Here's the next installment.
Favors Part 4
diddleesquat@excite.com
RATING: PG with some sexual overtones and mild cursing
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: Tristan/Rory
SUMMARY: A continuation from parts 1, 2, and 3. Der.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ok. I struggled with direction for this part butfinally
came up with something. I apologize in advance for the Dawson's
Creekness of it all.
DISCLAIMER: Tristan is actually tied up in my basement waiting for me
as I type. So if there are any mistakes, remember, I have other things on
my mind.
The clock on the wall read 1:30, and for a moment, Rory wasn’t sure if it
was a.m. or p.m. She squinted her eyes as she squirmed around in the bed,
still groggy from her sleep. Searching for some point to orient herself,
she craned her neck to look over at the window, on the far wall. Streams of
light shone around the pulled blinds, giving the only indication that it was
in fact daytime. Her mother was right. This place could be a dungeon.
With the windows covered by the thick blinds and drapes, it was hard to tell
the difference between night and day. In a way, the darkness was
comforting, beckoning her to crawl back into the warmth of the covers, and
submit to another hour of sleep.
She cautiously sat up in bed, running her hand through strands of her messy
hair as she looked around the room. This room was definitely not hers. Knick
knacks and posters adorned the wall, signifying what her grandmother
believed every sixteen year old was interested in. Apparently, she had yet
to realize that Rory wasn’t like every other sixteen year old on the planet.
She wasn’t awed by the pop icons of her generation or fooled into believing
persons of fame had some innate charm that separated them from the rest of
society. She appreciated the effort her grandmother extended to make her
feel at home. But nothing would replace the comfort of her own bedroom,
even if it were half the size of this one.
She stood from the bed, her shaky legs barely supporting her clumsy, just
awoken stance. She paused to gain control over her body, dreading a fall
into the night stand that would mark up her charming features. Having
gained her balance, she flipped on the nearest lamp, her eyes flickering to
the mirror on the wall as she did so. She couldn’t suppress the giggles at
the sight of her. Her hair was a mess, mussed from the nap she just took,
strands hanging in front of her eyes, and misplaced from the ponytail at the
nape of her neck. Her makeup was smudged, mascara leaving dark circles
under her tired eyes. Her eye makeup formed lines down her cheeks, and if
she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d been crying. She used
her fingertips to wipe away as much of the mess as she could, deciding her
eyes must have watered from pure exhaustion as she drifted off to sleep. Her
outfit didn’t help matters. She glanced down at her wrinkled clothes,
deep creases forming where she had twisted in her sleep. She was still
wearing the borrowed t-shirt and shorts, swimming in the masses of extra
fabric draping her body. She looked to her feet, noticing the cause of her
unsteadiness. The red straps of her shoes crossed her ankles, holding them
firmly to her feet, yet unable to keep her from wobbling on the chunky
heels. Lorelai hadn’t given her the opportunity to change, for the second
she entered the house, well, actually before she had entered the house,
Lorelai had practically dragged her up the stairway to this room. She
looked herself over in the mirror again, amusing herself with the less than
stellar beauty queen appearance.
The cloud from sleep hanging over her thoughts had not yet lifted. She
wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but she knew it was shortly after
arriving at her grandparents’ house. She vaguely recalled a conversation
with her mother, but had so far been spared the interrogation that was sure
to come from her grandparents. Bits and pieces of her conversation drifted
in and out of her thoughts. She remembered something about a newspaper.
And something having to do with Tristan. Her mother must have decided the
best medicine following an eventful night was sleep, and she silently
thanked her for that. She was grateful for the extra rest, still recovering
from her lack of sleep the night before. Her fitful resting at the hotel
had been less than peaceful. She had slept on and off, but being in the
vicinity of Tristan kept her from completely relaxing and submitting to her
dreams. The pull he had over her emotions was far from negated by his
sleeping state. Even when he wasn’t awake, he could make her question
everything she ever thought about him. And about herself.
She stooped to relieve her feet from the confining shoes, losing the
formality that contrasted sharply with the rest of her attire. She
carefully undid the straps, pulling her feet from the fancy footwear.
Grabbing them by the heels, she crossed the room, placing them neatly, side
by side beneath the hanging dress. The dress had been returned to the
protective cocoon of the garment bag. Her mother had been thoughtful enough
to put it away, guessing the memories that one piece of clothing could hold.
