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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

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Oliver Twist and Little Orphan Annie

PART TWENTY OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of physical/emotional abuse, anxiety about future, serious angst, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: As graduation approaches, Ella and Jess paint a room, and attend a party.

“How have you never painted a room before?” Ella asked, tiling her head at Jess as she guided his hand, armed with a roller, up and down.

A creamy white streaked the wall in stark contrast with the old color, giving off pungent fumes. Her one window was opened all the way, letting in the late May air. Rain poured on Stars Hollow, a thunderstorm which brought humidity and lightning. The sky had faded to a dark greenish-gray, a dull bruise. But Ella felt her spirits lifted high. Lorelai had paint leftover from redoing the Independence Inn following the fire, and she’d given it all to Ella. Sometimes, she didn’t know what she would do without the Gilmore matriarch. If she had to stay in her room during college, the least she could do was have a new mural. Three of the walls would be soft eggshell, while she had yet to decide the exact design of the one behind her bed. She had a lot of purple to use, and was thinking something floral. But the base coat was all they needed for the day.

Jess had volunteered rather than been recruited, but it quickly became clear to Ella that he had no idea what he was doing. His first few strokes were patchy at best, textured at worst. She was thankful Luke hadn’t gotten a new apartment back when they were thinking of moving. The plan then had been to have Jess paint it. Ella could only imagine the quarrels which would have ensued. As she guided Jess’s hand, she maneuvered around the mattress in the center of the room, piled high with almost all her belongings and surrounded by layers of plastic to protect the carpet.

“We can’t all be Michelangelo,” he quipped, frustrated with his clear incompetence. In theory, painting a room evenly wasn’t hard. But, a perpetual renter, he had zero experience. Theory was proving much different than practice.

Ella snorted a laugh. “Jess, it’s not the Sistine Chapel. You’re painting one wall with one color.”

“Easy for you to say. You paint all the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to help. Just don’t apply too much pressure. We’ll have to do a few coats, but that’s the only way to make it look good.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jess grumbled as she stepped away from him, going to her own paint tray and prepping her roller for the wall next to his.

“I know you will, James Dean,” Ella said, more sincerely than he was expecting.

Smiling a tiny smile, Jess glanced over his shoulder at her. Her hair, held away from her face in a black bandana, fell down her back. The old Pixies t-shirt she wore rose up as she reached high on her tiptoes, exposing the dimples in her back, above the waistband of her worn jeans. His stomach buzzed with pleasant butterflies as he turned back to the wall.

“You write your speech yet?” Jess asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Groaning playfully, Ella shook her head more to herself than to Jess. “No. Not quite ready to pretend to have some inspiring message about the last four years. Also, I’m pretty sure my speech is going to be the last one. I’ll have to follow whatever those student government kids have to say.”

“Well, graduation is still three weeks away. You’ve got some time, Miss Valedictorian,” he said.

“One of four valedictorians,” she reminded him, her tone dismissive. “With the lowest GPA of all four.”

“How many times, Eleanor? It’s still a huge deal.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, breathing a soft sigh.

Before Jess could speak again, a quiet knock sounded on the door. Ella’s father didn’t wait to be invited in before he opened the door. Both of them turned and Jess could almost see Ella’s body turn rigid. Jess bit his lip again and put his paint roller down in his tray as Jake Stevens began to speak.

“Hey, Ellie, how’s it going in here?” Jake asked.

“Fine,” Ella shrugged, gazing around the room. “Should be done by tomorrow or day after next.”

Jake nodded. “Good. Don’t want the house smelling like this forever.”

“Right,” she said. “I just figured...white will be a better color for a guest room when I move out, and with the pink gone only one wall will need painting by then.”

“But that won’t be for a while, right?” Jake said, eyebrows raised.

There was almost a warning tone in his voice, Jess thought. In the interactions he’d seen between Ella and her father, it was never blatant. Jake never said anything overtly cruel or malicious, but it was in the way he said things. Like he knew there was nothing his daughter could do to get out from under his thumb. Like he could forever bind her to the role her mother used to fill, the chores and the emotional labor, while still ignoring her as if she didn’t live in the room right next to his. It was such an odd dichotomy.

