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Insights - Commiseration
AUTHOR: The Corruptor
There always comes a time in a person’s life when they’re hit with the realization that they no longer want to be the person that they’ve been up until that point.
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t be one of those guys – the ones who were too weak to control those around him. The ones who were used and thrown aside, made the laughingstock of the crowd. The ones who were too scared to go out there and get what they wanted. The ones who didn’t know what they wanted and thus allowed others to direct their lives for them. And now, standing here, watching my girlfriend dancing with another guy… I’ve come to the realization that I just may have entered my worst nightmare.
I’ve become one of those guys.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. And any other day… any other year… it wouldn’t have been. It would have been me out there, with another girl, flaunting my independence. Or me, not caring. It’s never supposed to be me, standing against the wall, watching – no, staring – as the girl blatantly cheated on me. And even if she had cheated on me, I wasn’t supposed to care because there were a million other girls out there who would kill to console me. Who would fall over themselves to be with me. None of this was supposed to affect me in this way. I had Summer. I had my image. That should have been enough. That should have been more than enough.
Only it wasn’t. Not anymore. And even more annoying is the realization that it had never been enough in the first place.
I could delude myself as much as I want. Over the years, I’ve learned to do it with a straight face. I could tell myself that I’m invincible and untouchable, and I’d believe it. I could praise myself on being one of the most wanted, best looking, and popular guys in school, and I’d congratulate myself for knowing it. I’m not completely delusional. Not yet. But there are a lot of things I could remind myself of and I’d believe every single one of them. Why? Because it helps further the act and the image along if you believe everything you wished were true about yourself. If the act becomes more than just an act. And I had accomplished it up until the point where I parked my car in front of Summer’s house and rang her doorbell. Standing outside, waiting to take her to the party, I managed to convince myself that I was indeed in love. That this was exactly what I wanted. That nothing else mattered. It’s easy to do when you’re able to persuade yourself into believing all sorts of things. When you’re so close to being completely fooled. When you can charm everyone into believing everything you want them to. And while talking to her parents in their foyer, I was able to put on a façade of a man happily ensconced in a committed, affectionate relationship. But why did I even bother? It wasn’t as if they cared. No one cared but me, and even I was finding it hard to hold onto whatever stupid reasons I had given for even bothering. For even putting forth the effort. The only thing that mattered to parents was what my last name represented. The only thing that mattered to girls I dated were what my looks and social status represented. And to Summer, who had so many other rich guys falling after her… I was just another name, another face. It was no wonder why our relationship was destined to fail. I only wonder why I even bothered trying, why it was so important. And seeing her come down the stairs in her clingy blue dress, I knew it wasn’t going to work. It didn’t matter how she dressed herself or made herself up in order to catch my attention. It didn’t matter that she was rich and gorgeous and popular and easy. Because I knew. Knew that she wasn’t who I wanted. And even after knowing all that, I vowed to make it work. Vowed to put aside all the nagging feelings that were eating away at me. Vowed to take on a lost cause. Because delusions usually inspire futility, and having Rory was beyond futile.
When Madeline placed that flyer in my hand, it had been a golden opportunity to show everyone just how much in control Tristan DuGrey really was. That Rory Gilmore -- little Miss Nobody -- did not have any influence over my actions or my heart. That she could bring that ass of a boyfriend with her, and I wouldn’t give either one of them a second look. Because I was happy, and in love, and in my own relationship. With Summer. But who was I kidding? Not myself. Not Summer. No one. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t in love. And what Summer and I shared was definitely not a relationship. At least not in the traditional sense of the word. After arriving at the party, I never even noticed when Summer left my side. I had been too busy cutting a path through the party, mingling, joking, laughing… looking. Looking for her under the guise of looking for Summer. Then, when Rory hadn’t shown up, and it became more than obvious that Summer would not be spending the rest of the party with me, I became pissed. Well, not really pissed, just mildly irritated. Because Summer never inspired that kind of passion in me.
And there I was. Pushing past the long line of people waiting to use the bathroom. Knocking forcefully on the locked door. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be mingling with the rest of the people in the main room. I was supposed to be playing the role of carefree, popular guy. I was supposed to be looking for Rory. But instead, I was playing the dutiful boyfriend, asking practically everyone where my dutiful girlfriend was. And all along not bothering to recognize the smirks and laughter behind my back because of it. Trying to pretend that it wasn’t all just one big joke. That this was exactly what I wanted, and that I would play the role I had assigned to myself. Even if Summer refused to play along. So I pounded on the door a few more times, too weary to actually care, but very much aware that it was something I was supposed to be doing. I called Summer’s name with the right mix of annoyance and indignation, playing the devoted but jealous boyfriend. And when the door finally opened and she slinked out, I found that I was too tired to play the game anymore. Too tired to convince myself that this – a relationship with Summer – was exactly what I wanted all along. And seeing the defeat on my face, she merely smiled and breezed past me, allowing me to see Austin behind her. He just smirked at me, and I was too tired to care about that, too.
