hot people needing to do it is sort of an emergency.
"This is an emergency. Of the heart." Whoa, pulling out his inner Mr. Darcy.
"If you knew me so fucking well, you'd know I was claustrophobic." And obviously Rory will be reprising her role as Miss Bennet.
Another step. "One little kiss."
She hadn't expected that. She'd expected she would have to beat him off with her yellow submarine clutch. But not for him to ask for a kiss. Jess wasn't the kind of boy who asked. He just took, like the Cookie Monster. "What? What is wrong with you?"
Now he had her pined in the corner. Unless she said 'excuse me' like the society girl she was supposed to be, there was no escaping this without a little scuffle. "A lot of things, obviously. That's why I'm in therapy.'
She averted her eyes from his, staring at the fascinating shade of white on the walls. "Why do you want me to kiss you?"
"Because you haven't been properly kissed."
"How would you know?"
"I have a sense about these things. The most action you've gotten was from your pillow in sixth grade." What a lucky pillow. Maybe she had Johnny Depp's head taped to it.
"I'm not kissing you," she said in that tone that told you she could be easily persuaded if you offered to take her to Bendels afterwards and spring for an extra shot in her latte.
Ah, 20th century romance.
"Don't you want to prove me wrong?" he challenged her. Rory was the most cutthroat bitch he knew. She couldn't let him know she was scared of what would happen when she kissed him.
"I hate you."
"Which is almost like loving me."
"That makes no sense."
"It doesn't have to." He placed his hand at the opening of her blouse, running his finger back and forth under the material. It was the simplest of touches, but her skin was turning a bright pink with just that bit of contact. "You're blushing."
"No I'm not." Then someone must have colored her with a really big Crayola crayon on the way over to Dr. Adams office.
He moved his fingers to her collarbone, loving how at every touch, she got brighter and brighter. If he didn't stop, she'd be mistaken for Rudolph. "Your whole body is blushing."
"Stop touching me."
"Am I making that part blush too?"
"You're such a pig."
He pulled his hands back, satisfied with molesting her neck for the day. "Why aren't you starting the elevator?"
"What?"
"You could press the button to start it."
"I…well…my…" Use your words Rory!
He smirked at her inability to form coherent thoughts when he touched her. "You're stuttering."
"Would you stop telling me what I am doing?"
"One little kiss and I'll leave you alone forever." Only if it turned out she was a man would he leave her alone. And even then he might stick around depending on how into vagina he really was.
"One kiss?" For some reason, she considered this proposition.
"My lips laying on top of yours for half a second." That was true. Your lips didn't have to make much contact during sex if you were Rory Gilmore.
"I don't need the definition of a kiss, Webster."
"Aw, look, we have nicknames for each other."
"No, your nickname is Asshole."
"Such a term of endearment, Freckles."
She sighed. "Why do you want one little kiss?"
"Call it a late birthday wish."
He leaned his forehead against her crumpled form, an act more intimate than anything he'd ever done with the French whores, Chilton sluts or lonely Hartford socialites he'd fucked, just letting his nose rest against hers.
Giving her the option of where to take this.
It was an Eskimo kiss, a reminder of that first spark they'd felt back at her mother's party. Nose humping she'd called it. But this time gonorrhea boy wasn't lurking.
It was their moment in a stopped elevator to do whatever they wanted.
Or needed.
'Just one little kiss' she told herself. Just the brushing of his lips against hers.
It would mean nothing.
She didn't know what do with her hands. They were shaky, wet, unsure. She didn't want to touch his because that was too intimate. There had to be as little touching as possible.
She just left her hands at her sides, dropping her clutch to the floor.
Her eyes held his for just a moment. What was she trying to communicate? Fear? Panic? Longing?
All his eyes conveyed was an intense lust, his chocolate brown replaced with a cold, hungry, lost black.
She grabbed his bottom lip with hers, but just for a moment, before pulling back. Simple. It was a simple kiss.
But wasn't that the definition of one little kiss?
But then, something happened.