Feeling an inexplicable urge, she reached up to unzip the cover, needing to
feel the fabric between her fingers. She ran her hand across the material,
her fingertips gliding over the soft satin fabric. Pulling the dress closer
to her face, she inhaled the myriad of scents retained from last night, each
different scent flooding her mind with memories and thoughts from the night
before. She could smell the perfume she wore mixing with the smoke
lingering from the reception hall and their dirty hotel room. She easily
picked out traces of his cologne, transferring to her dress as he held her
so close during their dance. She didn’t notice how she began to sways
lightly to the music in her mind, remembering the feel of being wrapped in
his embrace.
She rezipped the garment bag, closing the dress and its memories into the
protective lining. Her fingertips grazed the side of her head, massaging
the strain from her temples. She knew full well the headache that was
emerging from her lack of coffee, reminding her she was long overdue for her
next fix. On her path across the room, she passed by the mirror, something
about her appearance catching her eye. Pausing momentarily, she took a few
steps backward, turning to face herself in it’s length. She stood for a few
seconds, pondering her appearance yet again. Approaching it so that she was
only inches away, her eyes focused on the glints of light sparkling from the
object around her neck. She gently lifted her hand, her finger looping
through the necklace, removing it from its confines under the shirt. The
rubies and diamonds twinkled with the sunlight that managed to creep into
the room. She ran her hand over the jewels as they lay on her neck, a
motion repeated many times within the last 24 hours. For a moment she
forgot the price of the necklace, for her, the value resting far from the
monetary denomination.
She reached her hands behind her neck, lifting her hair to get at the clasp.
Her fingers sought to grab hold of the mechanism, struggling to open it. As
she fiddled with it, her eyes looked into the mirror, focusing on the strand
around her neck. As if in a different world, her hands stopped their
actions pausing in her movements to stare at the piece surrounding her
delicate neck. For some unknown reason, she refused to remove it, needing
to keep the cold metal against her skin. Her hands once again returned to
their protective covering the necklace. She ran her fingertips over the
jewels, the ragged edges lightly scraping against her hand. She let her
hands fall to her sides, staring confused at the image before her.
Thousands of feelings and emotions coursed through her body as she focused
on the object. She vividly remembered the feel of Tristan’s hands brushing
against her skin as he placed it on her, goosebumps and shivers overtaking
her body with the contact. She took in the way his eyes seemed to reflect
the sparkles whenever he looked at it. Shaking her head slightly, she
refused to believe her reluctance to remove it had anything to do with
Tristan. Admitting such was admitting the control he held over her
emotions.
In the clarity that returned in the daylight, and the lucid thoughts forming
after sleep, she wondered exactly what had come over her. The war in her
mind raging between admission of her feelings, and refusal to accept their
existence. She reminded herself silently of the night before, unable to
accept the inklings of attraction she was forming, blaming them on the
magical events of the night. She was moving too fast, letting her emotion
stake over the domain of her rational behavior. She was not accustomed to
the complete and utter loss of power, fighting the spinning of her thoughts
and the downward freefall she was learning to recognize. Thoughts of her
conversation with her mother crept into her head, knowing in her gut it had
somehow surrounded her feelings for Tristan. She tried unsuccessfully to
recall the exact wording, chalking up her failure to retain information to
the lack of caffeine in her system. Whatever she had said, she was sure it
was uttered out of exhaustion, her mind clearly not thinking things through.
Her mother of all people should understand the insanity that resulted from
excessive lack of coffee.
She reached her hand up, tucking the necklace back under the collar of
Tristan’s shirt. Looking down on her outfit, she pondered the option of
changing out of the shirt and shorts. The intimacy of wearing his clothes
was unconscious to her, the same material that touched his bare skin still
clinging to hers. She had other clothes she could change into, but didn’t,
deciding against delaying her caffeine intake. The shirt and shorts were a
comfortable fit, covering her in the comfiness of their worn condition.
Besides, wearing his clothes meant nothing to her, so why should she feelf
orced to change from them.
She frowned slightly at her thoughts, amazed that in a few short minutes
after waking up she was already thinking of Tristan and what effect he had
on her. Shaking her head, she refuted the idea that he meant anything to
her beyond a friend. Denial. It was quickly becoming her friend.
As she crossed the floor reaching the door, she prepared herself for the
onslaught of questions that would greet her downstairs. As she did, she
paused momentarily, mentally clearing her thoughts of all things Tristan, at
ask that was becoming increasingly difficult. Simple things such as a
necklace or a dress could evoke such strong emotions. She again denied the
fact that she had a problem, convincing herself that she could stop thinking
of Tristan at any second. She could stop wanting to be in his company, stop
wanting to see his smirk in the halls, and most importantly, stop feeling
the flutter of her heart when he walked into the room. She was beginning to
think she needed to enroll in a 12 step program. Tristan-aholics anonymous.