Jess could definitely understand having a parent who was often neglectful, but there was a strange, controlling element to Jake’s behavior which Jess had never experienced himself. Many of Liz’s boyfriends (and sometimes fiancés, and sometimes husbands) were addicts with less than friendly personalities. But they were never around long enough to establish true manipulation of him. Instead, Jess would fight with them (more often than not, to protect Liz) until they got fed up and left. Then, Liz would blame him for driving the guy away and the cycle would begin again. The last time he’d gotten into a scrap with one of her men, punches had been thrown. Jess had even landed a few himself, but his fighting back proved to be the final straw for Liz. Instead of watching the man walk away from her, she’d sent Jess to Luke. But, of course, she’d moved onto the next one by the time Jess returned to New York following the accident with Rory’s car.

Those men, their main weapon was fear. But Ella’s father wielded guilt instead. He used his words, how he said them, and small actions disguised as discipline, instead of his fists. He loomed over his daughter coldly. She didn’t often talk about it, but Jess knew Ella’s father had slapped her at least once as a child, for talking back to him at the dinner table. She’d made the comment off-handedly, as though it was nothing. As though all parents kept their kids in line using such methods. And she claimed her father hadn’t touched her in anger since, that things were getting better between them, that her father had a hard childhood of his own and he had learned to parent in an abusive environment. But touch wasn’t always the vehicle for household violence. A family could have some kind of love without it being a healthy kind of love. It wasn’t dramatic, he didn’t witness any blow-outs. And though Jake always had a beer in hand when he was home, Ella only shook her head when Jess brought it up, told him her father never got blackout drunk anymore. Not since Fiona came around. But the subtle, warning tone was always there. And Jess could see shades of it every time Jake and Ella spoke to each other.

“Yeah,” Ella said, offering a weak smile. “Not for a while. But I’ll be thanking myself in four years.”

“Smart,” Jake agreed, nodding. Then, he turned to Jess: “And how are you, young man? No college plans I hear?”

“No,” Jess said, shaking his head. “Personally, I think I’m better equipped for trades.”

Again, Jake nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on Jess. “I suppose only time will tell, won’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it will,” Jess said shortly.

Jake smiled thinly. “Well, I can’t wait to see the room when it’s done. As you were, kids.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ella said, picking her roller back up as her father shut the door behind him.

Swallowing dryly, she took a second to listen to the rain outside. She flexed her free hand once and then got back to work, humming a Fleetwood Mac song under her breath. Jess watched, hesitant to say a word. Slowly, he began to paint again, rollers squeaking quietly against the walls.

“I hate it when he calls me ‘young man,’” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

She scoffed. “Wow, I’m shocked.”

“Yes, I’m very unpredictable,” he quipped. “There you go, type-casting me again.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if you’re James Dean back from the dead,” she teased, smirking over at him. “Speaking of which, are you too cool for the party next weekend, or are you gonna come watch Lane play with me?”

Running his free hand over his mouth, Jess locked eyes with her, looking over his shoulder again. “Depends. Are we gonna go make fun of everything like we’re gonna do at prom?”

Ella nodded. “Everything except the music. You can come be a Grinch with me, just like at the diner on Christmas.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And you don’t get to complain about my driving at prom. It’ll be a station wagon instead of a limo, since your rust bucket is gone,” Ella reminded him. Three weeks prior, Jess had walked out of the diner one morning and found his car gone. He had heard no leads about it since.

He sighed through his nose. “Whatever you say, soccer mom. I’ll get the tickets this week.”

“Okay, but I’m paying you back for mine.”

“If you insist,” he shrugged.

“I do.”

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer as she reached high on the wall. Sidestepping his painting tray, he brought a gentle hand to the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Scrunching up her nose, she chuckled and told him not to distract her. And he went back to work laughing.

. . .