Fuck pro/con list. Fuck Logan (not literally) and Emily's china patterns and being valedictorian and every other rational thought she had made in her entire life.
They collided in that perfect collision of need, want, fear and lust. She surprised him. He never thought he wouldn't be able to keep up with her, her obvious need for control apparent in the way she had pushed him closer to the wall.
He was in the corner. She was the one who always backed up, always ran away. But with her hands around his neck and tongue in his mouth, she wanted this just as much (or more) than he did.
She was sour, bitter, salty, which was perfect because he hated the sugar and spice and everything nice girls.
His hands found their way back to her lace top, sliding the material off her shoulders. He just wanted to touch more of her, any part of her. His callused hands rubbed circles into her ivory skin.
Electric. She felt that cool electricity pulsing through her veins. All she had at this moment were feelings. Not thoughts, just basic, animalistic feelings.
She bit down on his lip, drawing blood. The cooper taste swirled in her mouth, but she didn't stop. If thoughts didn't wreck this moment, she'd bleed the poor boy dry.
He put his hands on either side of her face, moving her back into the corner. He slowed it down, wanting it to last longer than he knew it could.
He didn't want to stop to breathe. He didn't want her to have time to think. Things were better when Rory didn't think.
Obviously.
This moment was per…Stop.
She heard a banging sound against the metal door of the elevator.
And it all came back to her. She was in a dirty elevator and her tongue was currently occupying the mouth of that stupid, stupid boy.
Motherfucker.
He felt a pressure on his shoulders. He knew that touch. Rory Gilmore was doing that thing where she used her brain.
He really hated when she did that.
There was no slowly pulling away, no forehead rest, no dreamy stares. Rory was too disgusted with herself to be sentimental. "Happy birthday, you jackass."
"I just asked for one little kiss." And you got a boner. Lucky you!
"That was a mistake."
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"Logan…" Oh come on. Why be faithful to someone who wouldn't do you? Go to the dark side, where it was sweaty, in a good way.
"Doesn't deserve you."
"Neither do you."
"I might not but from that little show you put on, you obviously want me."
It was the second time today she'd slap someone. This one was much more enjoyable.
He nursed the red mark her hand had left on his jaw, not angry. Not frustrated. He was totally turned on. "You could have just told me you wanted it like that."
"I don't want it anyway from you."
"Was it that bad for you?"
"Why do you care as long as you got off?"
"Well, I was just looking for a little clarification because moaning usually means you're enjoying yourself. But I guess not with you." He smirked. "And how do you know I got off?"
Besides the obvious bulge daring to rip his Calvin Klein pants?
She restarted the elevator. She didn't trust herself with him and his hard on any longer.
Dr. Adams was the psychiatrist who had convinced Lindsay that trying out Samantha Rosen's fur burger would be good for her.
She'd made Isaiah Washington love gay people (just not in time to save Grey's Anatomy, but that show was bound to self destruct sooner or later).
She'd made countless "lost" celebrities find Jesus or something else to worship (for Oprah, it was giving away shit and her va-jay-jay).
Emily Gilmore called her a miracle worker, the Hartford version of Annie Sullivan if Annie wore Givenchy patent leather stretch trousers and had fucked more men than Sienna Miller.
And she was the authority on relationships?
Emily was certain she walked on water to get to her office everyday and could turn water into a 1998 Pertus Pomerol, the wine of choice by the Kennedy's, who were royalty in the eyes of the Gilmore's.
That was why she was chosen to be Rory's therapist after the Chris incident. You see, Rory had walked in on her father finding out what Victoria's Secret was with some model that definitely wasn't Giselle.
Maybe if her dad had chosen to stray with a Gucci model or Giselle herself Rory might not have become best fucking friends forever with E. But he didn't; he chose to use some no name Brazilian slut to ruin his family.
The bitch didn't even know who Oscar De La Renta was. Thank god she hadn't become Rory's step monster.
No wonder Rory had an aversion to sex. Seeing your dad being rode by some Brazilian wouldn't fall into the realm of awesome.
At least he wasn't gay.
