Chapter VIII
"Make it stop!" Jess moans, reaching for the remote control, but he is much too slow. Rory snatches it up from the mattress and tucks it next to her leg.
"No can do. You have to suffer just like the rest of us. Sorry, neighbor."
She looks back down at her notepad, bearing the words Dear Dean and nothing else. She thought seeing Jess in this setting would inspire the words to foster Dean's sympathy. Nothing so far. She turns her chin up to gauge Jess's reaction so far to a film by kirk, and the disgust on his face is too amusing. Because Kirk. He chides, "What did we talk about? No calling me neighbor. Not my town."
Rory flinches as she recalls what she heard vicariously last night from Patty and Babette. Not my town. She argues, "Nope, you're an honorary member. Viewing Kirk's bare chest serves as your christening. Welcome."
"He's going to take his shirt off? Isn't the dancing enough?" Jess grimaces. Only several seconds later, "Nope, there it goes."
Rory observes in a mutter, "The black and white makes him look even paler."
The words 'a film by kirk' appear on the black screen, and Jess releases a sigh of relief as he lets his head drop back. "Never again."
"Rewind it, you say?" Rory teases.
Jess points his finger at her, but most of the effect is lost because of the oximeter clipped onto it. Rory finds it cute instead of intimidating. He says, "Don't. You. Dare."
Rory shrugs and gets up to eject the tape, one of two copies being distributed all around the town for all Stars Hollow citizens' viewing pleasure. Jess should offer thanks for her getting hold of one. She says, "If you're sure…"
Jess's voice probes curiously from behind her, "Dear Dean. Dear Dean, what?"
Rory whips around and sees that Jess managed to reach over to grab her notepad from where she left it on the side table. She cries, "Jess!"
She snatches it back from him, easily re-obtaining it. He says, "What? Clearly you wanted me to see it or you wouldn't have left it there waiting to be grabbed."
"No," Rory corrects as she glares, settling back into her seat. "I did not. And that is a dangerous way to think about other people's property."
"Whatever you say. So, what are we writing to Dean dearest? Is it a love note? A request for elopement?" He coughs into his fist after the second snarky suggestion, with a slight twitch of pain following in his brow.
Rory makes note of the cough, but doesn't say anything. When it comes to Jess's health, she never comments or inquires. Since they watched Shrek together yesterday, Rory has avoided all conversation surrounding the accident, his injuries, etc. She figures he has to talk to everyone else about how he is feeling, what hurts and what doesn't, how his treatment is progressing, so why should he have to tell her too? Why should she make both of them feel worse when they can talk about books and bands?
Rory tries to look angry. "Can it, Jess. We are not writing anything to Dean, and what I write to him is none of your business."
Jess is silent for a moment then says, "Oh, I get it. Dean doesn't know yet."
"Well, no. Not yet. I told you, he's at his grandmother's."
He suggests, "You know, there are these things called telephones. I'm sure you can figure out how they work."
"I want to tell him in person," Rory returns, letting his sarcasm roll off of her like a raindrop on a waterproof jacket.
"With a note?" Jess inquires skeptically.
"Yes with a note, that he can read in person. He gets back tomorrow night."
Jess snickers. "Well alert hospital security. I'd like to request 24 hour protective guard from a 12 foot giant surrounded by fires of fury. Unless he's at the market, selling pitchforks and torches."
He coughs again and winces in pain. Rory disregards his comment to ask, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Rory raises an eyebrow. She can almost hear him harshly telling the medic 'I'm fine' twice after the accident, when he was not fine. The nurse has come in several times during Rory's visits, to check his breathing or give drugs. Rory has pretended not to pay attention, but realized that almost every time the nurse asks him a question pertaining to pain or behavior, Jess's reply is 'fine'. Rory was asked to leave for 20 minutes earlier, but she chose to peer in and saw the nurse lift Jess's arm above his head so she could check the tubing. Then she made him control his coughing, but each spurt put a discomforted expression on his face. Not fine. Rory stopped watching after that, leaving to find some coffee. She and Jess are friends, as she managed to establish yesterday, and watching a friend in agony is like putting pins in your own shoes. So she's not going to ignore it if something is actually wrong.
Seeing her expression, Jess insists, "I am. Broken ribs, remember?"
"Nope. I forgot in 36 hours," Rory responds, then asks, "Can I get you anything? Or call the nurse?"
He rolls his eyes. "I said I'm fine. But… do you think you could grab that ice from the box over there?"
