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on my wedding night
me: *sobbing*
my wife: whatās wrong
me: I canāt believe a girl likes me
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auroragrahamĀ·:
When the door opened to reveal not only Julian but a shirtless Julian, Rory had the wind knocked out of her for at least the fourth time that day. She begged her body to stop shaking and crying but it of course did not obey, opting instead to tremble even harder as Julian pulled her inside and left an invisible burn in the shape of his handprint on her nearly blue wrist. The thick fabric of her shirt clung to every curve, chilling her to the bone in Julianās air conditioned apartment. She kept her shoulders up by her ears, shaking wordlessly as she watched Julian bustle around his apartment to help her.
(OOC//literally no TW at all but this shit is long as hell so I would like to spare yāall)Ā
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TW/OOC: steaminess at the end but mostly this is just long so sparing everyone on the dash
Julian had never heard Rory talk this much before during their short, whirlwind romance. Usually he was the one spewing his thoughts like a babbling brook, words forming faster than he could process them. Now the tables had turned. He was the one sitting, watching, calm, cool, collected ā as calm, cool, and collected as he could be in this strange situation, anyway.
Heād prepared himself for the worst: for Rory to tearfully confess that someone had attacked her out of an alleyway, that sheād been left out in the cold like a kicked puppy. It had occurred to him that sheād basically done that to him earlier today, but the largest part of his heart had told him that heād deserved it. Now, listening to her express her feelings, he wasnāt so sure heād been right in the first place.
For the first time in a long time, Julian allowed himself to feel. What hit him sent a fire blazing in his chest: anger and sadness and pain and guilt and fear, all at once, an inferno threatening to swallow him whole. It dawned upon him that he did have a right to be angry. Rory was the one who had left without explaining herself. Rory was the one who had told him in plain, simple English, that he wasnāt good enough ā that she didnāt want him. He was the one whoād bent over backwards for her, covered her in his warmth and his love without asking for it in return.
He folded his arms over his chest, a thin line of almost untraceable anger settling on his lips. Julian hadnāt allowed himself to feel anger in what felt like centuries; it was a curious emotion, tapping at the corners of his brain that he never, ever visited. He knew he wouldnāt lash out, though. Not around Rory, who apologized for everything she did, the same way he did. Not around Rory, who blamed herself for things outside her control, the same way he did. Something in Julian told him that he and Rory were more alike than heād initially thought, and for that reason, he stayed, rooted to the piano bench, simply watching her through peered eyes.
āI let you in because youāre my friend, Rory. Because I saw you and immediately thought someone had hurt you, and I couldnāt live knowing I didnāt help you in a time of need. I will always be there for my friends,ā Julian interjected, quick to emphasize the word āfriendā. No girl in front of it. No qualifiers. It was perhaps the meanest thing heād said to her since theyād met, and he immediately wanted to take it back. Some small, resilient voice in him told him otherwise, and Dannyās voice echoed in his mind: You are allowed to feel, Julian. Youāre allowed to be hurt.
Julian had never been good with handling his emotions, especially conflicting ones, and the strange brew of feelings circling his mind confused him now more than ever. Part of him wanted to kick Rory out, to stand up for himself and find a girl who wouldnāt toy with his heart the way she had. Part of him wanted to kiss her gently, tenderly, wipe every tear that fell from her beautiful green eyes and hold her close. Part of him wanted to confess the love that had bloomed within him seemingly overnight. And part of him couldnāt help but trace the curve of her hips under her shirt, the length of her legs in her shorts, the smudge of red on her lips.
You are so fucking gorgeous. Are you serious right now? Is that just how you hang out? Truly?