Dr. Adams pushed her icy blonde hair behind her ears. Uncomfortable wasn't a strong enough word to describe her session with Miss Gilmore.
Rory was just sitting there, like one of those sad little kids with leukemia who held their teddy bear and didn't have hair and should be on a milk carton or something.
Or she just looked retarded, with that gaze to nowhere. Dr. Adams was afraid she would start drooling at any second.
She probably didn't have to worry about drool on her Persian rugs. Rory had shared all her saliva (and her peppermint gum) with Jess in the elevator about ten minutes ago.
"Your mother tells me you want to have sex."
"She's misinformed."
Dr. Adams crossed her legs in that disturbing Basic Instinct 2 way, meaning she was way too old to not be wearing panties. "So you can speak."
"I'm paying you five hundred dollars an hour. If I want to sit here and say nothing, I can. You still get paid. It's not like you're a whore and if you can't get it up you have to give a refund."
"Actually, your mother pays me."
"Do you think I do not realize that?"
Dr. Adams knew this was going to be one of their historically bad sessions. Not that Rory was normally a ray of sunshine to deal with. But today felt like a repeat of the time she had mixed ecstasy, a double shot espresso and no sleep. She cried the entire time then passed out for five hours. Emily was not impressed. "How is Logan doing?"
"I don't know." No Rory, you didn't know whom he was doing. Different question!
"Did you two break up?" Way to be Miss Sensitivity there, doc. She did realize she was treating a manic-depressive, right?
"I don't know."
"Why don't you know?"
"If you kiss another boy does that mean you're broken up?"
We should all kiss a boy who wasn't ours once in awhile.
"That's a complicated question."
"It's a yes or no answer." Unless you were planning on moving to Utah and being a polygamist.
Big Love had complicated everything. Damn HBO and cults.
"Well who was the boy?"
The society version of James Dean. Pretty much perfect in a pair of Marc Jacobs jeans.
"No one important." Rory watched as Dr. Adams took notes. She hated being gawked at like she was some science experiment. Why the fuck was she in therapy anyways? She was perfect.
Perfectly fucked up.
"Then it probably doesn't mean anything.
"So I can just go around kissing random boys and it's okay?"
"That's not what I meant."
"That's what you implied!"
Dr. Adams took a breath. She didn't need Rory trying to strangle her. Again. "Do you care for this boy that you kissed in anyway?"
She cared when she was drunk on rum. And they say you're at your most honest when you're sloshed.
"He has potential."
"What does that mean?"
She sighed. "If he wasn't such an asshole, he wouldn't be completely awful to have feelings for. But he'll always be an asshole. So it is not even an option to develop feelings for this boy."
"Who is this boy?"
"Jess Mariano."
Dr. Adams couldn't let another one of her patients fall victim to his lecherous charms. "You can't kiss Jess Mariano."
"If he was fucking your daughter, I can assure you it was nothing special." Way to dash any future mother-in-law dreams she had.
"He's not a nice boy." But nice guys finished last, behind prisoners because they shanked them. And conjugal visits were hot. Tell your friends. It was a thing now.
"And you think Logan is nice?"
"I've never met Logan." That was because you had old pussy.
"You're lucky, then. Logan has a Ph. D in fucking up."
"Have you ever considered the fact that you might enjoy self destructive relationships? Your mother was known to choose the wrong man over and over." And it got her a seventeen-year-old bitch and enough money from divorces to buy all the Prada bags she could ever need. Picking the wrong man did have its advantages.
"I just kissed a boy in your elevator. A boy who is not my escort for my debut into society. A boy who has been up every single skirt at Chilton and probably every neighboring county. You don't think I know how self destructive I am?"
"You kissed Jess in my elevator?"
"It was just a kiss. You don't need to disinfect it."
"Jess is way more dysfunctional than he lets on. His issues run much deeper than just being…"
"A slut?"
"Yes."
Even though Rory didn't want Jess, she didn't want someone telling her she should stay away from him. That just made her want him more and she hated that feeling. "When your daughter was found swimming in the fountain at Barney's in that awful Versace gown, was it because Jess had screwed her?"