Rory practically jumps out of her seat to get to the chill box in the corner. She takes out the ice pack and uses her hands to break up the inside of the cloth sack. When she turns back, Jess is slipping his hospital gown just slightly off his shoulder, but it is enough for Rory to see it below his collarbone. A tube. Not thick, only a couple millimeters, yet that's a large hole to have bored into the skin. Its insertion point is thankfully covered with a piece of tape to hold it in place, but nevertheless, Rory cannot stop staring.
"Rory?" Jess's voice pulls her out of her reverie. "I know I'm a prize to look at, but snap out of it."
"Oh, sorry." She tries to chuckle as she hands Jess the ice pack, who maneuvers it inside his hospital gown and onto his chest. She hesitates before asking, "Does it hurt?"
"Does that hurt?" He asks in return and gestures to her arm.
Rory looks down on it, covered in stickers and permanent marker. "It's fine."
"Then it's fine," he says calmly. The noise that leaves Rory's stomach emerges as a disheartened sigh combined with an exasperated groan. She never knew someone who could manage to frustrate and captivate her as much as he does. He's bloody impossible, yet she won't stop coming back here to see him. She can't stop.
He pulls her out of her thoughts once more. "So, what are we writing to Dean?"
"I told you, we are not writing anything."
"You just look like you could use some help." He leans his bed back a little with the control buttons and holds the ice pack to his chest with a light touch. He closes his eyes, and lets out a long exhale. Rory wishes that the discomfort he is feeling could go with it. She would think he's learned the secret of instantly falling asleep, but he seems to just be controlling his breathing. In fact, now that his eyes are closed, she can take in the features of his face. The bruise on his temple is changing colors, and the dark circles around his eyes are starting to worry her. He spends most of the day in bed, yet looks like he hasn't slept well in days. How is that?
Rory has a delayed reaction to his words. "I think I can write a letter to my own boyfriend. Um, do you want me to go? You look kind of…" Jess just shakes his head slowly, with miniscule turns of his neck. Rory finishes pathetically, "Tired. I could read the next part of Oliver Twist."
He moves his head against the pillow to signal no, even slower than the first time if that is possible. Rory twiddles her thumbs. Stupid idea, anyway. It seems like Jess can barely concentrate on her voice; how could he focus on a book being read to him? She studies his face again. There is tension building between his eyebrows. She is about to ignore what he said before and reaches to press the nurse call button, but he speaks with closed eyes, "You should start by telling him you really care about him. So he can hold onto that through the rest of the letter. Like a beacon of sanity."
She withdraws her hand from above the button and looks down at the notepad in her lap, blank but for two words. A beacon of sanity. He has a point. She jots down under Dear Dean,:
First of all, you know that I love you. I have something important to tell you that are not going to like, but keep in mind that I really care about you. That's why I want you to hear it from me.
Why is Jess helping her with this? Jess, who despises Dean and flirts shamelessly with her wherever and whenever? How hard did he hit his head? After she stops scribbling, he continues, "Okay, now really lay it on with the Luke begging you to tutor me. You were just doing a favor."
On Friday night after dinner with the grandparents, I went over to the diner to help Jess study. Luke begged me to be Jess's tutor and threw in free snacks, so I was doing him a favor.
Rory looks up and says, "Jess, I don't…"
He goes on, "Then keep it brief. Study break. Ice cream. Animal. Jess is the shittiest driver to ever get behind the wheel of a car."
"I'm not writing that! Jess… " Rory feels awful talking about it, when she's been avoiding the topic for two days, but it has to be done. It's not your fault.
As if she'd said that aloud, he responds, "I know. But he won't know that. He's going to blame me anyway, just let him."
Rory shakes her head. "No, I'm not writing that."
"Better me than you," he mutters, eyes still closed. They flash open when Rory's weight sinks the mattress next to him.
She sits facing him but can't bear to look at him so she stares at the white sheets instead. The anger and sadness is turning the pit of her stomach into a full, yet endless void. The fingers of her right hand wrap around the rail next to her, gripping onto it with a force that turns her knuckles white. After several seconds of silence, and of Jess waiting for Rory to speak, she whispers, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
Sitting next to Jess on his hospital bed, Rory can hear them, too clearly. Her parents. Babette. Miss Patty. Taylor. Taylor, who just earlier this morning warned her not to get addicted to painkillers, called Jess a natural disaster, and closed by giving her a peach. She tried to apologize for hitting his bench, and now 'Jess' could be the local name of the next tornado that comes within a 100 mile radius of Stars Hollow. All these people acting like she's an idiot who got strung along then hurt by a guy with more malicious intent than a serial killer. Why should he alone be held accountable? She wants to share this burden with him. She wants everyone else to shut up and stop laying blame. And if someone has to take the fall, they should go down together. She wants people to stop rejoicing that she isn't nearly as hurt as he is. 'At least he got the brunt of the damage; after all, better him than her.' So many people believe that, and it's hurling Rory into the deep end to think that Jess believes it too.
