One In The Same - Jess Mariano

Who Else is Having Boy Troubles?

- Y/N's POV

  Knocking on the door of the Gilmore house with restrained anger, I'm almost immediately greeted by a wide grin. Lorelai's overjoyed expression quickly turns one of soft sympathy. "That bad, huh?" Her hand cups the top of my back, leading me out of the bitter cold into her home.

  I sigh, removing my coat and shrugging. "Worse than usual, if you can believe it,"

  "When it comes to just how bad a 'bad boy' can be, I'm an expert, you can trust me on that," She hangs my jacket up and gestures a hand towards the living room where all the girls already sat, letting me know I wasn't going to be berated for details by her.

  I nod, giving a polite smile and head into the living area. "Y/N, great timing we were just talking about how much we are done with boys," Lane nearly jumps off the couch in excitement.

  "If that was a school subject, it would be the only one I could best Rory at," Allowing myself to smile felt good after the shitshow that just went down at home. "You must be Paris," I greet the kind of pissed-off looking blonde.

  "And as I heard, quite loudly, you're Y/N. So, how do you know Rory, did you find her as annoyingly optimistic as I did when you first met her?"

  "Oh, kind of a funny story, we share a father. There's some not so funny details about it, which interestingly enough fit into the topic of hating men, but that's a story for another time," Finding a spot on the floor by the coffee table, I get comfortable and scoop a handful of popcorn from one of the numerous snack bowls set out. "So, who else is having boy troubles?"

  "I thought you said they, quote, 'weren't boy troubles'?" Rory asks, shuffling closer to my side. "Did he do something else?"

  I sigh, knowing that even though I would rather pretend Jess wasn't even a drop in the ocean of my life, I didn't want to push away any possible connection I could have with someone as nice as Rory. Paris also seemed like she would give a good blunt, unbiased view on my issues. And of course Lane has been with me throughout most of the experience.

  "I came home tonight and walked in on him with his tongue disgustingly deep in Shane's throat. And after I stated my opinions and Shane had left, he started saying I was a prude, and that I'm just annoyed I am not getting any action. And then he calls me jealous, because he's with her and not me," With the floodgates open, I struggle to catch a moment to breathe.

  "Well, are you?" Paris asks, now cuddling a bowl of pretzels to her chest, snacking away as though she was watching the most riveting telenovela ever.

  "Am I what?"

  "Jealous, of that Shane girl? I mean, I've never seen someone so frustrated by someone  else if they didn't have some form of strong feeling towards them. I laid my anger onto Rory pretty hard when the guy I liked wanted her over me,"

  "She did, I've probably got some scarring from all the cat fighting that went down,"

  "But Paris, with Y/N and Jess it's- well it's complicated," Lane interjects. "From what I've seen, they don't seem to ever have a permanent type of relationship. It changes from hate to something else like that," Her fingers click to complete her simile.

  "I think... Ugh, I don't know. I mean, Lorelai said something about my disdainful reaction of hearing him all sweet and lovey when he talks to her seems too strong to just be me not wanting him to be happy. I think that kind of makes sense, I mean, there's been times where we've had fun and where I've enjoyed his company, and seeing him happy in those moments didn't churn my stomach with hate," I stare down at my hands, knowing how vulnerable I'm finally being for pretty much the first time in my life.

  Paris softly chuckles, shaking her head in an understanding way. "That's how it felt for me. I wanted so badly to see Tristan feeling the same joy he did with Rory from something I could do. It felt like a slap in the face everytime I heard something in the halls about how he would hang off of her every word, when it would take all my efforts for him to even spare me a glance,"

  I look up at her, sending a small smile of appreciation at her sharing her similar pain, hating that all the dots were finally connecting in my brain. "I am jealous. Shit... And I can't even hate her, she seems so sweet. Why couldn't the universe give me even a small thing to hold onto, I wish she had something wrong with her, is that fucked up to say?"

  Lane laughs, "Kind of, but it's also completely understandable,"

  I clear the bubble that seems to have formed in my throat before speaking again, "Anyway, I will ask again - Who else is having boy troubles?"

-

  "It was nice to meet you Paris, and I'll see you on Monday Lane," Me and Rory see the others to the door, wishing them good night. Once they are gone, I carry my belongings to Rory's room, where a spare bed has been made up on the floor for me. I slump down on it, fishing out whatever book I shoved into my bag in my rage-filled stupor earlier. It's a worn copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen that I instantly recognise as not being mine.

  "Hey, Rory, would you like to spice up your enormous collection of books by adding a stolen one in there?" I joke, giving her a pause to warn her before lightly tossing it over into her waiting hands.

  "Jess' copy?" She flicks through the pages gently. The way she treats books is similar to me, it is almost maternal in nature. "I didn't realise he made notes in the margins of his books," One page seems to catch her attention, as she falls silent, enraptured by the words on the page.

  "What is it, did he write something profound on how 'we do not suffer by accident'?" I mock, adding flourish with a swish of my hands. Not getting a reply, I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees and attemping to study her face.

  "He wrote something about you," She states, half blankly, not sure whether to elaborate or hand it back to me. I don't know what I was expecting in truth, but it was not that. I suddenly don't know how to speak, or breathe, or exist in this moment.

  Rory steps out of bed, sitting on the blow up mattress, by my feet, and hands the book over, open on the page that captured her eye. Still in shock, it takes my eyes a minute to adjust and see the page, littered with scrawls in pencil, underlines and quote marks.

  One is written right by the words, 'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun'. It reads 'I was ignorant to how her roots were embedded within my heart right from the beginning, and now that I can see, it's impossible to fathom how I could have been so blind. Perhaps our prescribed proximity made it impossible to notice what has been right in front of me from that very first day, but it's blatant now, and I'm suffocated by it.'