Only there was still an act to keep up. Even if I no longer wanted to anymore. Even though I was beginning to lose interest. Even when it had become so clear that it was useless. Futile. So I trailed after Summer, feeling like an idiot, demanding to know what she had been doing locked in the bathroom with Austin. I had refrained from beating him up or causing a scene with him, but I suppose that was only because I hadn’t cared as much as I made it sound like I did. And Summer had deftly evaded the questions, making me out to be a jealous boyfriend. A caveman. For expecting a girlfriend to act like a girlfriend. It should have been so easy. Girls wanted me, killed to be my girlfriend. And I didn’t expect to be played a fool. Least of all by Summer. But even as I hounded her, begging to know the truth behind her escapade with Austin, I already knew the answer. I wasn’t an idiot. I wasn’t a fool. I suppose I just never expected to be on that end of the situation before. And it was more humiliating than hurtful, though it did pain me. I just wanted her to say it. Needed to hear her say that it was more innocent than I thought. That I was stupid to doubt her. It would have made it easier to swallow, to keep up the act. She could soothe me, assure me, tell me I was being paranoid. And I would go back to loving her – or whatever it was I had convinced myself that I felt for her. I could play a petty jealous boyfriend, if it came to that. What was one more role? One more act? One more lie? But she didn’t assure me, leaving me to wonder if it was because of her, or because of my own deficiencies as a boyfriend, as a person, that kept getting me into these situations.
The worst part was that she had made me beg for the answer. For the truth. And desperate for some kind of resolution, I had. But then she slipped away. To dance with another guy. It hurt. That expression on her face – one of disgust at my need to grovel – cut at me. I knew that look. It was the same look I had given countless other girls who clung to me, unwilling to let go, after all the games were over and I no longer had any use for them. Back when the game used to be enough. Back when all I cared about was having a good time. Back before she came into my life. And when I turned, helpless and lost, she was there. Rory. Standing there, watching the entire exchange. Pity written all over her face. But something more, too. Confusion. Because she had been surprised that I had been on the receiving end of Summer’s heartlessness. Seeing her like that was almost worse than having everyone know that my girlfriend had blatantly made out with another guy at the party. So I did the only thing I could do for a guy faced with something he was not prepared to deal with. In my moment of weakness, I ran, blending into the crowd. Away from her pity. Away from her.
This was starting to get very irritating. And annoying. And frustrating. And try as I might, I couldn’t figure it out. Why was it happening to me? Again. Watching as Rory – no, Summer – danced the night away with another guy. And me, on the sidelines once more. Watching helplessly. Staring longingly. Completely lost. Utterly miserable. It was a position that had started to feel hopelessly familiar. Achingly familiar. I hated that. I have never been put in this position before my entire life. And now, in the span of a few short months, it had happened twice. It really was grating on my nerves. It was pathetic. It was infuriating. And I didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t even know if I could stop it. But watching them dance, I was constantly reminded of Rory and Dean. And instead of seeing Summer there, I kept seeing Rory. I couldn’t stop seeing her. She was so ingrained into my brain -- into all my thoughts -- that any girl who only slightly resembled her was able to make me think of her. And I was almost positive that little mind trick was going to eventually drive me mad if I didn’t learn how to control it. It was partly why I had started dating Summer in the first place. She was the same height, had the same hair. It had been so easy to kiss Summer and think that I was kissing Rory. Or run my hand through her hair and think it was Rory’s. Maybe that made me a heartless jackass. But it didn’t hide the fact that I did like Summer. She was fun. She was pretty. She could be sweet when we were alone. When she wasn’t being her usual conceited princess. She almost made it better. She almost made me forget. But always in the back of my mind, there was one thing she didn’t have going for her. One thing that made the relationship a ridiculous masquerade. She wasn’t Rory. And maybe that was the problem. I knew she wasn’t Rory. Not even close. I could make myself think it, but I wasn’t blind. I wasn’t heartless. And even then, knowing all this, I had been willing to make it work. Even if only partly to show everyone – especially Rory – that I was capable of being in a loving relationship. Capable of being human. Capable of being the kind of boyfriend Rory could ask for. I wanted to show her that. Needed her to know that. But she had Dean, and I had to accept that.
So I told myself that I had moved on, when it was so apparent that I hadn’t. It’s easy to believe you’ve fooled everyone else when you’ve fooled yourself first. I had managed to convince myself that I didn’t need Rory. Didn’t want her. That she had been an ill-advised object of conquest. A complete waste of time. So I had found Summer. I wasn’t sure why it was so important, why I had to be so persistent in making it work. In keeping up the happy appearances. I could have dated any other girl. I could have my pick. There were plenty of smart, sweet, nice girls at Chilton. Summer had never been known to be one of those girls. She had a reputation for being fun. For having fun. And our relationship – if it could be called that – had only lasted for a few dates, and had been based on purely physical aspects. I hadn’t asked for much more. Yet. Until now. Maybe that was why she balked at me.