"Excuse me?"
"You seem bitter about Jess. I don't think it's very professional to hate your client. Or to treat the person who took Kate's virginity, do you?"
Dr. Adams wanted to call security to escort her little out of control ass out of the building. She needed to be sent to finishing school. "I think we're done here."
A professional might say Rory's need to be a bitch at every possible moment was a defense mechanism.
Sadly, she wasn't that complicated. She just loved being a mean girl. It was way more fun than playing Mary Sue, especially when you got to stab people in the back with your Kate Spade heels.
"Now refresh my memory. Did you really send Katie off to France because she was prodigy in being a slut?"
"I'm calling your mother."
"I don't think I feel comfortable with you being my psychiatrist anymore. You're a failure as a mother, letting your daughter have bastard children in a French convent. What would Miss Manners say?"
Katie needed to curtsey when it was over?
"I always knew you'd turn out just like Emily."
Wasn't that a compliment? "Thank you." She pulled a pair of oversized pink-framed Gucci sunglasses out of her clutch and slipped them on, playing the part of cokehead heiress oh so perfectly.
Daddy's money really was, like, the best thing ever.
You know that cliché, makes you want to throw up from pure lameness saying, your eyes are the windows to your soul?
Well, if you were soulless, did that apply?
This wasn't to say that Rory Gilmore didn't have feelings. As we saw, she expressed a lot of feelings in that elevator of sin with Jess. And she probably felt something at some point in her life before she decided the only way to solve her problems was to strangle her ex-best friend while looking like a fucking rock star.
Rory was sure E was sharing her sunflower comforter with Logan at this very moment, giving him some African strand of syphilis.
How long did you get in jail for a crime of passion anyways? Especially if the bitch deserved it. And sleeping with your best friend's sort of boyfriend qualified you as deserving to die during sex.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you felt about murder, Rory hadn't brought a gun. You couldn't call this move premeditated. She'd blacked out at some point (maybe from going around 90 on curvy roads) and found herself at E's mansion she shared with her maid/nanny/coke dealer.
The tricky part of this plan to strangle her ex-best friend to death, because she stole her panties, let Charleston touch her panties, which had somehow in her mind caused her to kiss Satan in a Calvin Klein underwear ad body, was that she didn't know how to get into her room.
When did the front door go out of style? It was safe as long as you hadn't just banged some fat, pasty alcoholic's bored, tight assed wife.
She decided she'd just march her way up to E's room. Who would mess with her when they saw her chapped lips, bare feet and soulless stare?
And by the time the cops arrived, E would be floating in the pool.
The sounds that were being echoed into the halls of E's mansion from her room rivaled the noises Rory probably made during her almost sexual encounter with Logan today.
She recognized that over-the-top, had acted out how Marilyn Monroe probably sounded when she came way too many times, moan that escaped E's lips.
Faking an orgasm was one of the three things E did better than anyone else in the world.
But the muffled crying was a bit alarming, one, because it was definitely coming from a boy and two, it definitely wasn't Logan.
It wouldn't shock her if E were taking advantage of some semi-attractive freshman that had accidentally told her she was pretty when she was extremely horny.
Which was always since Jess stopped pity fucking her.
She padded her way into E's bedroom and when she got a glimpse of whom E was faking for, wished she'd just waited for them to finish.
E was screwing Dean or Bleam or whatever his stupid name was. Mademoiselle Coco would be tres, tres desolee that she didn't get little floppy haired boy's jolly green giant inside her first.
Immediately, E sensed something evil was in the room, and by evil, she meant someone wasn't wearing any lipstick. That was only sexy when your lips were chapped from spending a whole day in bed with some Lord with a sexy accent.
Did kissing Jess get Rory that get out of fashion jail free card?
"Rory, my lipstick is in my Kate Spade bag. Please, put some on your lips." Aw, how sweet. Even though Rory was going to kill her, she wanted her to look her best while doing it.
"I'll pass. I'm not a fan of the shade whore."
