Disclaimer: Seriously, what's the point? If owned it, my way would be aired, not posted on a website. So what's the point? Oh, and all the lyrics in this chapter are from Ruthless, by Something Corporate.
AN: Ok, so I was listening to the Pernice Brothers album, Yours, Mine, Ours, and I really wanted to do a ficlet with the song Waiting for the Universe. I ended up elaborating on it, and this was born. It's just me, having a little fun with some of my favorite songs, trying to write something different from my norm. It'll be four chapters, I'll post a chapter a day. Oh, and the title has nothing to do with the Clay Aiken song of the same name. Oh, and each chapter title is the title of the song that inspired it. We start off at the end of season three, first chapter is Jess centered. That's all you need to know.
Dedication: The .ORG Literati thread. Just the whole thread in general...and Claire, Michelle, Ashley, Sarah, because we're just waiting for them to be happy...lol. Also, Ari and Lia for beta-ing and being brutally honest with me, lol.
No More Sad Songs
Chapter 1—Ruthless
But there you go for the last time
I finally know now what I should have known then
That I could still be ruthless,
If you let me.
But there you go and I'm not done.
You're waving goodbye,
But at least your having fun.
The rising tide will not let you forget me.
I screwed up. I didn't need her to tell me that, but she did. Maybe not so much in words, but the way she looked at me as she stepped off the bus. Right then, I thought I was going to break. I didn't though, of course I didn't. I'm a jerk. A first rate jerk who lives to screw up, one that people are waiting for to screw up, one they encourage to screw up, just so they can say they were right.
Well, they were. They all told Rory that I would hurt her, that I would just bring pain and destruction, and that I would be her mistake. I didn't want to live up to their expectations. When do I ever try to meet anybody's expectations? I promised her they would be wrong, that she wouldn't regret me. I don't know where I got off, promising something like that. They weren't wrong.
I think I hate myself.
That statement, had I said it any other time before this, would be completely meaningless. I've heard it my entire life. It was Liz's mantra after every guy. But now, I really do. I'm disgusted with myself. I know I did this completely wrong. I should have...I should have told her I flunked out, that I was leaving. Everything. But, I didn't, and you know why? Because I'm a jerk, because she's better off without me.
I just...I know she's going to think I left because of her. It wasn't her. If anything, she was why I stayed as long as I did. She should have been a reason to stay indefinitely, I know. I don't know why she wasn't. I don't know why I'm leaving, really. Just got that feeling, I guess.
I don't want to be like this, like my father. Leaving when things are too much to handle. But I am. Huh. Not much I can do now.
I stare down at the book in my hands. I've been staring intently at this page for at least fifteen minutes, but I can't read. None of the words sink in. Everything gets pushed out by the thought of her gazing at me. Probably the last time I'll feel her eyes burning through me. It was almost a challenge. It was like she wanted me to stop her, run after her, do anything but sit there. I couldn't do anything but look away. I don't want her to change this decision. I know she will, even if she doesn't know what's going on, even if she doesn't say anything.
I finally give up and put the book away, fixing my gaze out the window. It's so green. It's almost making me sick. I don't see how something can be so...pure. Just one thing, exactly as it appears. That's how it is with Rory. She's exactly how she appears. Me, I've been this screwed up mess for as long as I can remember. Personally, I'm not really sure what I am; it seems everyone made up my mind for me. I know people think that they know me: I'm the hoodlum, I'm the...whatever Rory sees...saw...in me.
I'm going to have to start talking in past tense about her. Yep, I see this 'screwed up' thing just keeps on giving.
Plus, I hate green. It reminds me of when I came back from New York, how she blended in perfectly, with the grass and trees and all. And then she kissed me, and I kissed back. If I hadn't kissed her back...I wouldn't have to cause her all this pain now. But I had to kiss back. Had to embrace the challenge. Huh. Payback sucks.
I hope that she can forget that any of this ever happened; I hope that as soon as she stepped off this bus, she won't think of me, ever. Maybe she'll glance back later on, and think of me as 'that guy I dated in high school.'
I know it won't happen. I know I'm not going to be able to let her forget me. As much as I'm trying to convince myself, I'm not done here. I won't let her forget me. I won't let myself stay away from her. Jess Mariano never backs away from a challenge. I guess that explains why I'm digging in my bag for a piece of paper. I don't know why I bother trying to write. I don't have anything to say. Not anything that I could put down on a freaking piece of paper, trusting the postal service to get to her. And even if I could, somehow, write it down on paper, I know it won't get sent.
Nevertheless, I'm trying. For the first time in life, I'm trying. Better late then never...right. Clichés never did fit me.
Dear Rory. Yeah. Great start. I'm writing like she's just some random person on a thank you note list.
Rory. Or not. I really shouldn't be having trouble with this part. Maybe I should just move on.
Jimmy came. He's my dad, if you use the term loosely. I never met him until a couple of days ago. He came, drank some coffee, bolted again. I flunked. Luke kicked me out. Didn't have anywhere to go, so I'm following Jimmy. It seems completely idiotic now, seeing it written out. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I just...I couldn't stay there. That town...it was getting to me, you know it was. You knew I couldn't stay there much longer.
I don't mean to be casting this on you. It wasn't you. Our fight, like everything else, it just came at a bad time. I wasn't mad at you. Don't blame yourself for any of this; it was all me.
I know everyone will tell you I came with temporary stamped all over me. They were right. Well, I guess you know that. I'm gone, aren't I?
I can't write this. It's all true, but...I really don't want to relive this. I owe her something. Then again, she shouldn't have to read all this, I should have talked to her, talked to her in person.
I probably won't call, and even if I do I won't be able to talk. It's been what, half an hour, and I already want to hear her, see her, kiss her.
I really want to kiss her. I haven't kissed her since that party, and that one tasted of lies, and regret.
I never thought I'd care about her this much. I have to do something.
The bus stops again; it's time for me to switch buses. I glance at my watch, realizing it's a good hour before the next one gets here. I look at the crumpled letter in my hands.
I know what I want to say. It isn't enough, but it'll have to do.
I wander around towards a gift shop near the bus station. I feel utterly ridiculous, searching for envelopes and stamps among all the corny postcards and magnets. It really shouldn't take five minutes to find a plain white envelope, but it did.
As I sit down on this bench, I notice my hands are trembling. What the hell? It's two words. Two words to a girl.
I actually cared about this one.
No, care...maybe I don't always need to use past tense.
I actually hold my breath while I write. I'm such an idiot. Add that to the list, right next to 'Jerk' and 'Screw Up'.
I'm sorry.
I addressed, sealed, and actually sent the letter. I know it doesn't make a difference, but that's really all I needed to say.
This is the last true burning letter
Given to a girl
Written by a boy
Living in a world created to destroy.
But if I built you a city,
Would you let me?
Would you tear it down?