Though there were rips in her fishnets, Ella felt an added, confident skip to her step as she passed town square. The Spring Fling festival banner was still hung over the gazebo, though it had ended with a parade the night before. Bunches of flowers still lined the streets, beginning to wilt in the heat of May. In the back of her mind, she worried vaguely about her dark eye makeup melting off in the sunshine. Her Doc Martens squeaked on the tile floor of Luke’s as she waltzed in, breathing a small sigh at the gust of cool air conditioning. She smoothed down her black floral dress, blowing loose strands of hair, which had fallen from her half-up, half-down look, away from her freckled cheeks.

Only a few customers peppered the red tables, and no one occupied the counter. Luke scribbled on his pad as he stood behind the ancient register, preparing to close.

“Hey, Luke,” she called, smiling slightly at him.

He mumbled a greeting to her, not glancing up. Ella scoffed out a laugh at his disinterest, and didn’t bother asking if it was alright before going behind the curtain and trudging up the stairs. He’d been acting off lately, and though she wondered if it was something to do with his lawyer lady friend, she knew better than to ask. She’d spent the afternoon before visiting Julie in New Britain, and he seemed to have cooled off at least a little since she’d last seen him. Granted, it had been a Thursday, inventory day. One could always expect a fair amount of open hostility from Luke on inventory day. Ella could hear the sound of the Sex Pistols before she even neared the apartment door. Only knocking twice, and assuming she wouldn’t be heard over the music anyway, she stepped into the apartment. Jess sat up in his bed, reading Dead Souls, brows furrowed in concentration in spite of the noise.

Smirking, she came over and turned down the music to half volume. He only looked up to see her as Johnny Rotten got quieter, and blinked in surprise at her. She set her bag shoulder bag down on the worn wooden floor and sat at the end of the bed, legs hanging off the side.

“Hey, James Dean,” she said. “More light reading?”

He shrugged. “Seems that way.”

Clicking her tongue, she shook her head to herself. “I can just never stomach the Russians.”

Finally, one corner of his mouth quirked slightly upward. “So unrefined.”

She shrugged. “Maybe someday you’ll convert me.”

“Someday.” Jess put his book on the nightstand and ran a hand over his mouth. “You look ready to rock and roll all night and party every day.”

Rolling her eyes, Ella ignored the (millionth) KISS joke and cast her eyes down to her outfit once more. “Thanks. I was going for sort of a Winona Ryder thing.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“That I am,” she smiled, standing from the bed and holding a hand out to him. “We gotta go if we want to see the full set.”

Sighing through his nose, he grabbed her hand to pull himself up and nodded.

“Oh, and I finished my speech today,” she said as she watched him go over to the dresser to change out of the shirt he’d worn on shift and into his Metallica tee.

“Huh.”

“If you wanna read it before graduation, I can give you inside access,” she teased. “Or you can be surprised at the actual ceremony.”

“As long as it doesn’t mention me,” he muttered as he changed and checked his hair in the mirror.

She snorted a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mariano.”

Watching his reflection in the mirror, she saw a half hearted smirk cross his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. He ran a hand over his mouth again as he appraised his reflection, and Ella’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He turned back to her and gave an unconvincing nod. “Fine.”

“Really? We don’t have to go if you’re not okay, y’know. I mean, I want to see Lane play, but in general I think parties are meaningless excuses for teenage debauchery.”

Jess didn’t look back at her when he spoke, turning off his music and going over by the door to grab his shoes. “We’re going. I know how much you wanna see Lane.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she noticed the storms brewing in his brown eyes. His face was slightly pale. He looked exhausted. When he straightened up, shoes on, she went over and put her hand to his cheek.

“Do you feel sick?” she asked, feeling him lean into her touch though he wasn’t feverish. “You were fine Thursday night, but you closed alone. Did you get to sleep afterwards? I know sometimes if you work too late you can’t get to sleep-“

“Eleanor,” he cut her off, his voice tired, “I’m fine. Let’s just go. Please.”