She sighed at the thought. She definitely had the denial down. Now what
was the next stage? She wasn’t quite sure, but she silently prayed that she
would find it. She was already treading on shaky ground, dangerously close
to wholly submitting to her addiction.
Four cups of coffee, and an hour later, she was still fighting the war
against her emotions. Only now, she was battling on two fronts. On one
hand, she was defending Tristan, trying to convince her grandparents that he
had been a complete gentleman with nothing but pure intentions. And on the
other, she was telling herself to ignore the words coming from her mouth,
because Tristan was not the great guy she was painting him out to be.
She cast what she hoped were killer glares at her mother, who was sitting
across the room, amused by the whole situation. She couldn’t help but think
her mother was enjoying her turmoil, finally receiving a dose of what her
mother went through so many times before. Her grandparents could be
completely irrational sometimes.
“So you danced with him?”
“I already said that I did.” Rory was quickly growing tired of her
grandmother’s demand for information.
“Was it a slow dance, or a fast dance?”
“I don’t remember,” she lied.
“Where were his hands during your dance?”
“Isn’t this where you cue the stage lighting, casting dark shadows across my
face as the criminal faces the interrogation.”
Emily ignored her comment, though Rory was pleased to see a smile start to
form on her grandfather’s lips. She made a mental note to remember that if
ever she wanted something from her grandparents, first seek out her
grandfather, for he seemed to have a soft spot for her.
Reluctantly, Rory realized the torture would be over sooner if she just
cooperated. “It was a slow dance, music by Faith Hill, I think. His hands
were at my waist, mine at his neck, just like you see there.” She pointed
at the newspaper laying on the table. “When the song ended, the
photographer took the picture, we broke away, end of story.”
Letting the information settle in, Emily quickly moved to her next topic.
“How many beds were in the hotel room?”
Before she could answer, Lorelai jumped in to save the day, deciding Rory
had endured enough humiliation for the day, and probably for her lifetime.
“Ok Sipowicz and Sorenson, I think you’ve gotten as much information out of
this confidant as you’re going to get. How about you release her to my
custody and I promise to bring her back in for questioning if any new leads
develop?” She walked around to stand behind her daughter’s chair, placing
her hands comfortingly on her shoulders. She looked back and forth between
her parents, a pensive frown on her face.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh nothing. I was just trying to decide which one of you would be
Sorenson. Because you know, Rick Schroeder definitely has a cuter butt than
Dennis Franz. But then again, Dennis Franz has won a few Emmy’s for his
buttwork. Well, maybe not just for his buttwork, but I’m sure that’s one of
his many assets. Oh, now there’s a word that could have so many meanings
for this conversation. Ok, I’m stopping that train of thought before I
start casting you guys by your butts, not that I’ve ever thought about your
butts mind you.” Lorelai shuddered at the thought, ignoring the
flabbergasted look her mother was casting her.
“Lorelai, I’m not finished.”
“Well I think Rory is.”
“I think she can stand to answer a few more questions.”
Lorelai sighed. “Well, Mom, I’m trying to get her out of here before the
inevitable ‘boxers or briefs’ question arises.”
“Don’t you want to know what went on with your daughter and that boy?” Her
voice indicated that she was not buying the innocent gestures her
granddaughter suggested.
“No, Mom. I don’t. I trust Rory and I’m not going to make her relive last
night just to satisfy my curiousity. If she has something to tell me,
she‘ll tell me when she‘s good and ready.” Lorelai motioned for Rory to
leave the room, and she happily obeyed, exiting into the hall. “And even if
I did, as her mother I have first dibs on the juicy gossip which I plan to
extract during the car ride home.”
Richard calmly placed a hand on Emily’s arm. “I think we’ve gotten as much
as we’re going to get. Why don’t you give it a rest for now.”
Emily huffed. “I most certainly will not. I think I’m entitled to a
detailed description of last nights events, given it involves myg
randdaughter and the grandson of one of our closest friends.” She began to
stand to follow Rory out of the room. “Rory...”
Lorelai stepped into her path.
“What are you doing?” Emily tried to brush past her, but Lorelai again
headed her off.
“For once in your life Mother, let it go.” Her voice was firm.
Emily stopped, aghast at her daughter’s tone of voice. Rory decided that
now would be a good time to exit the house. She made her way out onto the
porch, not wanting to hear the argument ensuing a few feet away.