I had told myself that the relationship with Summer was worth salvaging, even though I only liked her and nothing more. The pain from watching Rory with Dean – or Rory with anyone else – would eventually fade with Summer’s presence. It was supposed to be enough. To be in a relationship. To be with a girl who only vaguely resembled her. The personality, I suppose, I could have overlooked. For awhile, anyway. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. Wasn’t even close to being enough. It all came back to Rory. Even watching Summer dance, all I could see was Rory. With him… Dean. The name left a bitter and acrid taste in my mouth. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to me. I should have been out there, having fun. Not obsessed and having hallucinations about a girl I couldn’t have. And certainly not pining away for another girl I barely even liked. Maybe I had scared Summer away. That was always a distinct possibility. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was me. It would explain why Rory despised me. Why Summer didn’t even want to be near me. Maybe I was deficient in some way. Maybe I tried too hard to get some modicum of respect and love from Summer, a girl who probably couldn’t even love herself. Or maybe, I was guilty of trying so hard to overlook her flaws and make her more like Rory, that it never occurred to me to put the blame on my own character flaws.
And yet, I had to ask myself the one question whose answer eluded me. Why was it every time I liked a girl – any girl -- she would end up happy with someone else. I didn’t think I would ever have a good enough answer for that question. And it brought me back to this state once again. Watching from afar as the girl danced happily. Without me. Without needing me. Happy not because of me. The memories of déjà vu were too painful. The questions. The self-doubt. The longing… too much to digest.
I had to look away. It hurt too much. The scene in front of me practically mocking me, reminding me of what I didn’t have. Not Rory. Not even Summer. I couldn’t keep watching. Couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Couldn’t keep losing control. It wasn’t fair to Summer. To always see Rory when I looked at her. She wasn’t a substitute, and I didn’t want her to be. To liken her to a Rory clone would have cheapened Rory herself, and I could never do that to either one of them. I never settled before, and I wondered why I did so now. And I really couldn’t just stand there, staring. At Summer. It was beyond pathetic. Summer and I had already made a scene about her cheating on me. If she knew that I was standing there, staring at her like a lovesick idiot… She would only laugh at me behind my back. At how soft I had become. How very human. How jealous, even though it wasn’t Summer I was jealous over. She must have known. Almost everyone knew, or had some idea. Still, it hurt to know she could do that to me. In front of Rory.
And yes, I was humiliated. More because of Rory than of the others. I could live with embarrassment. I could bounce back. I had done it before in Ms. Caldecott’s class when I had been caught staring at Rory not once, but twice. Twice. It seemed to be my lucky number these days. It had been so easy to pretend I didn’t feel anything for her, even though my entire demeanor contradicted it. But here, it was harder to pretend to be entirely in love with Summer, and I couldn’t understand why that was. I’ve never had any problems faking love before, but for some reason, I didn’t seem to have the energy or willpower to do it anymore. I had to move on. Really move on. I couldn’t keep embarrassing myself like that. I couldn’t keep breaking my rules for her, but those rules, in place for as long as I could remember, became archaic the moment I met her and knew she was different from the others. The carefully built wall was cracking, crumbling one brick at a time. All because of her. And I knew it. I would keep breaking my rules for her. I was too helpless to stop it.
It was all her fault, really. Before I met her, I never had these kinds of problems. I would have seen Summer’s plan long before she had. I would have anticipated it, made my move a long time ago. Had no qualms dumping her before she could have made a fool of me in public. Would have been on the same page as her, looking only for fun and a short-term thing. I blamed Rory for taking me off my game. It was too weird, too new, too irritating. She had made me weak. On one hand, while I felt the constant need to increase my image, delve deeper into it, become more of the player in order to protect myself from being hurt by her… I had discovered that it wasn’t as fulfilling as it used to be. That everything I had lived for, had lived by, was crap. It was all worthless. Making me worthless. And yet, I couldn’t just throw everything away. Rules were meant to be broken, but they were also meant to be followed. In keeping up the image, I had lost the edge, made myself susceptible to amateur mistakes… mistakes I haven’t made in years, not since I was initiated into the game. I became vulnerable. To sneak attacks like those Summer had pulled on me. In a cruel twist of fate… in a desperate attempt to be stronger, I only ended up making myself weaker.
I was an ass. There was no doubt about that. I knew it. Summer knew it. Almost everyone else knew it. And now, Rory knew it. I could face everyone else. Could take their laughter. Could take their derision. Because in the end, after all the ridicule and gossip had subsided, they would all be back to idolize me and adore me. Even Summer. She’d gloat about how she got the better of me this time, but even she must have known that it was all a ruse. There had been too many coincidences -- unconscious coincidences -- but she wasn’t a total fool. Unlike me. I could face everyone else, play cool, but I couldn’t face Rory. Because if she hadn’t figured it out before, then she knows now. I was pitiful. I was pathetic. And no matter how hard I tried – I could hold my breath until I was blue in the face – her opinion of me would not be altered.
