Hey everyone, a ficlet for ya'll. This story is set from Jess's POV, and he's telling the story from his apartment in New York at night as he's thinking about what happened between him and Rory right before he left. Ignore the accident; it never happened. There are other reasons for him leaving.......but read on anyway. Thank you for your patience.......love all my fans! Here's another humble piece of .........whatever.....here's to hoping you maybe....like it?
disclaimer; don't own nothing but the plot, sue me, you won't get a lot.
Night descends on the city, soft and gloomy in it's heavy purple velvet weight. It falls over the houses and playgrounds, covering us softly, suffocating. It's misting outside, cool fog slowly descending on the waves of humanity. The pulse of the city hums quietly, interrupted by sirens and lights, then quiet again. People move like dark shadows, hurrying, flowing, moving like currents and rivers under the misty streetlights that paint the streets electric blue.
I'm thinking about you.
I can't sleep; it's so late at night that even the clerks have fallen asleep in the 24 hour mart across the street from our apartment building. The lights from the warehouse pierce the tree line dimly, painting the shadows in my room in cool blue. I toss and turn restlessly, twist and shiver under the sheets. Now I'm cold, then I forget, and I'm hot again. I get up, and drink some water, to no avail.
You're standing there like a ghost, watching me silently.
I lean my head back against the pillow and let the memories swallow me, creeping in through my ears and under my eyelids, worming their way in through my slightly open lips. The flow softly inside my head and nest there, beginning to paint the walls of my mind with the familiar scenes and sounds.
I don't fight. I let myself drown in the soft liquid of remembrance.
It's a cool fall night. The light shines in golden angles on your face, soft and yielding. You smile shyly at me and reach out a hand, saying something about felony. I shrug, and you take the book.
"What is much?" I had said, and felt your smile coming up to the surface.
"Dodger. Figure it out," you'd called out, and I felt myself grin.
"Oliver Twist," I whisper to myself. "Oliver Twist," I call back. Your smile breaks through, and you hurry off, strangely disturbed by this revelation.
I shrug, and wipe off the grin that I know is holding my face hostage.
I think I'm in love with you.
I know nothing about you. But I can see myself playing the fool. I've lived long enough in the city to know you can't trust that female shit. But here, everything is so goddamn different. For the first time, I'm at loss for categories to place someone in. That someone is you, undefinable, undescribable you.
God, I'm getting soft already.
3 in the morning. I stumble blearily through the apartment. I watch my mother's face peacefully, sleeping. She looks so much younger, less tired and old. I can't help loving her. She's so sad and so fucked up. God, does she ever regret having me. But that makes me love her no less. I would hate having me too; she's my mother. I can't help wanting her to love me. I get bitter thinking about it sometimes, but then, I don't think about it if I can help it. It hurts in some strange way. Moving away from the bedroom, I stand at the window, watching the familiar street behind me. A hundred bucks could safely say there were no porcelain unicorns for blocks and blocks. That, I didn't mind.
I remember the night after the morning when I stopped by your house, the night before I went home.
You've got this innocent baby face. You wouldn't last a day in the city by yourself; you'd absolutely be harassed, no doubt about it. But I'd like to take you and show you everything. I tell you about this on the warm spring nights when we sit on the bridge. Your mom thinks you're with Lane; Lane's mom thinks she's with you. She's in her store, practicing her beloved drums, and you're off "gallivanting with the bad boy" as Babette so delicately puts it. Everyone agrees I'll be the death of you; those who are less paranoid agree that I'll at least be the corruption. We laugh about it together.
The light glow and shine slick on the black water as you sit next to me and we laugh about Anne Heche's attempt at writing, discuss Middle East politics, argue about Eastern religions. You're determined existentialism is a religion; I stubbornly protest.
"Existentialism? Gimme a break. What's your mantra? To exist? Do you even have a deity?"
"Not good enough Rory, you're getting lazy. Isn't that a rather self centered religion, if you're worshipping your own presence in the world?"
"Yeah well, you know my ego," she grins. Then she hums a few lines that I instantly.
"How wonderful life is, now that you're in the world," I say thoughtfully. "Moulin Rouge."
"Overused and overly hyped, but daggone it, it sticks like a Britney Spears song in your head."
"Baz Luhrmman has issues, I'm telling you," I tell her earnestly.
"But his adaptation of Romeo and Juliet......." you counter.
"True, true," I admit. "Nicole Kidman still can't sing."
"Never said she could," you snicker. "I still can't believe they made a Sublime song into a tango. At least that one was vicious."
"Hell yeah," I respond with enthusiasm. "The guy who sang it sounded like he had emphysema, but you can't ruin Sublime. I wish he hadn't done away with himself......."
"I second that," you say sadly.
We pause for a minute, relaxed, just watching the water peacefully. I watch a smile break through to your face.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I say softly, wondering, wishing I knew.
You blush lightly, and look away, countering smartly.
"Due to inflation, I think that'll be a dime."
"Due to the fact you still haven't read Hemingway while I've thoroughly dissected Ayn Rand, I think that'll be free."
"Well," you continue, "don't make any remarks, but I just noticed that I can be quiet with you. I mean, we don't have to talk. We can just be silent and think. With Dean, we have to talk or kiss or something, or he'll think something's wrong. I like being quiet with you."