Rory placed the dress and shoes into the back seat of the jeep, climbing
silently into the front. Lorelai was already seated behind the wheel,
glancing curiously at her daughter.
“So, how’d you do it?”
Rory looked questioningly. “How’d I do what?”
“How did you sit there and answer those questions without completely gushing
about Tristan.”
Rory scowled at her mother. “I don’t gush about Tristan, nor would I want
to.”
Lorelai chuckled. “Is this the same girl who only this morning was finally
admitting she had feelings for this ogre?”
“I did nothing of the sort.” She crossed her arms in front of her in what
she hoped was a convincing move, realizing after the fact that it more
likely resembled pouting.
Lorelai looked at her through the corner of her eyes. “Oh, then that must
be my other daughter. The one who was suddenly falling head over heels for
some guy.”
“I do not have feelings for Tristan. We’re friends. That’s all.” Her
voice sounded unconvincing , even to herself.
Lorelai let out a muffled snort.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing. Why did you just snort?”
“I was just thinking that you change your mind more often than Ms. Patty
changes her cell phone battery.”
“Are you saying that I’m fickle?”
Lorelai pondered the question. “Not fickle. Confused.”
“I am not confused.” She ignored the dubious look her mother cast her way.
“Then you’re in denial.”
She didn’t respond.
“You know, we really need to get you some help. Maybe there’s a 12 step
program out there that can help you realize your obsession.”
Rory’s eyes shot to her mother’s face, astonished that her mother could read
her thoughts so well. “I am not obsessed.”
“Denial.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Ooh, anger. Still in stage 1 dear. Admitting you have a problem is the
first step.”
Rory turned to face the window, hoping her mother would get the hint.
“That’s ok honey. Once you pass step one you move onto step two.
Realization that you’re powerless to control it.”
Rory inwardly cringed at the thought. The truth of that statement stung.
For no matter how hard she fought this feeling, she was powerless to control
where it was taking her. Unwilling to believe that one person could have
this much control over her thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Satisfied that
Lorelai had finally dropped the subject, she leaned her head against the
headrest, closing her eyes, willing herself to think about something,
anything that was not him.
Tristan threw his keys on the bookcase by the door. His mother hated when
he did that, the clinking noise disturbing the quiet mausoleum feel to the
entryway. She also feared that he would knick the finish on the extremely
over priced antique. At first he had done it for convenience, his keys
accessible immediately as he ran through the door. It had since progressed
to an action solely done to irk his mother, seizing every opportunity she
gave him to make her crazy.
He bounded up the stairs, seeking the comfort of his room. It was the only
place inside his ‘home’ that he truly felt like he belonged. It contained
few aspects of the typical teenager’s room, but instead reflected the self
few people knew. Mounds of books were stacked neatly in the corner, the
overflow from his packed desk and shelves. He never told anyone about his
obsession with literature, keeping that piece of information hidden beneath
the fake persona. He smiled to himself. If anyone knew of his activities,
they would assume he took up reading because she liked it. But that wasn’t
true. As much as he enjoyed knowing they shared this passion, his love of
the arts dated back to his childhood, long before she had entered his life.
He smiled as he remembered the way she looked last night. She was a picture
of pure perfection in the dress, letting herself for once show off her
beauty. At first she had been a little self conscious, but as soon as she
recognized the looks he cast her way, she quickly gained her self esteem.
Unlike most girls he dated, she was not sure of her beauty, not flaunting it
to gain his attention. But that’s exactly what she did. He couldn’t
believe that she did not know the effect she had on him. How being in the
same room with her wreaked havoc on his control. He remembered how she
looked in his clothes, the t-shirt all but hanging to her knees. Even in
his clothes she looked like a goddess.
He yawned as he made his way to his bed, not even bothering to change out of
his disheveled tux. The sleep he attained last night was minimal, for
everytime he started to drift off, she would shift positions in the bed,
reminding him that the one person he wanted more than life itself was laying
only inches from him. He marveled at his self control, amazed that he had
kept himself from pulling her into his arms and placing kisses all along her
neck. He smiled tiredly as he fondly recalled waking with her in his arms.
While he could still master his actions while he was awake, his altered
sleeping state had been unable to restrain the urge to hold her.
No sooner had he flopped on his bed, he heard a knock at the door. He let
out a small groan at the interruption to his much needed sleep. Before he
could answer, his door opened, both his mother and father entering into the
room. He sat up in his bed, staring at them flatly, uninterested in
anything they had to say.
