RATING: PG. Nothing bad. Just a little kissing.
SPOILERS: Mainly just "Star-Crossed Lovers and Other Strangers," but all of season 1 up to that point is fair game.
SUMMARY: More Tristan POV. This one is a teeny bit darker. Based on "Star-Crossed Lovers and Other Strangers."
DISCLAIMER: Gilmore Girls isn't mine. The characters aren't mine. the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino, and co. are the lucky ones.


by Rebecca Carefoot

Does it make me a bad person that I'm glad Paris is jealous of Summer when I press her up against the locker? The familiar thrill of being watched, being wanted, being envied, tingles up and down my spine, touching me in a way Summer's kisses never could. My lips pull at hers, and the length of her body touches mine, close. Closeness that is physical. Only physical. Always physical.

Summer is disposable. A thing I use to make myself feel better, feel important. To forget how worthless I am. I use her to force people to notice me. Force Rory to notice me. She is a means to an end. I could care less about her. I will never care about her, and I have no intention of doing anything other than dropping her if she bores me.

Does that make me a bad person?

I've never cared about anyone but me. Maybe a couple years at the beginning of my life. Maybe I cared about my parents or my nanny or somebody. Maybe before I knew any better. Before I realized that loving is just opening yourself up to hurt, letting other people use you. Before I realized I didn't need it.

It's easy to use people. It's easy to turn off your emotions. It's numb, and its painless. Living under anesthesia. Everything's a game when you don't care. Everything's calculated, strategized, planned. There are no surprises.

Only, life isn't that easy to control. And she surprises me. Rory. And she hurts me. And she makes the game seem cheap and shallow and not enough.

I'd hate her for that if I didn't want her so much, need her so much, love her so much. I would hate her for taking my life from me.

All of sudden, my life isn't enough. Painless isn't enough. Numb isn't enough. Not hurt isn't enough. Not sad isn't enough. I want love and joy and trust and anger. I want to feel again. And I hate wanting those things. It's not safe. The promise of joy and love is a trap, to lure you in, underneath is pain, always hurt. Rejection. Hatred. And worse, indifference. Underneath is the truth. Pain is the truth.

I already feel it. She's already in that deep. It's like rolling your ankle when its fallen asleep, the numbness turning to prickles and stabs of pain, small pinching pain, sharp wincing pain. That's what I feel. The pain of waking a heart that's fallen asleep. It stabs and tingles. It's unfamiliar. It never stops.

Damn it.

I want to bury myself in Summer's ice, her nothingness, the empty shell of her. She is so empty. Just like me. I want to numb myself with her. I want to forget to feel. Forget Rory. I want to go back.

Even with my hand buried in Summer's hair. Hair so much like Rory's I can almost pretend... Even when my lips are locked to hers, and I can feel the cold metal of the locker against my arm. Even now, I hurt. Even as I pretend this is enough, because I can feel Rory beside me, watching me. I can hear her making fun of me.

And I want her to see. I want Rory to see me with Summer, touching her, close. I want to hear the envy in her voice that I can feel radiating off Paris. I want to hear her hurt behind the casual barbs she throws at me. Just a little. That's all I ask. Just a tingle. So I know I'm not completely alone. Just a hint, so that maybe this reawakening would be worth it. So that maybe there would be a glimmer of more than pain, of feelings that do more than wound.

Does that make me a bad person?