I felt like an idiot, following Summer around like a lost, lovesick puppy. It wasn’t me. But somehow, while I was too engrossed in thoughts of Rory, too caught up in trying to misdirect everyone else to my true feelings for her, the tables had turned on me. It should have been Summer following me around, begging for my attention. People expected me to be a hotshot, and seeing me contrary to it would cause speculation and laughter. But desperation made me do it. For some reason I needed to be able to save the relationship. Needed to be able to keep it on my terms. And because of that need, I followed Summer blindly into a room, another stop on the pathetic Tristan tour of the party. She warned me to stop it, cruelly making fun of my dependence on her. When had that happened? When had I become so goddamned dependent on her, or on any girl? And my voice, as I defended myself, as I demanded to know exactly what was wrong with her, had risen to dangerously whiny conditions. I couldn’t help it, and yet, I hated what I had become. She knew her power. She knew I wanted this more than she did, and she knew she could use that against me. I could see it in her eyes. To make Tristan DuGrey grovel meant control, and she had that now. She could do whatever she wanted with me, and I would be helpless to fight it. So she treated me flippantly, and all I wanted to do was leave, as I struggled to regain some semblance of control. To regain some form of dignity. Instead, she was merely amused by my desperation, making me hate her even more. Growing even more irritated with her, I noticed that my worst nightmare had come true. Rory was sitting there, watching us, again. And yet, there I was, resorting to begging. Imploring Summer to leave the party with me. And no matter what anyone said about me… no matter what everyone thought… no matter how badly she treated me… I wouldn’t leave her stranded at a party. Even when it became more than obvious that she wouldn’t be leaving with me.
She complained about not wanting to fight with me anymore. The fighting, I suppose, was more of a need to recreate that special banter than I shared so effortlessly with Rory. The kind that came so easily to us. And possibly we fought because she wasn’t Rory. Could never be Rory. Then she complained about my referring to her as my girlfriend all the time. I suppose the possessiveness came more from a need to reassure myself that I was indeed in a relationship than from anything else. To make sure she understood that I was taking it seriously – probably more seriously than I should have. Than the situation warranted. Than I would have if the act itself had been enough. And ultimately, it was all done to remind Rory that she had missed out on an opportunity. With me.
I glanced around and heard the snickers. Saw Rory. Sitting there, a book open in her lap. She was watching intently, but slightly embarrassed. For me, perhaps. It suddenly became unbearable. The air was too suffocating. The room was too small. The stares were too stifling. I needed to get out of there, even if only to continue this argument. I didn’t like how everyone – Rory -- was staring at us. At me. Much to my annoyance, Summer seemed to enjoy the attention she was calling to us. And all the while, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Rory, trying to gauge her reaction. She averted her eyes for a second as mine darted back towards her again. I hated being seen so weak by Rory. By everyone. But especially by her. I should have just dropped it, dumped Summer maybe, instead of letting her do it to me first. But I couldn’t. For some unknown reason, even after all my internal objections and everything Summer had put me through, I needed it to work. Maybe as a reassurance to myself – to Rory – that I wasn’t such a jerk after all.
Summer had no such qualms. She wasn’t one bit remorseful as she suggested we break up. A suggestion that was a taunt in disguise. I don’t know why I tried to fight it. Pathetic. Desperate. Things were moving too fast, spinning out of control, and everything I had worked so hard for was unraveling right in front of my eyes. Somehow, she had gotten all the power. I was begging, and she had made me say “please” like a whining little boy. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. And having had her fun, she left me standing there, staring after her, mouth open in shock, to endure my humiliation alone. Like a whipped boyfriend, I called after her, desperate for her to reconsider, even as I heard the derisive laughter from all those people who enjoyed seeing the normally unflappable Tristan DuGrey be taken down a couple of notches. Lose his dignity. Lose his pride. Lose his control. Lose everything that made him the person they all wanted to be or be with. It never had to be this way. And yet, I let it be this way. Never had to let it go on for this long. Didn’t even bother stopping it. Unwittingly encouraged it. And when I turned to see Rory watching me, sympathy etched all over her face... But what was sympathy except another name for pity. And I hated that. I hated losing control. And I hated losing it in front of her even more. And I hated that look most of all. As if she were better than me, and we both knew it. Only I knew she would never think that. Or I hoped that she wouldn’t. She met my eyes and I could see that what little power I had over her had been lost. She felt only sorry for me. It unnerved me, seeing her that way. So I did what I’ve become good at whenever she is privy to all my flaws and weaknesses put out on display. Distraught and trying to hide it unsuccessfully, I left the room, pretending as if nothing had changed. As if I were still completely in control.
What made everything so ironic was that half the people there, who had laughed and snickered at my misfortune, expected me to brush it off. Come back full force. On the prowl again, humiliation be damned. I was a hotshot and I should have been out there, being a player, gathering the attention of any willing girl. Setting my sights on another conquest, and possibly leave the dance with one or more potential new girlfriends. Trying to make Summer jealous. Like how I had tried so hard to come onto Paris and Summer after Rory had rebuffed me. The only difference was, I just didn’t care enough. I had liked Summer – barely -- even though I couldn’t pinpoint the reasons why – no, wouldn’t, because to fully admit them would make me a bad person. But still, I didn’t feel the need to make her notice me again, to make her jealous, to retaliate. What was the point when she wasn’t the intended target anyway? I should have been moving on, but I wasn’t. I was hiding, in a way, from them and their whispers. From her. And so I could lose myself in my own thoughts. It’s easier to feel sorry for yourself when you’re alone, and it’s easier to harangue everyone else for causing you pain and humiliation when no one else is around.
So I ended up in the piano room. Sitting there, forlornly, idly pushing some keys, making noise. My own talent for playing the piano – all those years of lessons – had deserted me, but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t in the mood to play anything. I just needed a distraction. Anything to keep those annoyingly pervasive thoughts of my own worthlessness company. I was miserable. If I couldn’t even keep up a façade of a healthy relationship with Summer, what hope did I have?
