Let Her Go

"I hate men." My back hit Paris' torturously tough couch, a loud groan escaping my lips. Paris sat beside me, her eyes drifting from me to her noodles and back again.

"That Huntzberger has some real nerve, real nerve … I have this urge to go give the boy a lecture on the link between sexually transmitted diseases and promiscuity." A small smile pulled at my lips at Paris' tone. Despite all, Paris had taken me back in and … she was trashing talking the one person I couldn't currently bare the sight of – Logan. "I'm sorry, you know …" Paris' posture turned completely. "I'm sorry about the whole editor thing and … I'm sorry about what he did to you, you didn't deserve that."

"Shall I tell you what you need?" Doyle strolled into the room, a towel thrown across his shoulders. He leaned in to give Paris a peck on the lips and I cringed inwardly … Logan had done that to me only a few hours before. "A night out … I know you don't party, Gilmore, but … I think you two need to get the hell out of this apartment, moping around won't help." Doyle's eyes scanned the extortionate amounts of takeout containers that soiled his living room carpet.

"As long as I have Ben and Jerry … I'll be fine," There was a pregnant pause before I continued. "Eventually."

"No, Doyle's right," Paris jumped off the couch suddenly, my body hurtling off it and onto the cold floor. "Oh sorry," I grunted in response, my body curling into a ball upon the tiled floorboards. Oddly enough, the floor was a lot comfier than the couch. "Rory, get up, we're going out." I stared back at Paris as if she were delusional. "Don't give me that look … we need to get some alcohol in your system."

"Paris, no, really-" Before I could even debate my case, Paris was dragging my limp body towards her bedroom. "Paris, I swear to God … let me go." Her hands were now wrapped firmly around my wrists like handcuffs.

"I have this really cute dress … it may be a little short on you," Paris practically threw me against the side of her bed as she rummaged through a tattered wardrobe. "My boobs are bigger so it might be a little loose too but-" Her voice cut off as she pulled out a piece of material that could barely be accounted as a garment of clothing. "We can throw a belt on it."

"Paris!" I yelled as her hands made their way to the hem of my shirt. "Get off! I'm not going anywhere and I, most definitely, am not wearing that!" The dress was a flirty crimson colour and tight … tight, tight. It screamed Louise and Madison, not Lorelai Leigh Gilmore.

Heck, it screamed easy.

"Rory, the aim of the game is to make him pine for you!" Paris' face lit up like a Christmas tree on the twenty fourth. "Show the spoiled brat what he's missing out on. You think he's the only one that can get shackled up with some chick?"

"You want me to get shackled up with a chick?" I quipped smartly, a light-hearted tone settling within my voice.

"No, but if you want to-"

"Paris!" I interrupted her before she could even expand on the topic.

"Okay, okay … look, listen, Logan is a jerk and you deserve better. Honestly, you've never been single. You've always jumped into these serious relationships: Dean, Jess, Logan. Have a little fun! Go a little crazy, find yourself a French man named Pierre, drown your sorrows in cosmos-"

"I tried the whole no strings attached business, remember?" I sighed, running my fingers through my now messy hair. "I'm a girlfriend girl, I have boyfriends … I'm not floosy."

"Be floosy, for one night!" Paris reached for my top again and I shoved her hand away. My defiance didn't seem to impact Paris because she began digging through her shoes; trying to find something that would match the dreaded dress I was being forced to wear. "Forget about him and enjoy yourself."

"I can't, this isn't me … dressing up, partying, getting crazy drunk-"

"Oh, please, you're having one crazy night, you're not turning into Elizabeth Taylor, lighten up!" The gears turned within my head as I contemplated the idea of having one – just one – night to have some careless excitement. Suddenly, my mind seemed to ignite with joy at the endless possibilities.

People can live a hundred years without really living for a minute.

Maybe tonight wouldn't be a complete bust.

"Oh God." I groaned for the hundredth time, my hands tugging at the bottom of the dress. Due to the fact that Paris was a few inches shorter, so was my dress. My clothes were still residing in Logan's apartment and Paris' burlesque inspired dress was the only thing that seemed to fit me ... kind of. After a good ten minutes of nipping and tucking with pins, clips and belts, we had finally made the upper half of the dress stick to me. However, the bottom of the dress was another story. Every step or any kind of movement resulted in the dress shifting into a taboo position. God ... if Mom laid eyes on me now ...

"You look hot, I'm tempted to make out with you again." Paris replied simply, her eyes scanning the crowd of the fourth bar we had walked into tonight. This one was cramped and smelt dully of perspiration but, with a few shots of vodka working its way through my blood stream ... I wasn't as bothered by the stench as I should have been.

"Just get me a drink, Gellar." I slid past a few people to claim the one bar stool that was free. My feet seemed to let out a silent cry as I let them rest; wearing skyscraper heels was also out of character for me ... massively so. "Something strong, preferably!" I hollered at her as she dissolved into the mass crowd of dancing collegians.

I was going to regret this in the morning ...