Um, Guerlain's KissKiss Diamonds lipstick, E's favorite, came in more than just one shade! And unless she was a special whore, she couldn't spend 62,00 dollars on something that would wipe off every time a car pulled up to her corner.
E sat up, pushing floppy haired boy to the floor. She didn't care that her 32 C's were bouncing around. If you hadn't guessed, modesty wasn't that important to E.
"Um, this was sweaty and hot, Deanie Boy, but I've got better things to do and I don't have the time to wait to see if you can make me come before the sun goes down."
She had better things to do, like whoever would be joining her in the hot tub that night.
He was too busy crawling around on the floor looking for his Iron Man t-shirt and Puma pants to form a response. And his jolly green giant was getting a bit out of hand with the presence of Rory.
Ah, we all knew zombie-hunting boy had a thing for Snow White. Poor E. No one really liked Sleeping Beauty. But she was a whore, so...
E stuck a French cigarette in the side of her mouth, looking a bit like James Dean, if he were alive and had a rack. She turned her attention to Rory and her Gucci framed face. "So, come for my sloppy seconds?"
"I think you're confused. You're the one who always wants what you can't have."
God, these kids and their soon to be incestuous ways. What was going to happen when they got bored with fucking each other?
No one pull a Gellar!
Dean or Bleam or something like that, pulled his Iron Man shirt over his head, trying to think of some great parting line. "You know Iron Man 2 is going to come out in 2010 and people are already buying tickets in advance. Would you, maybe, I don't know, like to go with me? My mom ordered an extra costume hoping I'd have a girlfriend by then and after today, I don't know."
How sweet in a pathetic, never going to happen, sort of way.
And E and girlfriend should never be two things that occupy the same thought. If Jess had a wandering penis, she had a runaway vagina.
She puffed out a perfect smoke ring, deciding how to explain to this poor sap that she didn't do any boy twice unless he had an accent or was currently high school sweethearts with her ex-best friend.
"She was horny and you were unfortunately there. Go get tested and hope you didn't accidentally knock her up." Insult or not, how sweet of Rory to get rid of a guy for E. This almost felt like old times. Just add a few cops and a lot of tequila and it'd be May 2006 all over again.
When Dean didn't budge, Rory wondered if E had just slept with one of the kids from the slow class. She'd heard stories about Dean talking to himself and some people said he had some weird superhero form of tourettes where he tried to fly, while cursing, but would E sink that low?
Rory might call her a dumb fuck, but she shouldn't fuck Chilton's Forrest Gump.
E rolled her eyes. Why did she always get stuck with the losers who were tragically bad in bed?
Because at seventeen you run out of anyone with a bit of experience who has hit puberty by doing everything with a dick.
"Bye Bleam," she waved, hoping he'd get it.
"Oh you want me to…"
"Go? Yes."
She was sure he would start crying as soon as he realized he had to walk home but she didn't care. Rory was here. It was time to play.
With that unsatisfying distraction out of her way, she got out of bed to grab her Betsey Johnson black satin chemise.
Thank god. Rory couldn't strangle her if her boobs were flopping around.
She turned around, her cigarette dangling out of the side of her mouth. "God, that was such a disappointment. That teaches me to not pity fuck anymore."
"You're more experienced than anyone at Chilton. Maybe you should just start fucking yourself."
"Oh but that'd be so boring. Virgins can be fun. That's why Jess won't leave you alone."
"Does it make you jealous that Jess would rather sleep with me than you?"
E choked on her laughter, taking a few steps closer to Rory. "Jess isn't that fantastic in bed. Have fun trying to figure out if he is inside you or not."
"Oh my god, you're really jealous? You just can't stand it that I get everything you ever wanted."
"You're right. I wish a creep like Tristan cuddled with my panties every night."
"You didn't seem to blink an eye when you bedded him."
"That was before he went insane. Hey, I've got an idea. You two should put the past behind you and start going at it like bunny rabbits. He'd probably be able to satisfy you, since you're now a head case."
"You're one to talk. You just did zombie-hunting boy."
"He did my math homework for me. I had to repay him somehow." She blew a puff of smoke into Rory's face. "I have a question."