I was only vaguely aware of someone entering the room. Until I heard her voice. And glancing up, I saw her. Rory. She apologizes for interrupting my solitude and I can’t help but be curt as I tell her it’s not a problem. I hope she’s as good of a mind reader as she is an avid book reader, as I turn my attention back to the ivory keys. I’m not really in the mood for verbal games -- games with Rory that I managed to relish and despise at the same time. It didn’t seem right to enjoy them now, and strangely, I half-hoped she would just leave me alone. To take her pity with her, because I would rather have her hate than that. Or to take her smugness with her, because in a way, she must have been waiting for something awful to happen to me… the guy who had given her so much unwarranted trouble and misery since the first day she stepped into the halls of Chilton. It was the worst case of karmic retribution. I was sure of it. And it did nothing to make me feel less than pissed about it. I’d fight it and deny it, but what didn’t I do to deserve it?
But she didn’t leave. She apologized one more time, and I played ignorant, asking her what she meant. Absently. Detached. Unforthcoming. Cold. Hoping she would leave, and yet, hoping she would stay. I wouldn’t look up. Couldn’t look up. Concentrating on the keys instead, lest she tell me that it was a joke, and she started laughing at my misery. I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of seeing how much Summer had affected me, because she hadn’t. Not really. And I definitely couldn’t let Rory see how much she affected me, because she did. Always.
She qualifies her apology by making it clear she’s talking about my breakup with Summer. Or rather, Summer’s breakup with me. There’s a difference. If it had been the other way around, Rory would never have been so bold as to strike up a commiserating conversation with me. She would have used it against me, adding it to her long list of all the horrible things I’ve done. All the things that would encourage her to hate me even more. Her apology surprised me. No pity. Just a statement. I looked up, against all hope, and told her that I didn’t want to talk about it. Surprised that she wasn’t gloating about my misfortune, questioning my sincerity. But she wasn’t smug. She actually looked worried and concerned. Yes, there was pity, but I suppose that at this point, I could take that, too. I didn’t want to talk about Summer. I would have much rather talked about Rory. Or nothing at all. Being dumped by a girl you only liked a little was still painful, no matter how many times I’ve been through the motions before, and I didn’t need the knowledge of her happy relationship intruding and adding to my misery. I could deal with companionable silence from her even though there was so much I was feeling. So much I wanted to say. But the absurdity of the timing and the situation was impressed on me. It wasn’t the time for professions of love, or attraction, or whatever it was that she inspires in me. Whatever it is that drives me crazy every time I see her. Not now. Not right after Summer.
She agrees and changes the subject to biology, something safe and neutral. The non-sequitor throws me for a loop. I glance up, startled, needing to smile a little. Was she actually initiating a conversation with me, one that didn’t start with her blowing me off? I let her see my confusion, and she finds nothing wrong with the tack that she has chosen. My smile grew though I was even more confused. She exasperated me. Always had. And not in the way that Summer always made me want to hit something. There was something very pure, very good about this kind of frustration. And needing her to be here with me for just a little longer, I play along, slowly agreeing with her assessment of that week’s test, wondering exactly where this was coming from and where it was going. In hindsight, she should have been relieved that I had tried to rebuff her. Should have been more than happy to leave the room. But she didn’t. She had kept at it, as if sensing that I shouldn’t be alone. Only she didn’t know that the loneliness couldn’t be resolved from just her mere presence in the room. It went deeper than that.
She came closer to the piano, ruefully discussing grades. And I can’t help but shake my head, wondering if she’s just playing a cruel game with me, and is only torturing me for a little longer before she actually gets to the cruel part. I was confused, exasperated, and I didn’t want her to stop, even if she eventually ripped my heart out at the end of the conversation and stomped on it, because at that moment, she had been able to take my mind off my miseries. She had made me feel worthwhile. She always had that power, whether she knows it or not. And even so, I can’t help but be suspicious, still surprised that she was standing there voluntarily, not leaving. Was she actually trying to comfort me? I held my breath, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. For her to call me all sorts of names and to add salt to the wound before she pushed the dagger deeper and twisted.
-- Why? – Why are you talking about the test? Why are you here? Why aren’t you running away, screaming? Why aren’t you laughing at me? Making fun of me? Telling yourself that I finally got what was coming to me? Why do you have to be so god-dammed irresistible and so out of my reach?
-- Because you said you didn’t want to talk about Summer.
