Chapter Text
Jess was gone. Rory had known it for awhile now, had had time to get used to the fact that he was gone and he didn’t appear to be coming back anytime soon. Didn’t mean it was painless. Didn’t mean her stomach didn’t drop every time she was faced with another reminder of him.
Her mom had done a pretty good job of erasing all traces of the hated Jess from Rory’s room. The pictures she had taped to her mirror, the CDs he had lent her, the scribbled notes he had left that she had kept in a desk drawer, no matter how trivial the subject matter. She had skipped over the bookshelves, though, and Rory could understand why. It would have been too hard to pick and choose which ones were Rory’s, which ones were Jess’, which ones were borrowed and bought and given. Rory knew, though, and that’s how she ended up spending an entire Saturday afternoon staring at a battered copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets that was resting on her dresser.
Jess had tossed it to her over the diner counter a few weeks ago.
“I’ve already read these,” Rory tried to pass it back to him, but he just crossed his arms.
“Ah, but not with my added commentary,” he smirked. “Which, some might say, is more insightful and mind-altering than the sonnets themselves.”
“You think awfully highly of yourself, don’t you?” Rory set the book down next to her coffee cup, a smile on her face. Jess, for all of his faults, was one of the few people that could put a big, genuine smile on her face.
“Someone’s got to,” he leaned across the counter, pressing a quick kiss on her lips before hustling off to refill some more coffee cups.
Rory had carried it home, setting it on her dresser with intentions to read through it next week. She had forgotten about it; until now, that is.
This is ridiculous, she shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind . I mean, it’s just a book, right? I should just….pick it up and throw it out . Rory slapped her hand to her forehead, groaning. No, I can’t throw it out, it’s a book, I can’t throw a book away! And he wrote notes in it, I can’t just throw those away, either!
She got up from her bed, standing next to the dresser and looking down at the book’s cover. It was small (Jess preferred pocket-size editions, for obvious reasons) and navy blue, the corners soft and crumbly from use. Rory longed to pick it up. She had this crazy flash of a dream, where she picked it up and rifled through the pages and then Jess would appear at her bedroom door, a devilish grin on his face and a “So, Gilmore, whaddaya think?”
But he wasn’t coming back. He left this stupid book here, just as easily as he had left her. Like I was nothing , Rory thought suddenly. He threw me away like I was just some stupid book!
Before she realized what she was doing, Rory had snatched the book off the dresser and threw it with all her might at the opposite wall. Since it was a paperback, it didn’t make the resounding thump that she had been hoping for, but she had thrown it hard enough to make the pictures on her wall rattle and shake.
Something had broken the dam in her and Rory suddenly felt like she was drowning in her sadness. She slowly slid onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as her shoulders shook with sobs.
I was just a stupid book. Something to use up and throw away. He didn’t care at all and I was so stupid to think that he did.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath and stop her tears. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. I’m stronger than this .
After a few minutes, she slowly got to her feet, harshly skidding the palms of her hands across her cheeks, trying to scrub away the tears. She picked up the much-abused book and let it fall open to a random page.
Sonnet 29
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Jess had written “almost feels like he wrote this one just for me” in the margin.
Rory closed the book and set it back on top of her dresser. She had decided: she would not get rid of this book. They had both been abandoned by Jess. They needed to stick together.