Raising at a hesitant brow at the shortness of his tone, she bit her tongue and nodded slowly. He certainly didn’t seem fine, but they would be late if they waited much longer. And Lane was counting on her being there. Jess grabbed her hand and led her out of the apartment. And when he felt her give his hand a reassuring squeeze, he had to swallow down the myriad of emotions which rose in his throat.

. . .

Lane’s band, which still had yet to earn a name, got through the first set with little to no bumps in the road. The living room was stuffy, a suburban wet dream filled to the brim with drunk students. An ever-present smile shone on Ella’s face as she watched her friend banging it out on the drums, despite how much she disliked the stickiness of the atmosphere. She knew how much Lane had always wanted this, her own band, her own instrument. As they finished up with their first thirty minutes, having announced an intermission, Dave Rygalski walked by her, Jess, and Rory with a nod. Ella was glad Jess and Dave had been getting along so well. If Jess was going to stay in Stars Hollow for the foreseeable future, he had to have some other friends besides her and Rory. As soon as Lane hopped up from her drums, she came squealing over to the three of them in excitement, engulfing Rory in a hug. However, before she had too much of a chance to babble about the set, Dave whisked her away for a private conversation.

Rory smiled over at Jess and Ella weakly when she saw Dean nearing their vicinity with his new girlfriend, Lindsey, and quickly retreated to another room. Ella leaned back against Jess, who stood behind her, near the pristine couch, with his arms wrapped around her waist. She could feel his breathing against her back, smell his pine scent. And she thought for the first time in a very long time that the future might not just be survivable, but bright. Soon, she would be a high school graduate, be (tentatively) majoring in history, which had been her second-best subject in public school, still working at the diner. It wasn’t what her wildest dreams called for, but it certainly wasn’t bleak.

Jess’s breath was hot on her neck as he spoke into her ear, which was still buzzing from the loud music and the crowd. “You wanna go?”

She shook her head against his chest. “I think we should stay for the second set. And I haven’t even gotten a chance to talk to Lane yet. She’ll probably need my sage wisdom after whatever she and Dave are talking about.”

“Elle, I don’t-”

Before he could finish, he saw Dean and Lindsey heading directly for them. Ella could feel Jess’s muscles instantly tense, his hands tightening around her own, his face stony. She knew how the feud started, with Dean trying to pull Jess away from a fight when Jess first came to town. But, then again, she had once gotten him off of Peter Smith. Only then, he didn’t take a swing at her like he had at Dean. If Jess hadn’t changed so much since then, and Dean hadn’t been such an asshole to Rory, she probably would’ve been on Dean’s side. But in the few times she’d heard Jess and Dean speak, she knew there was fault on both sides. And she was inclined to align with one of her best friends and her boyfriend before some possessive dick from Chicago.

“Hey, guys,” Dean began, his hand in Lindsey’s grasp as they ambled over. “Have you seen Rory?”

Ella actually liked Lindsey. They’d been acquaintances in high school (though in a class of only about seventy kids, one was usually acquaintances with everyone else), and had always thought her very sweet. And she could rock the bleach blonde look like no one else in their grade. It was certainly a style choice Ella could admire.

Ella shrugged. “She’s around here somewhere. Why?”

“Just thought I’d say hello,” Dean replied, eyes searching the room for his ex-girlfriend, while his new girlfriend stood at his side.

“How sweet of you,” Jess said, venom in his voice.

Ella cleared her throat and pivoted the conversation before Dean could shoot anything back. “Yeah, anyway, you guys like the band?”

“Oh, they were great. I can’t say I recognized a lot of the songs, though,” Lindsey smiled, her voice light.

Nodding, Ella attempted a generous smile back. “Don’t feel bad. Lane knows every song in the English language. And some in pretty much every other language, too. There are bound to be some deep cuts in their repertoire, if she has any say in the set lists.”

Lindsey chuckled.

“So, Ella, I heard you’re going to Southern Connecticut State?” Dean asked, continuing the small talk despite the thick tension in the air.