This time, his father spoke first. “Your mother and I have decided that you
will not be bringing that girl to any more functions.”
Tristan stared down his parents, startled by the conversation, yet somehow
knowing this conversation was coming. “What? Dictating my career path
wasn‘t enough for you? Now you want to tell me who I can be friends with?”
“You will not talk to your father that way.” His mother’s defense of his
father was almost comical.
“Ooh, are you going to banish me to my room and take away my toys?”, he
asked snidely.
“You are a DuGrey. And DuGreys do not socialize with people of lower
class.”
“I am?” He faked a shocked expression. “Maybe you should have that
tattooed on my forehead to remind me every time I look in the mirror.”
“Don’t mock us. We’re serious about this. You will not bring her around
again.”
Tristan cast them a challenging look. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Either you’ll follow our rules or face the consequences.”
He balked at their empty threats. Any time he refused to live up to their
perfect ideal, they played the money card. He was so used to this game.
Money meant nothing to him and their threats only strengthened his belief
that money would end his existence. “She means more to me than your money
ever will.”
He abruptly got up, purposely brushing shoulders with his father as he
passed, signifying the lack of intimidation he felt. He left his room
against his parents protests, taking the stairs two at a time. He grabbed
his keys on the counter, intentionally dragging them across the wood,
leaving marks and chipped paint in their wake. He fled the house and all
that it stood for, needing to remove himself from the cold interior as
quickly as possible. He hopped into his car, put it in gear, and peeled out
of the driveway. He had done this many times before, running from his
parents and their constant theories on how his life should be. He had no
particular destination, the solitude of his car the only consolation he
would need.
Monday morning rolled around, and Rory found herself sitting on the bus
again. The familiarity of her routine provided little comfort for her
worries. She was dreading the confrontations today, knowing that everyone
and their neighbor had seen her picture in the newspaper. With Tristan
DuGrey nonetheless.
She had hidden out in her house most of Sunday afternoon, not wanting to
face the numerous questions and gossip floating around town. As much as she
loved Stars Hallow, there were just sometimes she wished people there would
get a life and stop caring so much about hers. She appreciated their
concern, but she was not up for 20 questions with everyone from the produce
man to the street sweeper. The number one question on their minds had been
‘who is that boy?‘ Each person had offered a spin on the situation, ranging
from Ms. Patty’s declarations of Tristan’s “hotness’ to Taylor’s insistance
that he was probably a drug dealer. Their incessant prying had confined her
to the inside of her home. She even turned down an offer to accompany her
mother to Luke’s, instead dining on a mixture of microwavable popcorn and
Raisinets. Her mother had done a formidable job running interference, using
a variety of excuses as to why Rory was unavailable. Rory chuckled a little
at the confusion that was sure to ensue on the gossip lines as each person
ran out to tell the newest development. Somewhere by now, they should be
deciding between Rory skiing in the Alps or having came down with an
incurable case of the hiccups.
Arriving at school, she quickly made her way through the courtyard, avoiding
eye contact with anyone and everyone. She heard a few snickers and comments
directed at her as she breezed through the halls. She wasn’t sure why she
felt embarrassed over the situation. It wasn’t like her to really care what
other people thought. And she very much doubted she had ever occupied their
thoughts prior to this occasion. She didn’t appreciate the stares or the
jealous glares cast at her from all directions. If this was what it felt
like to be popular, she’d gladly pass on that opportunity.
She purposely walked through the halls, making a beeline for her locker.
She turned the numbers on the lock, struggling to open the sticky thing.
Balling her fist, she lightly tapped the edge, a trick Tristan had taught
her. The door swung open, finally giving her access to its contents. She
arranged her locker, taking out the books she would need for first period
and returning those she had needlessly taken over the weekend. She stood
for a moment, making a mental checklist of all her materials. Satisfied
that she had all she needed, she took one last look into the neatly arranged
space. Before she had the chance to close her locker, she was greeted by
the less than friendly voice of her classmate.
“I see you had an exciting weekend?”, the girl accused.
“Good morning Paris,” she replied flatly.
“I’m surprised they let a girl like you into a social function like that.”
Paris’s eyes traveled the length of her, assessing her attributes, deciding
she didn’t like what she saw.
“They weren’t checking bank accounts at the door.” Rory was anxious to end
the conversation before it went beyond their usual banter.
“But I guess Tristan gets anything he wants. I mean, he got you didn‘t he.
”The animosity in her voice betrayed the underlying jealousy.
Rory cast her a sideways glance. “He did not get me.”