I averted my eyes. Was that it? Was that the other shoe? Was she rehashing my humiliating experience even though I had made it clear that I didn’t want to go there again? My jaw clenched as I rudely agreed with her statement, waiting for the final stab. It was my fault, really. I should never have let her have so much power over me. People only control you as much as you let them, and for some inexplicable reason, I had allowed her to take all my power and use it against me. I should have seen where it was going. She couldn’t be that nice to me without a reason, but I had been too caught up in her mesmerizing presence to catch it before it was too late. She had brought Summer back into the equation, and it was all I could do not to squirm in front of her. Only now, she merely tells me that she had chosen the safer topic of biology instead of dwelling on Summer. Her mind was working at a rate I couldn’t process. I looked up, confused, but loving it. And she makes fun of my paranoia by asking whether I had wanted to talk about Spanish instead. I wanted to laugh. To engulf her in a hug. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because I was sure that under all that outward concern, she was gloating over me. She had to have been. After all the crap I had given her…
-- You just loved it, didn’t you? – I had to ask. It came out as an accusation, but I had to get it out there. Had to get it over with. Because we both knew that it had to be dealt with, and even as I put forth the question, I’m conflicted as to how I want her to answer. I want her to tell me I’m an ass for even thinking that of her. That she could be so mean as to wish Summer’s heartlessness on me. But I also want her to agree so it’ll be easier for me to hate her for it. Easier for me to brush aside all these feelings churning inside of me because of her. Easier for me to go back to being what I used to be before feelings got in the way.
But she only sounded puzzled, asking me what I meant by it. And I couldn’t meet her eyes, unable to distinguish whether or not she was only acting the sympathy. So I concentrated on the ivory keys while I told her that she must have loved seeing me finally get my comeuppance. In front of everyone. And despite all the anxiety and fright, I had to look up. Had to see her reaction. Needed it. And her reaction surprised me. Her features scrunched up in genuine denial. As if wondering how I could possibly think that of her. I couldn’t believe it. Why was she not gloating when everyone else was? When she had the most and best reasons to? But she wasn’t everyone else, and I had to remind myself that. Even knowing that it was genuine, I couldn’t help but needle her, because no matter how much I want this… Want her to look at me that way. Want her to talk to me this way. I can’t trust it. It’s too difficult taking someone on face value. We’ve grown up around so many fakes, so many acts, that we can’t help but question honesty. I contradicted her, sarcastically, defeated. I was positive that she had loved my moment of pure humiliation, the moment when I had become a public spectacle, and she denied it again, sounding upset that I could accuse her of it. And in that moment, though I knew it wouldn’t last long before she crushed it, my heart learned to accept and to hope once again.
She came around and sat beside me on the bench, and I became all too aware of how close she was to me. How close, and yet she did nothing to move away. Did nothing to act as if I repulsed her. Did nothing but sit there and look gorgeous. And was I bad to wish that if she really were going to comfort me, that she might have worked up the nerve to put her arms around me? So I could get even closer to her. So I could get a better whiff of her intoxicating scent. Close enough so I could feel the soft fabric of her dress under my fingers. Feel her smooth complexion against my palm. Feel the silkiness of her long brown hair sliding against my hand. Feel the soft touch of her full lips under mine… I couldn’t look at her, disgusted at how I was feeling – what I was fantasizing -- about her when I had just broken up with Summer not a mere half hour ago. Even if Summer hadn’t meant that much to me, she deserved some kind of grieving period. Right?
It occurred to me that halfway through the conversation, I couldn’t even remember what I had liked so much about Summer. Other than the obvious. But even though she might have been an unconscious substitute for Rory, she was never close to reaching that kind of perfection. She had never fascinated or intrigued me the way Rory did. And thinking back now, I had been blind to the fact that Summer had been just like all the other girls I had grown up with – conceited, ruthless, too obsessed with their own image to really care about anyone else. To really care about me. Or maybe I had known how she was all those things, but chose to ignore it instead, needing to pretend that she wasn’t who she really was. I was used to using, and being used, but her rejection had hurt a lot. I had carelessly thought that maybe this time, I could have a relationship like the one that had made Rory so happy everyday, but I should have known better. In hindsight, Summer had been too eager to be seen with me, to make out with me, but she had never actually wanted to spend our time talking, and I hadn’t pushed. My fault. I supposed I was supposed to be unlucky in love, among other things. And sitting here with Rory, I became even more aware of what I didn’t have. She managed to intrigue and fascinate me all over again, and despite the fact that I had basically treated her like crap ever since she walked into my life, her sweet nature had kept her from sinking to my level. She had stayed and talked, even tried to get me to forget about my troubles. Tried to make me smile, ultimately succeeding. And in turn, I had opened up to her. In the end, she hadn’t pushed me away. Friendship, if anything, I suppose, was a good place to start.
We didn’t say anything for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the awkward silence, but somehow, I managed to work up my nerve to say the first things out of my mouth. I told her that I had really liked Summer. Not exactly the truth, but not an entire lie, either. I had liked Summer, up to a point, but it was always what Summer unconsciously represented that I liked a whole lot better. She said she knew, and that hurt a little, even though I had been the one to set that trap for myself. I guess I had been a little more believable in my relationship with Summer than I had originally thought. Either that, or Rory was as clueless as ever. And trying to steer clear from having to discuss Summer any further than what was necessary, I asked where her boyfriend was. Because I hadn’t seen him around. And because the pain from the breakup, as fleeting as it was proving to be, was not enough. I guess I had gotten so used to feeling pain from Rory that I had become too scared to be happy around her. It was official. I was a masochist of the highest degree. And I couldn’t help it if the “boyfriend” part came out a lot more harshly than I originally intended, but only because it conveyed so many pent-up and unresolved feelings I had from the dance. And for Rory. But what was the point of hiding it? She knew how I felt about him. And if she didn’t, well…
By this time, I had all but forgotten about Summer. I was more aware of the fact that Rory was sitting right next to me, and I could catch a faint trace of her perfume in the air. I was also very aware that it was our first real conversation, without any bantering. Without any sarcastic remarks. Without any innuendoes. It was nice, and I found myself eagerly waiting to hear what she would say next. It was the closest, physically, that I had ever been near her without having her look at me with an expression of dread and repulsion. Sure, she felt sorry for me because of my breakup, but at least it wasn’t pity that I was hopelessly pathetic. About her. She thought I had moved on. Maybe I had. Maybe I had accepted the idea that I had no chance with her, but I was not going to tell her that I still carried a thing for her. Summer just helped to suppress those feelings to the point where I could convince myself that Rory meant nothing to me. Was just a joke after all.
