Work Text:
Paris groaned and flung her pen on the table in frustration. She stared resentfully at the leather-bound, college-ruled, overpriced notebook in front of her, glaring at the nearly empty page like she'd just been told it was the sole evil in her life.
Terrence had told her that journaling would be beneficial for her healing process, and like a fool, she'd trusted him. After all, there was plenty of research showing the positive affects on the mind that came from putting one's thoughts on paper.
Of course, she'd immediately went to Staples and bought a large pack of multicolor gel pens (to color coordinate her thoughts into emotions—yellow for happy, blue for sadness, green for growth, and all that), a few stacks of matching sticky notes, and the journal. Then she'd came straight back to her dorm, sat down at her craft table, and got to work.
At least, that's what she had tried to do. She had gotten to the opening statement—My name is Paris Geller, I'm nineteen years old, and this is my journal—and immediately her mind had gone as blank as the page that was now glaring at her, judging her.
Look at you, it seemed to say. Can't even write down a couple of thoughts. How sad.
Shut up, she thought back. I'm processing, damn it.
"What're you doing?" Rory's voice dragged Paris out of her spiral, and she slammed the cherry-colored journal shut. She'd thought red would inspire passion, but instead, all it had done was spark anger. She knew she should've just gotten the black. She groaned again.
"Paris?" Rory gave her a concerned look.
"I'm not emotionally developed enough for this yet," she mumbled, ashamed. She thought she'd been getting better, but now she felt like she'd started falling right back to where she started, at the bottom of the mountain.
Rory nodded slowly; she was used to her girlfriend's mood swings by now, and had long ago learned to tread carefully. "Ah, I see. This being..." She trailed off, waiting for Paris to fill in the blank.
"Channeling my soul," Paris explained. "Documenting my growth, enhancing my mental clarity, recognizing my inner self." She twirled the pen between her fingers, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with all these pens now. Oh God, was she going to have to take up coloring again? She didn't have the patience for any of this.
Rory's eyes widened. "Paris, are you on drugs?"
"What?" No!" Paris huffed, tossing the neon green pen across the table as she spoke. "I'm trying to journal."
"Oh," Rory sighed in relief. "Jeez, Par, don't do that to me."
"I think I'm regressing," Paris admitted. She laid her head on the desk. The coolness of the leather felt nice against her cheek. At least it was good for something.
"You're being dramatic," Rory said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed Paris' arm, dragging her away until they were sitting on the sofa. She brought the journal and a random pen from Paris' extensive collection. "You're thinking about it too much. It's not about solving all of your issues in one sitting—it's about managing your feelings in the moment." She pointed the pen at Paris. "The whole 'soul channeling' thing happens later."
Paris crossed her arms over her knees."I guess so."
Rory cleared her throat. "Now, I want you to close your eyes." She stared at her expectantly. "Go on, do it."
Paris huffed again. She obeyed, though, mostly because she didn't really know what else to do. "Now what?"
"I want you to focus on these things," Rory instructed. Her voice was authoritative and not nearly as mocking as she could've been, and for that Paris was grateful. "One thing you hear, one thing you smell, and one thing feel. Start with the hearing." Rory went quiet.
Paris sighed, but thought, what the hell, it's worth a shot. She listened carefully, focusing on on every sound.
The fan whirring above them. The sound of students laughing and talking in the hall. She thought about Chilton, how much comfort she'd taken in the structure and routine of school, in the validation in being the best. She could hear Rory breathing softly, and it reminded her of how threatened that peace and security had felt when they'd first met. How much comfort she now took in Rory herself. She heard her own heartbeat, faint and probably only noticable because she knew it should be there. Living and breathing with a beating heart, just like everyone else.
She breathed in deeply, and Rory said gently, "Okay, now something you smell."
She pressed her eyes tighter, focusing. Rory's conditioner, apple and something floral. The lingering odor of too many teenagers crammed into one building. The faint smell of coffee that slowly filled every space Rory inhabited— something Paris had grown used to alarmingly quickly, associating the scent with home more than she ever had the scent of lavender (her mother's perfume) or of leather and wood (her father's soap). Though she did miss the scent of cinnamon and bread mixed with the faint sting of medicine she'd gotten used to smelling around Nanny. She hadn't realized quite how much she had come to associate all of those aromas with safe and love. Strange.
She swallowed, feeling a little bit like she might cry, but not necessarily in a bad way.
Rory said, "Okay, now tell me what you feel." Paris dimly noted that she'd grabbed her hand at some point, and had began tracing her palm almost absentmindedly.
"Nostalgic," Paris replied without thinking. "I miss Nanny. And Chilton. And knowing who I was supposed to be." She stopped, and realized with slight horror that she actually was crying now.
"Good job," Rory said, and Paris opened her eyes. Rory was smiling, and Paris couldn't help but smile too. "Now all you have to do is write that down." She handed the journal and pen. "Remember, it doesn't have to be perfect. It's not an assignment or anything. It's just for you."
Paris stood up, heading towards her bed. "Thanks, Rory. Really. I needed a push to reach my destination."
"No problem." Rory flashed her a thumbs-up. "Oh, and babe?"
She paused at the door. "Yeah?"
"Next time, go for a color other than red." Rory grinned. "You struggle with anger issues enough as it is."
Paris sneered at her and shut the door, but she didn't reply, and if you asked her, that was proof that she'd already began her journey towards healing.