Paris snorted a half laugh. “You know, you almost had me fooled. I thought
that perhaps, just maybe, you really didn’t have feelings for Tristan. But
of course, I was right. I did, however, expect you to put up a bigger fight
when he came knocking at your door.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Oh, I am, am I? I’m not the one with my face plastered across the front
page, obviously in an intimate embrace with a guy I claim to hate.”
Rory raised her voice slightly above normal speaking tones. “There’s
nothing going on between Tristan and me. We’re friends that’s all.”
Paris scoffed. “Funny. I don’t look at my friends like that, nor do I
stand so close when we dance.”
Rory seized the perfect opportunity. “That’s because you don’t have any
friends Paris. And I’d hope you don’t stand that close when you’re dancing,
cause as I remember it, you can’t get anyone to dance with you who isn’t
obligated by blood relation.” She slammed her locker with more force than
she intended, and turned on her heel.
Rory was fully aware of the glares that followed her all that day. Eyes of
Chilton students burning holes into the back of her blazer. She tried to
block out the snide comments, strategically muttered above a whisper so that
she would hear, each one making their mark on her confidence. And Paris
didn’t seem to be helping matters. Any time Rory tried to refute a story,
Paris was right there to add her two cents.
And it most definitely didn’t help that Tristan missed the entire first half
of school. It was rumored that he was out sick, a story unsupported by the
pictures promoting his glorious weekend. She overheard comments from guy
shinting at her bedroom skills, saying she must be something to wear out
Tristan DuGrey. She ignored their childish comments, knowing that all they
wanted was to get under her skin. And only one Chilton male had ever
managed to do that. She had looked for him in the classes they shared
together, waiting for him to stroll into the room and defend her honor.
Just wanting him to appear and make it all better, make her feel safe like
he had managed to do when she was confronted by his parents. Only he never
came. Instead, she went from class to class, praying that she would make it
through the next hour unscathed.
Tristan finally made an appearance after lunch. He looked tired, and she
wondered if indeed he had came down with something. She wanted to ask him
what was wrong, regardless of the fact that being seen together would
further add fuel to the fire. She didn’t care what they thought. They were
friends, and friends were allowed to talk to each other at school. If other
students had a problem with that, then it was their own fault. As long as
she and Tristan were straight on their relationship, that was all that
mattered. Only, she wasn’t certain that she was clear on that matter. She
saw him turn the corner toward his next class, unable to catch his attention
before he trotted off to 5th period. She sought him out between classes,
each time coming up short. She had caught his glance once, receiving an
encouraging smile. He seemed oblivious to the commotion that was
surrounding them that day. Either that, or he was so familiar with being
talked about he noted nothing unusual about the day’s events.
In the last class of the day, Rory finally found a moment to exchange a few
words with Tristan. They exchanged a few brief pleasantries and she asked
about the rest of his weekend. He avoided the topic expertly, using the
excuse that class was about to start. They took their seats in the back of
the classroom, sliding in just as the bell sounded. Sighs of relief echoed
through the class when their teacher decided to wave off lecture in favor of
some well deserved study time. With finals approaching, Chilton teachers
decided now was a good time to cram as much information into such a short
period. The wells of knowledge were overflowing and subject matter was
meshing with subject matter. She wasn’t certain anymore if the Pythagorean
theorem was a math term or a fancy term for a style of writing research
papers. The unusual break from lecture was a welcome one.
Nearing the end of class, Rory sat staring at her open textbook, her brain
refusing to process any more information for the day. She looked around the
room, noting the studious positions of the other students. Everyone was
taking advantage of the time, hoping to prove to the teacher that they could
wisely use the study time, in hopes that she would be lenient again in the
future. She glanced at the front of the room, trying to ascertain her
instructors attention to the surroundings. Ms. Hampton had her face buried
into a novel of sorts, oblivious to the students before her.
Deciding she was safe, Rory slipped a loose piece of paper from her notebook
and jotted down a few words. She folded the slip over on itself neatly.
Leaning back in her chair, she discreetly dropped the note onto Tristan’s
desk behind her. She heard him shuffle his papers, as he reached for the
note. Crossing her arms in front of her, she returned to her position over
her book. A few moments later she was jutted out of her thoughts by her
teacher’s sharp voice.
“Mr. DuGrey, please give me that.” She was standing beside Rory’s desk, her
hand outstretched in front of Tristan.
Tristan’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this. He was shocked when
Rory had dropped the note on his desk, for that was so out of character for
her. He had just started to open the paper when Ms. Hampton was upon him.