Still, Ella forced a plastic smile on her face. She knew Rory wouldn’t want her causing any trouble, as the heartbreak was still so fresh. And she’d been able to master her people-pleasing artificiality after her years of serving Taylor at the diner.

“Yeah. Managed to score a spot.”

“Me too,” Dean said. “What are you going for?”

“History.”

“Oh, cool. I’m thinking maybe business, but I’m not entirely sure yet.” Dean had at some point focused his attention away from Ella and onto Jess, who still had his arms wrapped around Ella, watching the awkwardness silently. He just wanted whatever small town, false polite nonsense which was necessary to be over. “What about you, Jess?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going to college or anything, right? Seems like you’re not going to school at all anymore, anyway.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Jess, and a momentary staring contest ensued.

Disentangling himself from Ella, Jess decided not to humor Dean’s attempt to rile him. “I’m gonna go check out the state of that bathroom line,” he muttered to Ella before trudging off.

Brows furrowing in concern, Ella's eyes lingered on him as he went, until he turned a corner and she lost sight of him. Huffing out an angry breath, she turned back to Lindsey, and Dean, who had a pleased expression on his face. Shaking her head, mostly to herself, she excused herself to go find Lane, maneuvering through the sweaty bodies and drunken mumbles.

. . .

Balmy air and crickets, Ella finally found Jess again out on the back porch. Most people were inside, gearing up for the band’s second set. She’d had to spend a pretty long time pulling a drunken Lane off the phone to her mother, aided by a still-shaken Rory. The evening seemed to have come to a screeching halt in the hour since the first set, and Ella was debating grabbing Jess’s hand and dragging him out. It was doubtful Lane would be conscious enough to make it through a song, let alone a second set. When Ella didn’t see his gelled black curls in the living room sea of teenage heads, she knew right where Jess would be. The night was pleasant, not quite too warm or humid, despite it being late May.

He stood with his forearms leaned against the railing, facing the lush green backyard, and he didn’t even look back when he heard her open and close the screen door. Ambling up next to him, her boots felt heavy on her feet. The air was cool on her hot skin, and the spring breeze blew her hair from her face. Arms against the polished wooden rail, mirroring him, she waited a few moments before finally speaking in a soft tone. She tilted her head to the red solo cup Jess held in his hands.

“Penny for a sip?” she asked.

Jess smirked. Saying nothing, he held the cup out to her. Taking a gulp of his slightly warm beer, she grimaced and then handed it back to him.

“Thank you, good sir.”

“Who are you? Oliver Twist?”

She shrugged, noncommittal. “Or Little Orphan Annie. Can’t keep my broadway straight. You could probably help me out.”

“Very funny, Stevens,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face. But it didn’t meet his eyes. They lacked their usual sardonic sparkle, even in the glowing moonlight.

Leaning into his shoulder, Ella took in another deep breath of the fresh air. “What are you doing out here, James Dean? Did you not bring your sulking book?”

“Just couldn’t handle it inside.” He took another swig of his drink, emptying the cup, and set it carefully on the railing next to him.

“Was it Dean?” Ella asked, placing a hand on the back of his neck and running her fingers through the ends of his hair.

Jess glanced down at the ground with a bitter chuckle. “You think I actually care about Frankenstein’s monster in there?”

She scoffed knowingly. “Okay, fair enough. We can go soon, if you want. Lane’s wasted and Rory’s all messed up about Dean being here. And, I think I forgot to feed the cat? I have no idea why I let him stay in our house. He showed up right after my mom died, and kept hanging around our porch. He was already so old and he was so skinny. So I started letting him in when it got colder. My dad barely even noticed. I thought he’d be grateful, but now he hates us. Guess there was a lot of yelling and crying going on when he first came to live with us. But I suppose misery loves company-”

“I just…” Jess began, cutting off her rambling voice. He knew she was still waiting for an answer, but didn’t want to ask him another question. “You work your ass off for four years, and Dean still gets into the same college as you.”

