fool (lester averman)

chapter two

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chapter two: the depressing details

a/n:

rory vs social cues-- who will win?

tw(s) -- potential second-hand embarrassment, hints at rory's poor childhood, and some mentions of bullying/hazing

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Rory tries not to meet her own gaze in mirrors very often.

It's an odd habit that's carried over from her childhood, this race to brush her teeth and wash her face before she could see the bogeyman a therapist, two therapists ago, insisted she was hiding from. Though his theory was rooted in sure enough soil, he was wrong. And she, as a small girl with an even smaller vocabulary who was terrified her father would always find out what she was saying, just never had it within her to correct him.

If she had been able to tell him, though, she'd have told him that there was no bogeyman. (She never bought into those old wives' tales, anyway. The monsters that haunted her childhood dreams were all very real people.)

There were no dark, mysterious figures lingering in the corner of her eye.

It truly was just the sight of herself that she was avoiding.

The art of self-dissection is one that comes naturally to Rory.

It's as simple as breathing, or sleeping, or ignoring the hunger that was always lingering in her stomach, never fully satiated by her strict diet (nor helped by her tendency to throw up when things get too out of her control.)

They -- a collective term for a series of tutors, etiquette coaches, actual coaches, and her parents -- made sure that it was on the list of her ever-growing set of skills. Slotted between a fluency in French and a capacity to hold her breath for a few minutes underwater, the ability to hate nearly everything about herself exists, a nagging voice in the back of her mind, without anything to keep it in check.

So, when she gets weighed by her doctors she looks anywhere by the scale.

When she gets a test back from a teacher, she just puts it in her bag without even checking the grade.

And, when she sees her mother's face staring back at her in every single mirror she looks into--

(Yeah, time management could go on her resume, too. Cramming a twenty-minute long hygiene routine into ten minutes in the dark is not an easy task.)

Julie doesn't stir as Rory rushes about their hotel room, more tornado than girl, at five in the morning. She snores as the brunette gets ready in the dark, an unmoving lump in the bed across the room as Rory, with a clean face and clean teeth, puts on some sweatpants and grabs a copy of their room key.

She pauses before she leaves, her hand on the doorknob.

They don't have to be up for practice until nine, so she figures that the blonde can sleep in. If she sleeps too much, Rory can always come get her.

But is it rude to leave Julie all on her own? Is it safe?

She realizes, vaguely, that she's only had to share a space with someone she's liked once. The thought, serving as a reminder of an old friend, makes her frown.

Reminding herself that Julie, on the other hand, is one of five children and would be fine (happy, even) with a few hours alone, Rory leaves their room with the intention of hunting down whatever gym the hotel has. Her father would never let them send her to a hotel that didn't have the correct facilities for her to maintain her morning workout regimen, and the idea is that, if she keeps up with her schedule, the next few weeks will go by easily. No matter the outcome of this competition.