A/N: I have to give credit for a lot of the story line in this first chapter to Henry James. I was inspired to write it while re-reading Portrait of a Lady, one of my favorite books. But the rest of the story line will be mine.
This story takes place years after the show. Rory hasn't heard from Jess since he told her he loved her.
Rory sat, exhausted in the chair, staring out the window. Her husband was in the next room but she had no impulse to join him. The feeling was palpable every time they were together, she couldn't escape the knowledge that he hated her. Oh he treated her well, with impeccable politeness. He had never hit or hurt her, never screamed at her, never even raised his voice, but he despised her.
She was unhappy, more unhappy than she had ever been in her life, and although she had tried to keep it to herself, she knew that Logan knew she was miserable. Knew, and almost enjoyed it. As if he took pleasure in disappointing her hopes the way he felt she had disappointed him. He felt deceived by her, as if she had lied to him, although she never had. She had just loved him, and in that love had conceded to him more than she ever normally would have. And so it came as a bitter disappointment to him when he found out after they were married that she had her own thoughts, her own ideas. He had somehow expected that she would give these up when they were married, adopt his ways and his thoughts and now when he realized that she would always be independent he grew disillusioned. She wasn't going to live her life just for him and his career. She insisted on working, on doing, on thinking on her own and this was an affront to him, and a deception, he felt. They distrusted each other now, hated each other, as much as they had once loved.
The life she had envisioned when she married him, that life of endless possibilities, had narrowed into one path, one life that was rapidly getting smaller and smaller. The path was choking her with it's sameness and rigidity, and the feeling that she couldn't escape it. What had originally seemed like opportunity had become a coffin. The money had confined them into one life instead of opening the world to them.
And so, when they should still have been in their honeymoon phase their marriage had been reduced to him in one room, her in the other. And it had gone on that way, never changing or getting better, day after day and year after year. He never turned to her at night anymore with longing, never touched her at all if he could help it, and she felt herself shriveling up in the face of his spite. He talked to her with politeness, and gravity, but with a hint of mocking, as if challenging her to challenge him. But she never did. What could she possibly reproach him with? Had he ever said one hurtful thing to her? No, he hadn't. Had he ever hit her, or been close? The answer again was no. Although Rory almost felt it would be better if he had, at least she would have felt real again. As it was, she felt like she was slowly going invisible. He ignored her, and when he talked to her it was as if she didn't matter. She didn't hold that same charm for him that she had before. She wasn't even sure when that had ended but he seemed almost disgusted by her body now, even though time hadn't changed it much. He didn't cheat on her, at least as far as she could tell, but then how could he sit there, day after day, with that calm expression on his face, not touching her, not looking at her, sitting sometimes in the same room for hours barely acknowledging her? She had at first been desperate for his attention, his affection, been desperate to be the wife he wanted her to be. But Rory had always been too independent to totally bend to the will of another, and she wasn't the wife that he could mold the way he wanted. She had never told him how much she wanted him to just touch her, show some interest in her, make her real again, but she knew he had seen it, and delighted in it. He was one by one taking everything good in her life and extinguishing it, coldly and callously. And he was the good guy! He was the great husband who was always where he said he would be, who bought her the right gift for every occasion, brought her with to every social function in a brand new dress that made the other wives green with envy. He was the husband who was so faithful, so fucking faithful to her, that the blame for all the problems in their marriage always fell on her. On her and how she had let him down, disappointed his expectations. And to add that, Rory knew she was ugly. Stress had taken the shine out of her eyes, the sleepless nights of loneliness had added bags to her eyes and dullness to her hair. The smoking had wreaked havoc on her skin, which could only be covered with the piles of makeup she now wore constantly.