Ella shrugged. “I don’t mind. There’s lots of people there. I probably won’t ever see him.”

“At least he’s finishing high school,” Jess muttered, shaking his head to himself and looking down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them in fists.

Brows furrowed, Ella’s hand fell from his skin and she tilted her head in askance. “What do you mean?”

He heaved a big sigh, looking out into the woods beyond the yard. Somewhere through the trees, he thought he could see the shine of the lake. An ache tugged at his heart, and his stomach did a flip before he spoke again.

“I went to get prom tickets when you were in the art room at lunch today. But then I got called to the principal’s office. He said I missed too many days.”

“And?”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he shook his head again. “Don’t make me say it, Elle.”

Pursing her lips, she brought her hands to her hips and nodded. “Guess you’ll need my speech in advance, then.”

“Guess so,” he echoed flatly, finally stealing a glance at her to gauge her reaction. With her strong stance, he could practically see the gears moving inside her head. There was a crease of concentration between her eyebrows, and she began biting at her nails absently.

“And you haven’t told Luke yet?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Again, she nodded, more decisive this time. “Okay...okay. I wish you could stay with me, but my dad will have you dead inside a day. I bet if you take twelfth grade over Luke’ll let you stay. I mean, I know he tries to act all tough, but I don’t know who he thinks he’s kidding.”

Jess straightened up again, running a hand over his mouth. He turned to face her. “I’m not going back to school. I can’t.”

“Of course you can, Jess. World bites you, you bite back.”

“Fine, then. I won’t.”

“Why not? Where are you gonna go?”

He could only shrug in response, looking back down at his shoes. Sometimes her gaze was so intense, even he couldn’t handle it. Usually, though, it was because of butterflies in his stomach, not because his heart was pounding nervously in his ears.

Swallowing dryly, she tried to maintain a calm facade. “No, Jess. You can’t do that Kerouac bullshit right now. You need a plan. I mean…” she paused to sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You told me you had it under control. You told me all I had to do was trust you.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he composed himself and then wiped all emotion from his face when he looked back up at her. “I thought I did. I didn’t know how many days I missed, alright? But who cares! I never learned anything there anyway! It was a waste of my time!”

“And driving that forklift at Walmart forever isn’t a waste of your time?” she retorted, beginning to raise her voice. “If it made you happy, I’d say go for it. But it doesn’t! You’re too fucking smart for your own good, Mariano! You’re meant to be a writer! And you’re gonna settle on wasting your brain just because you were too proud to repeat senior year?!”

“Don’t talk to me about settling!” he countered, shaking his head.

“Fuck you, Jess,” she said, eyes narrowing as more blood rushed to her face, turning her skin scarlet with frustration. “Not everyone can just go wherever they want! Live wherever they want! I have people I actually care about!”

Rubbing at his mouth again, he sighed. “Yeah, well, lucky you! My mother is a wackjob who shipped me off because her boyfriend of the week didn’t like me! And my father is a fucking loser who couldn’t say more than two words when he finally met me!”

Ella took a step back in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Jess breathed another exhausted sigh. “On Thursday, after you left. While I was closing. My dad came in, saw me for the first time in eighteen years. He told me who he was, took a good long look at me, and then ran right back out of the diner!”

There was a seismic shift in her face, eyes softening, color draining. Shaking her head, she went to touch his shoulder. “Oh my god, Jess. I didn’t-”

He shrugged off her hand. “Yeah, you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. Because I’m just your deadbeat, high school dropout boyfriend who’s gonna work at Walmart for the rest of his life! How disappointing!”

“That’s not what I said!” she exclaimed, swallowing back the sting of tears in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I can read between the lines pretty well at this point, honey,” he shot back, with a vicious, contemptuous tone.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to remain calm. She tried to remember Jess had just failed senior year and met his dad for the first time in a span of two days. But, as always, the fire in her stomach won. It was something about the way he looked at her. So cold. Like he felt nothing for her at all. Her heart dropped and she began to back away, towards the screen door.