I said nothing.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," she commanded sullenly after a minute.
"Sorry," I say, very insincerely.
She looks down at her hands.
"That doesn't mean I like you or anything."
"Of course not."
"Because if you did, you'd never hear the end of it. You're so trapped. It'd be so impossible for you to like me. Not only that, but I'm not really likable, my attitude is so stank. There's lots of other cons if you'd like me to list the-"
It's your fault. You leaned over and cut my sentence short, brutally ended it. I don't understand and I don't care; all I can think about is how your lips fit so right, how you taste so sweet like warm baby skin, how fragile your fingertips are on the side of my face. I feel every tiny breath you take, I hear the erratic pulse beating in my head, blood rushing through my temples. The soft sound of disconnection breaks the silence.
You back away deathly pale. Awkwardly, you stand up, and wrap your arms around yourself.
I stand up quickly, and began talking rapidly and quietly, because I see you slipping into that panic that you're so prone to. I don't want you running away.
"Hey, listen to me. What just happened, if you don't want it to, it didn't really happen. Alright? It's up to you. Did you just imagine what I imagined? Don't run, alright? Nothing to be scared of." I say quickly, soothingly. I look down at my hands, but I can hear your breathing slowing down again.
You nod your head, shaken. You still look uncomfortable.
"I promise," I say simply, and wait.
You finally can't help yourself, and lift your head to look at me.
"Promise what?" you say in a low voice.
"Whatever you want me to," I say simply, and watch your eyes go wide. Suddenly, they begin to glisten. They blur and gleam like the dark pond water.
"Rory?" I say, concern tingeing my voice.
You're crying, I think.
It's then that you throw your arms around me and you're sort of crying into my shoulder, and you look up, and I kiss the tear on your cheek because, I don't know why.
It's then that our mouths meet again.
And it's then that I lose my footing.
I remember your lips still burning as we fell through the air, floating. I thought for a minute I was flying. The water wasn't cold, but it swallowed us before we came gasping to the surface again.
We stood there in front of each other in the dark orange glow, floating on the water. It was then that you giggled.
"What's your magnetic attraction to the water around this bridge?" you grin, flicking a few droplets on me.
I roll my eyes.
"What, you think I swim here on purpose? First Luke, now you. Who's next? Your mother? But knowing her, I wouldn't be resurfacing for a fourth time."
You smile sadly, and my eyes beg apology.
Suddenly we're both laughing, and I don't know why. You throw soaked arms around my neck and we kiss, tasting water, glowing and rippling darkly around us. Your lips spread in a grin against mine, as the soft, dripping angles and curves of you rest against mine, and I feel every fiber of you resonate in me.
"Rory, Rory. Plan on staying here all night?"
"Save me, Jess! I'm drowning!" you gurgle melodramatically, falling under the water. I sigh and yank you out, setting you on your feet. The water's not even chest high.
"You're no fun," you giggle. Pulling yourself out, you lay on the bridge and grab my hand.
"Promise you'll never let go, Jack," you wail, and we burst into laughter again, as I grab hold and pull myself up on the bridge. We lay there panting, dripping water.
"This is crazy," you whisper. "I'll never forget this."
"You're gonna get sick. Let's get you home," I say, desperately wishing we didn't have to. You panic again.
"Jess, how the hell am I gonna lie my way out of this one!!!" you say furiously, grabbing your head in your hands.
"You were on the way home when Kirk suddenly seized you and threw you in the pond."
"Oh yeah, there's a good one."
"You accidentally tripped and fell into somebody's bathtub."
"Just tell her you were with Dean, she'll send you back for another soaking."
"Jess...." you say ruefully, but we both know it's true. "Dean," you say again, softer. Your face looks so tired in the light.
"Oh Rory......" I sigh, wanting to make it all disappear. The solution looms before me, too simple. I know it's time. "I'm leaving tonight. Going back to New York for a while."
Your face stares at me in shock.
"How long is a while?" you breathe out.
"As long as it takes you to figure whatever out. As long as my mom'll keep me. Maybe a week."
You bite your lip and nod.
My hand slides over the wood, covering yours. We just sit like that for a little, letting it sink in.
You stand up.
"This, has been, one of the best nights,"
"Of my life," I finish quietly, and you hold my gaze steadily.
You sigh into my shoulder, then, run. At the end of the bridge, you turn, and I can still see your face in the shadows. I stand there, watching your disappearing back.
It's 4 o clock at night. Your presence is still haunting me, I can't sleep. Memories seep through my skin, thickening the air around me. I miss you so much.
The city sounds softly filter in through the window. It's been a week. I'm still waiting, waiting. I don't know if I'll ever hear from you again. What I had asked you to do was give up a world of security, peace of mind, a relationship with your mother, asked you to give up your first love and take a chance on a stranger.
I wouldn't blame you if you forgot everything quietly and conveniently.
I still can't sleep.
The phone rings, and before I pick it up, I can feel it. A smile spreads through my face. I take a deep breath, and find the handset. I push talk.
I lay back down on the pillows, close my eyes, and lay still in the darkness for a second.
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