Only she wasn’t. Had never been.
And when she informed me that the ass had broken up with her… I couldn’t help but be a little passionate in my response. He was an idiot. He was more than an idiot, but I couldn’t say those things to her, not when she was still reeling from the breakup not 24 hours ago. Not when my own personal tirade against the undeserving guy would have hurt her more than I was ever willing to do. But this revelation had also stirred something deep inside me. Something I thought I had managed to temper since I first decided to date Summer. I had felt hope, but it wasn’t how I wanted her. Vulnerable. Weak. It wasn’t her, and it felt cheap to try to take advantage of her. And awful of me, especially given my own situation. I wanted to be there for her, too, to make her feel better because she had looked so sad. I had been sincere about Dean being an idiot. How could Dean give up Rory like that? Didn’t he know what a treasure she was? I was dumbfounded. Dean was an even bigger idiot than I was. And I knew that had I been him, I would never have let her go, no matter how trivial an argument. I’m sure my reaction startled her. Hearing how genuine and sincere I was. And why wouldn’t I be? She was supposed to be loved and wooed, not dumped on their 3-month anniversary. What kind of jackass would ever be stupid enough to let her go? But then again, I hadn’t even gotten that far with her. So what did that say about me? Hearing my response to Dean’s stupidity, her head whipped towards me, surprised at how forcefully I had said it. I myself had refused to meet her eyes, afraid of what I might see there. But then she had surprised me by returning the favor, telling me what an idiot Summer was. A subtle and implied reference to my worth as a human being. Hearing those simple words, assuring me of my worth in even such an indirect manner, made my heart swell. She didn’t seem to hate me at all. And it scared me. For just a second, wondering how I would face her on Monday at school. Could I continue to open up to her like this, like none of my friends had ever seen me, or revert back to my usual behavior, denying all the progress I had made with her. And I couldn’t help it. I had to look at her, read her expression. Make sure she wasn’t just making fun of the pain. Making fun of my feelings and of me. There was none of that on her face. If possible, she gave me an assuring smile. Sympathetic, even. Because she knew exactly what I was going through since she was going through it, too. Never mind that her pain was probably more real than mine. I had prepared myself for the failure and disintegration of my relationship with Summer because no matter how much I wanted it, there was always a contingency plan. And no matter how I could go on and on about what an ass her boyfriend was, she would only deny it, and feel the heartache even more.
So I did the only thing I could. Asked the only question I was really interested in knowing the answer to. Had to ask it because I needed to know if there was a chance. That her being there with me might be some kind of delusional sign. To keep going. To keep trying. To not give up. To have hope, slim as it might be. And because not asking it would have made me a coward. So I did it. I asked her if they were going to get back together again. And I could only force myself to sit there, staring straight ahead, dreading the answer that would kill my soul and all my hope. And when she answered in the negative, my right hand clenched, my left hand pressed hard against the top of the piano. Trying to fight the urge to take her in my arms and console her. And let her console me. But I couldn’t do that. It was the sure thing to get incite her to run from the room. From me. But she doesn’t notice how tense, and yet how incredibly relieved, I am to hear her say those words. She doesn’t notice because she’s too busy teasing me about being so adamant about never wanting to get back together with Summer again.
And when we fall back into a comfortable silence, I can’t help but remember all the things I’ve wanted to say to her. Needed to say to her. But where would I start? Where could I start without seeming like a jackass ready to put himself out there so soon after a breakup? I started with an apology. Because she had never deserved any of the crap I had directed at her. Never deserved to be a target of my overblown ego and confidence. Never needed to be made so miserable with my aggressive flirtations. And she surprises me once again by forgiving so easily. I know she can’t mean it. She can’t possibly mean it. To do so would be absurd. Because if she really did, then I must not have really aggravated her as much as we both know I did these past few months. And the truth is, I really did do all those things. I call her on her lie, and she assures me that she does forgive me, if only because I’m sad. And I’m not sure whether to cry or to laugh or do both. Because she can forgive so easily when her enemy displays weakness and vulnerability. When she should have been ridiculing me for having fallen from so high. For getting exactly what I deserved. Karma. And yet, she doesn’t. She still doesn’t know. This sadness isn’t from Summer. It might have been initially, but in all actuality, it was all about her. And I wonder what she would say if she knew she had forgiven me only because of my sadness when that sadness could be so easily remedied by her.