"This should be fascinating."
"Why can't you get Logan into bed? Is it because you're pretending to be the Virgin Mary that we all know you aren't or is it because deep down inside, you want Jess to do your deflowering?"
"I can't believe we were ever friends."
"Believe me, I'm not proud that I used to call a psychotic, sexually repressed troll my best friend." She stopped, moving so close to Rory that if those lesbian rumors had any truth to them, they could totally be doing it. "But there was one advantage to being friends with you."
"What?"
"Logan was much easier to get into bed."
Rory launched herself on top of E, sending both to the ground.
Rory wasn't athletic and only found herself breathing hard after having someone's tongue shoved down her throat or during a Stella McCartney trunk sale.
She got enough endorphins from ruining people's lives and eating Swiss chocolates. And when your body ran on ninety percent caffeine, exercise made your heart try to break out of your chest.
But if Quentin Tarantino were filming this, you'd never guess that Rory hadn't spent six months learning how to fight. She currently had E pined to the ground, holding her wrist so tightly that her nails were leaving marks all over E's golden skin.
E had about twenty pound and six inches on Rory's tiny frame, but it didn't seem to matter.
Rory fought dirty. She wasn't above ripping out E's golden locks.
"Rory, you're insane! Get off of me!" She tried to squirm her way out of Rory's clutches, but that just got her a palm across the face.
"You slapped me!"
"You deserved it!"
That rip, that was Rory ripping out some of E's strawberry scented hair. "You bitch! You don't rip out someone's hair!"
Had E never been a part of a catfight? Girls ripped, screamed and bit, and then hugged it out.
Except, unless Jesus himself forced these two to kiss and make up, there wouldn't be any hugging whenever this mess of claws and hair ended.
E bent her knees, sending Rory tumbling backwards. Her head bounced off of E's coffee table, shattering the edge.
"That table was a gift from Mr. Oscar De La Renta himself!"
"Shame he wasted a gift on you when everyone knows you give it away for free. What, was he trying to marry off his nephew? I heard he was a eunuch."
"Wouldn't a man with no penis be right up your alley?" Before Rory could answer, a vase slammed into her head. "That was a gift from Donatella. I never really liked it that much."
Currently, Rory was slumped against the wall, glass shards surrounding her feet.
You didn't rip out E's insured hair and expect to get away with it, did you Rory?
Superman himself must have given Rory a little boost, because even after shattering a table and a vase with her head, she was up again, marching her way toward E. And this time she had a little help in her hand called a wine bottle.
That was why you shouldn't keep alcohol in your room, you know, in case of crazy catfights with heavily medicated virgins.
E tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. Her knees hit her bed at the exact moment merlot went dripping down her face.
At first, she hadn't felt the glass bottle shatter across the back of her head, but that burning sensation of wine mixing with open wounds could not be ignored for long.
Nor could she miss the blood and merlot staining her comforter.
She laid her head back against her pillow, her breathing slow and raspy.
For a moment, Rory felt a pang of guilt. But that quickly vanished when she found herself crushing a pillow into E's face.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! She wouldn't kill her, would she?
E's feet slammed into Rory's face, sending the pillow flying one way and Rory's little body into E's bookshelf.
"See Rory, sex is good for something. If I wasn't that flexible, I'd be dead. Sex saved my life." She stood up, taking a few lazy steps toward Rory. "I'm shocked you tried to kill me."
"All is fair in love and war."
"I underestimated you. I owe you an apology."
"I would apologize," Rory stopped, sweeping her legs behind E, all six feet of her sent crashing onto the floor, "but I'm not sorry."
Rory sat still for a moment, making sure E didn't start coughing up blood or something tragic like that where she'd be forced to save her life. When E just laid there, she figured she'd just been knocked unconscious.
Being hit over the head with a wine bottled tended to have that effect.
She noticed her French lace top was torn and covered in someone's blood. Her hands were riddled with cuts and her favorite skirt had been stained with merlot.
She stole a pack of cigarettes. E owed her that much. She really liked that skirt.