Rory often wondered how she hadn't seen that part of him there, the part of him that was slowly killing her. She wondered how she always ended up in the wrong. How she always ended up the one snapping at him, later apologizing profusely while he insisted that there was no reason for apology. He was the same as he was when they were dating, just more mature, without the boyhood vices. He had charmed her then, and she had to admit that he still charmed her. He had never disguised himself or played a part with her, she just hadn't seen the whole picture. She had only seen half of who he was, had only recognized half of what he wanted. She thought he wanted her, and he had, but he had wanted her under the idea that she would stop being Rory Gilmore when she became his wife. He somehow imagined that she would be Mrs. Huntzberger, a reflection on him and nothing more. But Rory had never been anyone's possession, and couldn't adjust herself to it now even if she had wanted to. He had always expected her to reflect his ideas back to him, and instead she reflected her own. She didn't voice those ideas anymore, it would only have increased his hatred, but she knew he could see it in her eyes whenever they were together, could see how she was always there, thinking, and thinking her own thoughts. And Rory almost couldn't blame him. After all, she had been so charmed, so infatuated by him that she had probably appeared that she would give up everything to him. To relinquish everything about herself except her appearance, and that would be there, at his side, at every function they went to. Well she had done her duty there, but she would never give up thinking in her own way.
Logan's parents loved her, except for her job, which she insisted on keeping. She appeared properly at every function, behaved exactly as she should. She was dressed to perfection every time, rarely said a word. They thought she and Logan had the perfect marriage and waited for the grandkids to roll in. And Logan was brilliant, there was no denying that. His business success promised to exceed his fathers in time, now that he had settled down to work. He was admired everywhere, for his charming looks and brilliant mind, two qualities that only seemed to grow as the years went on. While Rory got more and more exhausted. Most days she could barely stand to get up for work, had to drag herself there feeling lifeless and pale. She only kept the job now to defy him, otherwise she would have quit in an instant. She had lost any passion she used to have for work in trying to build that defensive shield, the shield that would stop the loneliness, stop the pain of being ignored, the hurt at being so casually dismissed from his mind. She didn't even miss the sex anymore, it had become too much an effort for both of them to even pretend to be attracted to one another. She had tried, had gotten dressed up in the lingerie he liked, had tried to pretend she wasn't so tired, so drained that all she wanted to do was sleep. He had tried to, to get over his disgust in her but in the end it had been a wasted effort, and now they didn't even share a room anymore.
Rory didn't look up as she heard the door open, hearing her husbands measured steps as he walked into the room. For once, he found her alone. She had always taken refuge in their friends, who could be found here with her almost every day, talking, drinking, watching tv together. Sometimes they went shopping. He even took delight in having them here sometimes, because he knew that deep down she hated them. Lane rarely made it into the house. After all, he had reminded her, it just isn't proper for a purple haired punk rocker to be here at the Huntzberger mansion. Rory had looked at him with silent fury when he said this, knowing that he was taking refuge in convention to deny her a friend. And so the other girls, the proper girls, had become fixtures here. Her best friends now were Rosemary, Walker, and Juliette. And he was right, she did secretly hate them.
Lorelai Danes was an occasional visitor as well, but the marriage had inextricably separated mother and daughter. Rory was too proud to admit that her mom had been right, that she never should have married Logan. She almost clung to her husband when her mom was around, desperate to prove that everything was fine, that she was happy. And the only stories she had to tell of Logan were good ones. How he sent her flowers, brought her something from a business trip, that he called her every night when he was away. How thoughtful he was... she wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that he was a monster if she wanted to. What proof was there, besides the fact that he hated her. And that was apparent only to her. No, they didn't share a bedroom, but ostensibly that was because of his allergies to the smoke of her ever-present cigarettes.
So here she was, at 31, with a perfect career, great friends, an attentive and handsome husband, living in a mansion and already an old lady. She felt in her fifties, not her thirties. Everything in her had turned to dust or stone, dried out, there was never any room for tears, and who could cry about such a perfect life? She couldn't cry because there was no chance for salvation now. What could she do? Where could she go? Who could leave such a husband as she had? She knew she would be blamed, Logan would be pitied and adored. And who would want her now? She knew she looked years older than she was, faded, exhausted and ragged. She was trapped with this man, this fiend, until he was good and ready to let her go.