We both fell silent once again, unable to say what either one of us really felt. And conscious of the need to keep this friendly conversation going, I rack my brain for something to initiate the conversation once again. Blindly, I make a joke about the party. She smiles a little, and I’m relieved that she doesn’t think I’m utterly pathetic. She understands that I’m merely making a wry observation. A great party indeed. And just as wryly, she agrees with me, telling me that it gave her time to catch up on her reading. I don’t know whether to laugh or to tease her. Only Rory would think of bringing a book to a party. Only Rory would be able to sit in the middle of a crowd, in the midst of blaring music, and garner the kind of concentration needed to read a book. So I tell her that she’s odd. But only because I can’t tell her how absolutely beautiful or wonderful or unassuming or perfect she is. Because she won’t believe me, and she’ll only think that I’m just using one of my lines on her. What she doesn’t know is that I mean it. Every single word of it. And if “odd” could mean all of those words, then Rory is the oddest girl I’ve ever met. But even those words don’t do her justice. No word can adequately describe her. Except that there is one word. Rory. Her name. It’s the only term that could fully convey all the complexities and beauty that is her. She can read her book at the party. And if she’d let me, I could watch her read for hours. And maybe that makes me odd, too. And to my surprise, she takes it as the compliment that it’s supposed to be, not questioning my choice of words. Not questioning my sincerity. And as we sat there, each comfortable with each other for once…
The kiss… I wasn’t going to do it. It sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s true. She had stared at me. I had stared back. And in that moment, we both realized just how close we were sitting. And that no one else was in the room with us. And that we had shared a moment together. But she had looked at me, like she expected me to. Wanted me to. So what could I do but comply? Propelled by the knowledge that it might be my only opportunity, I leaned closer to her, slowly edging towards her lips. And when I was only inches from her, her lips had parted instinctively in anticipation. And I had paused, apprehensively meeting her eyes, giving her time to turn me down as I made my intentions known. I was going to kiss her. And if she didn’t stop me, it was going to happen very soon. To my surprise, she didn’t pull away. I had been worried when our lips first touched and she tensed slightly. Every cell in my body tried to tell me that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea, that maybe this was when she was finally going to give into her instincts and slap me. But my head and my heart wouldn’t give up, forcing me to stay connected to her. But to ease up a bit, just in case. And then she had kissed back. And I had enough trouble being careful, being gentle with her. It wasn’t like the “face eating” that she had commented on only the day before. This was sweet, gentle, unpressured. This was what I had been waiting for, hoping for. And it was more heavenly than I had imagined it. She had changed me. Had made me want more. And I was learning to want more from a girl. It wasn’t enough to just have fun anymore. The kiss was an example of that. I wanted it to be sweet. Respectful. Wanted to take it slow. Soft. Didn’t want to push her. Wanted it to last. It was so different from Summer’s kisses. She had been so eager, so urgent, so needy. But this time, I wanted to savor it, wanted to lose myself in her.
And the best part was that she was responding back. To me. It was exactly what I hoped. But even though I had a hard time keeping my thought processes straight – didn’t want to – I couldn’t help but recall that she had been dumped not twenty-four hours earlier and I, just barely an hour ago. And that her kissing me back might not have entirely been in response to me, but an urgency fueled by a need to feel something other than the pain from her own breakup. But even then, I couldn’t ignore the onset of sensations coursing through my body, and I wondered if she had felt the same thing. I had to resist the urge to reach out and pull her to me. So far, our tenuous but precious connection had been made only at the lips. I was scared of touching her, afraid that if I did breach that annoying space that separated us, I would wake up and discover that this had all been some kind of cruel dream. Never mind that if everything were real and nothing was resolved tonight, we would have an awkward time facing each other on Monday, in the confines of Chilton.
I didn’t exactly expect the kiss to be the grand solution to all the tension and misery we had put each other through. In fact, I knew the kiss had created more problems than it had resolved. And yet, I couldn’t help but want to believe that she would fall into my arms just as soon as it ended and declare some sort of love for me. Then again, that may have been a result of all my scrambled brain processes from the kiss. She broke away, to my disappointment. Well, not really. I half-expected her to. I just hadn’t expected her to take so long. I was definitely not going to be the one to end it – the kiss meant too much to me. But I hadn’t expected her to be crying. Ready to slap me maybe. But crying… I immediately thought it was something I did. And I had tried to joke about it, asking if I had bitten her, a subtle and wry reference to what she had called my “face eating.” I thought it would make her smile, like she had done for me. I wanted desperately to make her stop crying. I was so afraid that I had been too forceful or too eager, praying against hope that I hadn’t hurt her in my eagerness. It only occurred to me a split second before she assured me that it wasn’t me, but her, that she had regretted kissing me. Still pined for Dean. And if she couldn’t tell Dean she loved him before, that maybe I had been the catalyst to make her see how much she did love him. It hurt. A lot. It stung. And even though I wanted to rush after her, back into that gossiping crowd, I didn’t. I sat there. Stunned. Confused. Trying to get my thoughts straight. Scared of the possibility that I might have committed a horrible mistake. Might have ruined my chances with her forever just because I had been too impulsive, too desperate to be gratified. Because I hadn’t wanted to take it slow when the opportunity to surge ahead had presented itself. All I knew was that she had kissed me back. It had to count for something, right?
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