Surveying the damage of the room, she figured E's nanny was used to cleaning up messes like this when E either went wild on coke and sedatives or had that evil, evil boy over with the accent and prison record over.
E's diary entries were very detailed. Rory knew he didn't play nice, which kind of turned her on. If only he hadn't occupied E's vagina with his dick. They could have really had something.
Oh well.
Jess had found E in a lot of weird positions, some involving him without pants, others involving her ODing in his pool, but finding her in a puddle of blood and merlot might have been the oddest.
Especially since his current conquest was the one who had rolled around on the floor with her, until she passed out, he assumed.
"I didn't know Rory liked it rough with everyone. I thought I was special," he pouted, even though Rory's sadistic tendencies were hot, period.
E tried to stand, but her legs were a bit wobbly from deciding to go all Kill Bill with Rory Gilmore. "If cared about you in anyway, I'd tell you not to fuck her. Imagine what she is going to do to you when she finds out it was all a game."
Run him over with her BMW. Shoot him in the face. Attach dynamite to him while he was sleeping and watch him go boom.
"Who says she has to find out?" he asked. He thought he could deflower her ass and then just not cuddle with her and that would be her punishment.
Because spooning was so important to bitches.
"Um, dipshit, that is sort of the point."
"I thought the point was for me to deflower her before Logan."
"Which will equate to social destruction."
"I hear it's quite a big deal to fuck me."
"Yeah, if you've never seen a dick before." Or were used to Logan's dick.
"I kissed her," he blurted out. What was next? Throwing pebbles at Rory's window and reciting some Shakespeare? Love was so unattractive and pathetic.
"When? Just now? She tried to kill me and you kissed her?" Maybe it was a celebratory kiss. No one liked little trick ass hoes, as we've learned from the poets of our generation: rappers.
"Before she came here and kicked your ass. In an elevator." With the candlestick? What was this, Clue: How To Do Rory Gilmore, style?
"Did you just kiss her? "
He didn't like her pressuring him to seal the deal. If she wanted it done so badly, she could hike up her skirt and do her herself. "I don't know why I have to report to you."
"Because I own your ass at the moment. And if you don't make me happy, imagine what Lorelai will do to you when I tell her you took advantage of me, and forced yourself on her poor, innocent, daughter?" Forget Lorelai. Imagine what Emily would do. She didn't want any brown haired grandchildren.
His eyes went cold. "Don't try to cross me, sweetheart. I can turn this thing on you whenever I want to. I'm the one in control."
"All you are is a dick. If you decide to develop some sort of feelings or conscience, I can get someone else to fuck her." Good luck with that. Most of the male population at Chilton feared her.
"Like who? Yourself? I don't think she's as into you as you are into her."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You're obsessed with her." Uh oh.
"Go away. I have better things to do than talk about your theory on how I really want to sleep with Rory." She tossed what was left of the wine bottle at his face, barely missing his beautiful self.
Thank god she missed. The world couldn't lose that kind of perfection.
He smirked because he knew she kind of did want Rory in a way that Republicans didn't like. "Aw, don't be like that."
"Don't come back here until Gilmore is too sore to walk."
Man, she didn't just want him to fuck her. She wanted him to channel his inner Sting.
"So now you want me to beat the shit out of her?"
She didn't answer, too mad that her Oscar De La Renta gown for her debut into society was ruined.
You normally didn't feel like bantering when a ten thousand dollar dress was ripped, stained and missing all the tulle.
He'd found a lot of girls in his room in various states of undress. His favorite was Veronica. She was European. She didn't believe in wearing a bra. Or a shirt, most of the time.
He meant his old favorite. Who he found in his room at this very moment was going to be way more fun than Veronica and her always-hard nipples or Louise with her inability to never get off her knees.
Even if she took a wine bottle to his head as well, it'd be worth it. Because he kind of sort of wanted her in more than just a 'you're hired to do her' way.
She hadn't changed, still wearing that little see through Zac Posen top or what was left of it. She looked awful and perfect at the same time.
That was the insanely rich for you. They could get away with almost anything.
