A/N: The first chapter of the sequel to "Leaving marks" is here. I've worked on this chapter for a long time so I hope you like it and it doesn't disappoint you. It will probably be a while before I post the next chapter because I have another story to write and my muse seems to hate me lately so bare with me. My BETA is away at the moment so I didn't run it past it before adding this so I apologize in advance for all my mistakes. She's also moving away at the end of the month so if anyone wants to be my new BETA it will be greatly appreciated. This being said a bit about the story: it takes place not long after Lane's baby shower. Any other details will be explained later on (including how Rory and Jess got together). Reviews are always appreciated and welcomed and make me squeal with joy. Criticism as well. Tell me what sucks and what you like. God, this is a very long note. I'm shutting up now and letting you read.

If this had been a movie it would have rained outside and the radio would have played one sappy song after another. The streets would have been deserted and the only light would have been that of her headlights. But this was real life and the sun was rising, people were driving to work, the radio played only cheerful morning music and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. And as she continues to drive through the streets of Philadelphia she wished real life would have been more like the movies because movies have happy endings.

She arrives at her apartment after what seem like decades but in fact are merely hours. She has to get him out of her mind, out of her skin, just out. So she undresses quickly and steps in the shower, leaving her clothes scattered all over the bathroom floor. And as the water starts to pour all over her body she knows it won't be that easy because nothing is ever easy when it comes to him. She knows that soon her bruises will start to fade. She knows that soon the bite-mark on her right shoulder will start to heal. She knows that others can't see the biggest wound that he left but that doesn't mean that it isn't there and she knows that it won't heal. Not soon. Not ever. But she is used to it by now because this is not the first wound that he left behind. It will someday be just another scar on her heart to add to the collection, like the markings that warriors used to have on their knives to show the number of people that they had killed. Her collection just shows how many times he killed her.

She gets out of the shower and throws her clothes in the hamper, keeping only his t-shirt in her hands. It will be put away in the back of the closet, hidden behind her collection of Yale sweatshirts. It will sit there, folded away nicely until one night will come, one of the nights when she misses him so badly that she feels like she can't breathe because of the knot in her chest when it will be picked up and she will put it on and read the old and tattered copy of"Howl". She hates those nights, she hates that he still has the power to take her breath away without even being near her, she hates that she has to explain to Logan why she hides in the bathroom for hours and she hates that she still cries because he left and because she didn't go with him and because of all the other stupid reasons that took away their chance for a middle and an ending. She cries because she can't hate him.

She moves to her room quickly, silently thanking the gods for the fact that neither Paris nor Doyle are at home and that Logan is still in Vegas because she can't deal with anyone right now. She opens her laptop and throws herself in her work, completing paper after paper until the night comes and she realizes that it's 11.30 and that she hadn't had any coffee all day and that her phone is still switched off but doesn't bother to turn it on, knowing that the only messages waiting for her will be those of her mother because Logan is too drunk or otherwise preoccupied with some slut he picked up to remember to call her.

She walks out of her room and into the small kitchen area and starts the coffee maker while she examines the mark on her shoulder and traces it with her long fingers wishing, for a fraction of a second, that he was next to her to kiss and make it better. She remembers the look in his eyes and the way he smiled in his sleep, the way he touched her and how his lips felt all over her skin, the happiness that overwhelmed her when she woke up next to him and the agony of knowing that she had to leave. She remembers it all and slowly she breaks down and starts crying on the kitchen floor, her muffled sobs accompanied only by the sounds of car horns that come from outside her window.

The next morning Paris' voice and her hands shaking her shoulder wake her up and she mumbles something about being sorry and just sitting down for a moment while she waited for the coffee and she hides in her room before Paris gets a chance to see just how swollen and red her eyes are. It's another day that she knows she will spend in bed because she doesn't want to face the world just yet…