He nonchalantly switched papers, instead handing over one of his pages of
notes. He was not sure what she had seen, and was hoping he could convince
her that Rory had been returning some of his notes.
“No not that. I want the note that I just saw Ms. Gilmore drop on your
desk.”
She again heard him shuffle through his papers, searching looking for
something to hand over. After a few agonizing moments, she saw Ms.
Hampton’s satisfied look. Panic struck as Rory realized that Tristan had
reluctantly handed over the note.
Ms. Hampton made her way back to the front of the classroom. Rory expected
her to make a comment, asking her to stay after class. She was certain she
was going to pay in some way for this. She was unprepared for what happened
next. Ms. Hampton turned to face the students, carefully unfolding the
note. “Well class, it appears that Ms. Gilmore has something very
important to say to Mr. Dugrey. Since it’s so important that she thought it
necessary to interrupt my class, I’m sure we‘ll all benefit from reading it
out loud.”
Sheer terror crossed Rory’s face as Ms. Hampton began to read aloud her
words. Fear froze her in her chair, unable to peel her eyes from Ms.
Hampton’s form.
Ms. Hampton flatly read from the paper. “I have your clothes from the other
night. Thanks again for letting me borrow them. Did I leave my watch in
your car? I can’t seem to find it anywhere and I’m starting the think I may
have left it on the bed at the hotel.”
The room was filled with gasps from some students, and snorting and
chuckling from others as the last line was read. Paris shot a look of
contempt at her while Louise seemed to be forming a new admiration.
Ms Hampton’s glare focused on Rory. “I trust Ms. Gilmore, that in the
future, you’ll discuss your extra-curricular activities with Mr. DuGrey
outside my classroom.”
Rory’s face was burning with embarrassment. She fought against the
trembling that was overtaking her body, shaking from a mixture of
humiliation and shock. From her position in front of him, she could not see
Tristan’s face matching her own shade of red. Her innocent words were so
easily twisted into something very far from the truth.
Rory fled the room as quickly as possible, twisting her arm from Tristan’s
grasp as he tried to stop her. She knew she couldn’t blame him for this,
but she also knew she couldn’t face his cockiness at a time like this. She
ran to the bus stop, not even bothering to stop at her locker and exchange
books. She held back the tears threatening to fall. This was not something
she needed to add to the inner turmoil she was already experiencing thanks
to Tristan. She avoided the eyes of everyone around her, certain that by
this time tomorrow, every student at Chilton, and even most of the faculty,
would be convinced that she was sleeping with Tristan DuGrey.
Tristan followed the directions scribbled on the napkin in his hand. He
knew that this was probably not the smartest move, but he also knew he
couldn’t let her run away from this. From him. He needed to gauge her
reaction, to comfort her and remind her that the asinine comments of his
classmates should mean nothing to her. She was better than they could ever
hope to be.
He was tired of running himself. He had spent the night driving around, to
no where in particular. Running from his parents. Running from himself.
He had been late to school due to his avoidance of his house. He waited
until his father left for work and his mother went to her weekly hair
appointment before he dared to enter his house. Only then changing into his
school clothes and venturing off to Chilton hell
He was surprised at the reaction he received at school, not quite
understanding the pats on his back and well wishes from his friends. He
didn’t understand the impact of his relationship with Rory nor could he
fathom why anyone else would even care. He was used to being talked about,
being measured up in the halls by the girls. But lately, he had given up
his flirting, instead focusing all his energy on one in particular. Perhaps
his sudden change in demeanor contributed to the overwhelming interest in
his love life. And invariably knowing she was involved had increased their
interest in her.
He pulled his car in front of her house, just as she was climbing the stairs
up the front porch. He jumped out of the car, jogging across the lawn.
“Rory.”
She whirled around at his voice, a range of emotions dueling in her mind.
She raised her hand to brush away the tears, uttering the first words that
came to her mind. “How did you find my house?”
Tristan was slightly taken aback by her tears. He wanted to pull her in his
arms, stroke her hair, and tell her everything would be alright. He wanted
to comfort her and let her know that she didn’t need them. “I stopped in
town and asked around. Someone recognized me from the paper and gave me
directions.”
“Dammit. Why won’t everyone just stay the hell out of my life.” She was
exasperated.
Tristan was surprised by her language. He had never heard her curse before
and somehow the words coming from her seemed out of place. He reached for
her arm, but she quickly pulled it from his grasp.
“What do you want?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, obviously trying
to keep her emotions in check.
“I wanted to see that you were alright..”