“Fine. Fuck it! Go and find yourself. While I stay here, and think about what a fucking mistake it was to trust you when we said no cop-outs! Serves me right. Holden fucking Caulfield!” she shouted, slamming the sliding door behind her.

Raking a hand through his messy hair, Jess took no more than one moment of hesitation before rushing after her. It was crowded inside, people standing around waiting for a second set which would likely never be played. After a little frantic searching and weaving through smelly bodies, he found her. She was marching up the stairs to find Rory, who stood looking exceedingly uncomfortable speaking with Dean and Lindsey on the landing. Ella tugged on Rory’s sleeve, muttering something about finding Lane and leaving the drums to pick up later. A scowl crossed her face the moment she looked back to see Jess.

“Did he do something, Ella?” Dean piped up, towering over her and casting an authoritative glance at Jess.

Ella snorted a laugh and shook her head. “You can stand down, Dean. He did nothing. Nothing at all. Fuck off, alright, Mariano?”

Catching the finitive, vitriolic tone in Ella’s voice, Jess shook his head back at her. Apparently she had decided the conversation was over. “Right back at ya, then, Stevens.”

But as he went to leave, Dean kicked into action. Before Ella, Rory, or Lindsey, could grab him and pull him back, he went into full testosterone rage and lunged after Jess, turning him about and clocking him square across the face. Ella watched in horror, and immediately went after them. Confusion painted her face. She heard Dean muttering under his breath as he fought, about what an asshole Jess was, about how Rory’s friends were his responsibility too, and they shouldn’t be spoken to that way. About how it was time Jess got a taste of his own medicine, making him feel like an idiot in class and acting like he was too good for Stars Hollow. She’d never had any classes with Dean and Jess, but the altercation made her wonder how deeply the feud ran. Apparently, much deeper than she ever thought. If not for the urgency of the situation, Ella would have rolled her eyes harder than she had prior known was humanly possible. She couldn’t help but wonder what at all Rory or Lindsey saw in that sexist prick. In Ella’s opinion, the Donna Reed Show incident two years earlier should’ve been the end of the relationship.

All around the house, they fought, various others trying to pull them off of each other. Each time Ella thought she had an opening to grab Dean or Jess around the waist, they moved, jostling around. It was far more intense than the quarrel in the schoolyard had been. No, tonight there would be blood drawn. Finally, after a decent amount of carnage to the mid-century Connecticut two-story, someone managed to throw the two of them out onto the front lawn, still at each other’s throats. Ella yelled endlessly for them to stop, but neither listened. Only the sound of the police sirens approaching, red and blue lights flashing on the manicured grass, finally made them separate, a few boys at the party also aiding the effort.

Just as Ella started rushing over to Jess, Lane began vomiting up the shitty keg beer she’d gulped down all night long into the trimmed bushes. Rory was by her side, but ultimately Ella cast only a sympathetic glance their way before continuing after Jess. She caught up with him a few paces down the sidewalk, grabbing the sleeve of his t-shirt to finally stop him.

“Jess, Jesus, are you okay?” she demanded, trying to get a substantial glimpse at his face.

Once again, he shook off her touch. He turned back to her in the light of the sheriff’s car, eyes darker than she had ever seen them. “Get outta here, Eleanor! I don’t need your help!”

“But, your-”

“Stop, Elle, just stop!” he interrupted, gesturing with his arms and practically bursting with anger. “Stop chasing after me! Stop trying to help me! That’s over! I don’t need it, alright? You can just fucking stop!”

Clutching at her necklace, she felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach, gluing her to the spot where she stood, hazel eyes impossibly wide. Watching him go, watching him disappear around a corner, watching him walk away. And the worst part was how unsurprised she felt. Had it always been this way? Him ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and her stuck in her old, familiar ways? Were they bound to end the moment they began? She should have seen it sooner. Suddenly, the sounds of the siren and the singing of late spring crickets overwhelmed her ears, and she could do nothing but stand motionless, feeling a sharp crack in her heart.

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