Jess just runs his fingers over the cast on Rory's arm, which rests between their left thighs. It wasn't actually a rhetorical question; Rory needs to know why. As he traces the stickers and rubs his thumb over the permanent marker displaying Lane's loopy signature, Rory presses, "Do you really believe that?"
"I don't know," he answers noncommittally, then adds, "But I'm glad you didn't get more hurt. If that took a couple broken ribs and a concussion, then whatever."
Rory feels very uncomfortable then. He cares. She's always known it, especially with how he took care of her after the accident. She knew it when he gave The Fountainhead another chance. She knew it when he confided in her about his mother. She knew it when he told her she will be the next Christiane Amanpour, he's sure of it. But with Jess, the lines are always blurred, the scene never coming into focus. He has so many layers, such a thick facade. She spends so much time knocking at the door, trying to get in, that she is shocked when it actually opens. Now she is standing at the stoop with her fist hanging in the air, feeling awkward and stupid.
Jess lets her off the hook by shutting his eyes again and reverting to, "Okay, write the next part, then read me what you have so far."
Rory stammers, "This isn't- I can't - None of your business!"
Jess's smirk is evident in her peripherals when she picks up the pen and starts to scribble words onto the paper once more, not making a move to leave her perch on the mattress. After all, it is more comfortable than the chair.
"That was good. The beginning is still a little mushy, though."
In a spurt of desperation, Rory let Jess have input into Dean's letter. She tried to write it, but everything started to blend together and she couldn't find the right words. Not to say Jess's advice didn't lack sarcasm and jabs at her boyfriend, but Rory is adjusted to his sense of humor. Infuriatingly, he continued to give good points in writing the letter, especially in the areas in which Rory would have begun to rant. She keeps her writing concise and informative when it comes to The Franklin at school, but this is different. This is personal. Jess helped her take a step back to write something that makes sense and hopefully, will placate Dean.
She just finished reading the letter to her companion in its entirety. During the reading, she could feel Jess's eyes on her, and her own cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Jess is the last person who should hear Rory share her feelings for Dean. The absolute last person. At the beginning, she forced herself not to look up to gauge Jess's reaction to her words; she knew his expression would be unreadable anyways. Maybe he just wanted to hear how Rory is portraying him to the outside world, though she doubts he doesn't already know.
"You said to start by lighting a beacon of sanity. Cue the beacon," Rory shoots back, and Jess rolls his eyes. She can't resist asking, "Why are you helping me with this? You don't like Dean."
'Don't like Dean' is a gross understatement. The disdain between the two of them is poignant, thick and heavy with the scent of testosterone. He shrugs, and Rory determines that she will find out later. He still doesn't look well, and she doesn't want to push him. She asked three times if he needed anything during the letter-writing process, and after the third, he threatened to give her details of Luke's sex life if she asked again. So she silently returned his ice pack, which he was using to reduce the chest swelling, to the chill box and grabbed another, placing it on his ankle. Then she resumed her place next to him on the mattress to finish the letter, while he stared at her wordlessly.
Now Rory returns his gaze, but he looks away suddenly, finding the ceiling drastically more interesting in that moment? With the jerk of his neck, his respiration picks up, the breaths coming quicker. Gasps intermittent with coughs erupt out of him as he places a hand on his chest and sits up further.
Rory hears herself screaming his name as he leans forward, and she stabilizes him before he can keel over. His forehead comes to press on her collarbone, sending her skin into shock with the heat. The sound of the ice pack hitting the floor barely registers; it sounds so far away. She slams her palm down on the red emergency call button on the rail, once, twice, three times. Then she holds him against her as he struggles for air, and thoughts and reason evade her. She tucks her fingers into his hair, clutching the tiny curls at the nape of his neck with her right hand. They could have been embracing. She can feel him trying to slow his breathing, but his body won't let him. She branches her fingers through his black hair before retracting them to hold the shortest ones at the bottom, probably too tightly. As if she holds him close enough, hard enough, she could absorb some of his pain. Fighting back tears, she lets him lean on her and whispers into his ear with her eyes squeezed shut, "Hey, you're okay. You're okay."
Maybe she is saying it because she wants to believe it so strongly. Maybe she just needs to hear it before she faints from panic. But she can also hear Jess's voice in her mind from two nights ago while she sobbed in the car, inflicted by fear and hurt. Her eyes were squeezed shut then just like they are now, too scared to view reality. He was strong for both of them, even though he was scared and injured too. So Rory keeps him in her arms, reassures him, and reassures herself, while she wonders why no one has come yet.