“Yeah, I’m just peachy, can’t you tell? What gave it away, the running
humiliated from school grounds, or the tears making their way down my face?”
She again wiped away the wetness from her cheeks. “Why do you even care?”
His voice was concerned. “Because I don’t want to lose you over this.”
Rory scoffed at his admission. “Lose me? You never had me. All of the
sudden you think you have some sort of claim to me?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said calmly.
“Oh, what did you mean? You wanted to be sure I didn’t stray too far so
that whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here and waiting?”
“I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
Rory looked into his eyes, searching for an answer to her next question.
“Is that all we are?”
The idea that she could think that they were more caused his heart to skip a
beat. “Is that all you want us to be?”
“Don’t answer my question with another one.”
“Rory, you know that friendship isn’t the only thing I want.” He prepared
himself for what he knew was coming.
“Then what do you want?”, she asked hesitantly.
“I want you,” he whispered.
Rory frowned slightly. “You want me to what? To be the next notch on your
belt? To be the next conquest so that you can run and tell your friends
what a score you made with Rory Gilmore?”
“You know that’s not true.”
And in her heart she did. But in her distraught state, she couldn’t let her
heart take control. “No, I don’t.”
“Rory, I like you. More than I’ve ever liked a girl in my life. And I’m so
afraid these feelings will not be returned, and I’m not sure I can deal with
that.”
Rory refused to believe him. “Save it Tristan. I’m not the gullible little
girl you believe me to be.”
He looked at her, knowing she didn’t mean what she was saying, yet unable to
convince her it was true.
“Today just proved that everyone else believes it too. Every person in that
school thinks you’re only after one thing. You never had an interest in me
as a person. I was some sort of silly challenge that you had to prove to
yourself that you could win. I should have known not to get involved with
you.” She wanted to stop the words coming from her mouth, but she couldn’t.
“I don’t care what they think. This is about you and me.” He pleaded with
her to understand.
“Well I do. I can’t be that girl Tristan. I can’t be the girl people
verbally assault in the hallway. I have enough trouble fitting in at that
school without having to worry about what’s being said about me behind my
back. What do I do when you get tired of me? When you’ve decided you’ve
had your fun at this game and move onto someone else? Do I just wrap up my
feelings and pretend that I haven’t fallen for you and life will go on as
before?”
He tried to process all she was saying. Was she saying she had feelings for
him? He took a chance. “What do you feel, Rory?”
She sighed. “I don’t know Tristan. I don’t know what I feel. Sometimes I
think that I am attracted to you, and other times I want to do nothing but
run from you. And I don’t think it matters. Because regardless of what I
feel, you and I would never work.”
“Yes we could.” He took a few steps closer to her.
Her heart leapt as he moved within inches of her. She looked up into his
eyes.
“In about five seconds, I’m going to kiss you. I’m giving you fair warning,
so if you want to walk away, now is your chance. And if after I kiss you,
you still think that there’s nothing there, then we’ll know.”
She stood in front of him, willing for her feet to move. Willing herself to
pull away from his mesmerizing gaze. She knew there was something there,
and she didn’t need his kiss to confirm that. She watched as he searched
her eyes, needing to see into her heart. She saw him slowly lean into her,
hesitatingly, expecting her to pull away.
His lips brushed against hers, tentatively at first, awaiting her reaction.
The feel of his lips on hers broke her resistance. She began moving her
lips against his, responding to his gentle touch. He put his arm around her
waist, molding her to him. Her hand grasped the back of his neck, pulling
his lips harder against hers. They were oblivious to the fact that they
were standing in broad daylight, in plain view of the town’s biggest
gossips. His tongue flicked lightly against her lips, gaining access as she
welcomed him into her mouth. He tilted her head up, exploring the recesses
of her mouth with his tongue. He lost himself in her as the floodgate of
emotions broke down, fire coursing through his veins.
Her heart was racing, aware that she was falling harder and harder. In a
moment of clarity, she braced her hand on his shoulder, and pushed away. She
stepped back from him, looking into his confused eyes. Her breath was
labored, matched in urgency only by his own. She took another step
backward, unable to break her eye contact with him. It was useless to try
to hide the effect he had on her, knowing by his look he was having the same
reaction to her.
Taking another step backward she softly whispered. “I can’t.”
She turned quickly and entered the house, knowing that if she looked back at
him, he would be able to convince her that she could. She shut the door,
leaning back against it for support. Her legs started to wobble, and slowly
she sank to the floor. Silent sobs wracked her body as the tears she
thought she had exhausted returned in full force.
To Be continued...