He took off his leather jacket, making him look less like Marlon Brando and more like a bad, bad schoolboy.
Maybe Rory was here to spank him. Let's hope she kept a ruler in her purse.
He took a step toward his bed. Who would of thought it would have been this easy to get her in his bed? "How'd you get in my room?"
"Your nanny has always liked me better than you." Or maybe it was the fact that she looked like she was being chased by flesh eating zombies or an ax murderer. Maria would be deported if she let Miss Hayden-Gilmore be cut into little pieces by Dean or Bleam or something like that and his crazy bother.
"You didn't screw her when you were sixteen." That's right; Jess did his nanny. But he couldn't help himself. He was just taking after daddy.
The closer he moved toward her, the more aware she became of her position. She was on his bed. He could see everything. Why had she come here, like this? Why was she waiting for him, on his bed? She knew he expected something to happen that would force him to wash his sheets. "I don't know why I'm here."
"I can't answer that for you." He definitely hadn't lured her here. He wasn't Dracula.
And this wasn't a Dateline special in the making.
"I just showed up." Meaning she walked up to the front door, then went back to her car a thousand times before she realized how much she looked like Carrie's long lost twin and opted to go inside. At least Maria would make her a martini.
He smirked. Of course he didn't believe her. "Really?"
"Yeah." She stopped. "No, that's a lie. I wanted, no, I had to know something." The quickest way to Jess' penis was to ask. Wait, that wasn't the question? Oops.
"Yes, I have condoms. In the night stand."
She blushed. He loved it when she did that. It was so innocent and pure. And that purity was something he would love nothing more than to tarnish. "Shut up. If you don't shut up I'm going to hate you even more than I already do."
"I'm glad to know I haven't reached the highest level of loathing."
She sighed. "Did you mean what you said?"
He truly had no idea what she was talking about. "When?'
She bit her lip. He was going to make her say it, wasn't he? That loathsome imbecile with his perfect cheekbones. "The other day."
"Which day are we speaking of?" There were seven days in a week, and you two had been spending a lot of time together. Can't blame the boy for needing a bit more reference.
"Are you really in love with me?" she blurted out. Most girls would have been busy planning their wedding at the Plaza but Rory was too busy trying to avoid one of those lame, tragic love stories. Romeo and Juliet were retarded.
He smirked. "Who told you that?"
Her face fell for a moment. "I heard it." While you were crouched in the corner waiting to stab E in the back with your...sandal. Yeah, best not to repeat that brilliant plan to anyone.
"You were eavesdropping on me?"
"Does it matter? You said it."
"Yeah, I did," he admitted like it wasn't a big freaking deal even though he'd just told her like, five minutes prior to that exchange with E, he had never been in love in all his years of whoring.
"So did you mean it?" Casanova and Holly Golightly. It could work.
"Yeah."
She stood up, making her way toward him. "You stupid fuck!"
She hit him a few times with her clutch, then ran out of his room, leaving her gin martini. And her pride.
He was supposed to say no. He was supposed to try to get up her skirt. But he just stood there, looking perfect, and said 'yeah.'
'Yeah' was such a lame response, anyways. She couldn't kiss boys who said 'yeah.'
But why, why was it that even though she loathed him and thought he was a despicable human being, she felt a rush of something that might be butterflies when he said 'yeah'?
Well, those butterflies needed to die.
Die, die, die love butterflies. Rory had no use for you.
Ending Author's Note: So catfights. I dig em. They are demeaning to the female race, yet awesome at the same time. And I figured as long as I didn't have the HBC cheering them on, it wasn't too crossing the line into Girls Gone Wild! Over-the-top? Totally. But that is why this story is so much fun.
By the by, I'm looking for an idea partner/beta for the fall. There is more on it in my profile. If you want to apply (there will be an intensive screening process akin to getting hired at Starbucks) go to my profile page and either hit send message or email. Both go to the same place cause I'm a one stop candy shop.
Reviewers: Maybe one day our love will be recognized as a real, constitutional thing outside of California. Or maybe we'll just be forced to continue our tryst through reviews. Damn the government!