A strange surge of confidence coursed through his veins and Julian flashed Rory a cocky grin. āThis is how I hang out, yes. I donāt like shirts. I run warm and theyāre constricting. Why? Like what you see? Or is my body not good enough for you either?ā he asked, immediately regretting his choice of words. Running his hand through his hair, Julian sighed and shook his head. āIām sorryā¦ that was mean of me. I didnāt mean that. Iām justā¦ there are a lot of emotions happening right now.ā
His tone and his face softened instantly as he listened to Rory continue. She really did feel terrible ā he could feel it in her voice and her frantic pacing across his living room. As she explained her reasoning, Julian nodded slightly, unfolding his arms and absentmindedly twirling Kevinās drumstick between his fingers. It gave him something to do, and it gave his hands a distraction. The more Rory talked, the more he wanted to hold her close, tell her that he understood and he forgave her and he wanted her just as bad as she wanted him.
And then her words hit him like a freight train: I think I might be in love with you. In that one sentence, Rory had encapsulated everything Julian had been feeling over the past two weeks. He hadnāt wanted to admit it to himself, that he was falling in love with this small southern sweetheart who had easily baked her way into his heart. But it explained why the heartbreak had felt so unbearable, why heād gone so many sleepless nights thinking of her, why her whimpers and moans had been stuck on repeat in his brain.
Julian opened his mouth to speak, but Rory had already moved onto the next topic, rampaging through bullet points as frenetically as the storm raging outside. He absorbed everything she said like a sponge, the confidence in him growing slowly but surely as he made sense of her words. Youāre good enough for me. Youāre too good for me. Do you know how scary it is to know you were blind your entire life?
Heād never heard more beautiful words in his life. Julian had always downplayed his strengths, kicked away all the nice things he did for people, took compliments and shoved them under the rug. Doing so meant he was selfless, humble, good. But a small voice in his brain had always begged the question: What about me? Isnāt this more than enough? Arenāt I good enough? Wouldnāt most people kill for this kind of love? The majority of Julian had told himself that he was crazy to think that ā that he was a monster, a wolf in sheepās clothing, trying and failing to atone for his shortcomings. And yet, in one comment, Rory had proved to him that he was special, that he did do incredible things, that he was worthy of an extraordinary type of love.
The sliver of anger coursing through his veins dissipated with that comment, taking the confusion and sadness and pain along with it. Perhaps it was his naivete acting up again, painting Rory in all the beautiful colors sheād just mentioned and avoiding the red flags. Heād done it with Kelsey, and that had turned out horribly. But deep in his heart, in the caverns and ventricles that beat hardest for Rory, Julian knew she was nothing like Kelsey ā that they were both survivors, gentle souls who needed to weather the storm together.
His rose-colored glasses turned darker, hungrier, a burning, sensual red as Julian watched Rory sink to her knees. Then her hands were on his knees, the pinpricks of her nails sending shivers up his spine. Every hair on his body stood on end as he tried to push his thoughts to the back of his mind. Not the time, Julian. Keep it in your pants.
And then she said those two magic words: Please, Julian.
Instantly every memory of their first night came flooding back ā her hands in his hair, her lips on his neck, her hips rolling into his, teeth dragging along the soft skin of her thighs. Julianās eyes fluttered shut, his heart racing as he heard Roryās voice in his mind again, soft yet sensual, full of a yearning heād never heard before. I hate to get rid of your favorite skirt, daddy.
He couldnāt help what he did next. Standing from the piano bench, Julian took Roryās hands in his and pulled her up with him. In one movement, he pulled her in by the hips, his hands easily finding the delicate skin underneath her shirt. Pressing his forehead to hers, Julian closed his eyes again and exhaled. āIām falling in love with you, Rory Graham. Iām pretty sure I fell for you the second I saw you,ā he explained, his lips moving to her jaw before he could stop himself. āIā¦ am a little angry with you. I donāt like admitting that. I donāt like feeling it. I want to forgive you, right here, right now. I do understand why you did what you did. But Iām justā¦ confused andā¦ā
He could practically taste the vanilla radiating off her skin. Pressing more kisses into her neck, Julian lowered his voice and whispered in her ear. āPart of me wants to kick you out before you hurt me again. Part of me wants to cuddle with you and keep you safe. And part of me wants to push you up against this wall and fuck you till you see stars. Over and over. I want to give you a reason to not leave. I want you to know exactly what you missed last time. I want to hear that gorgeous voice of yours begging for me.ā
Lips moving to her shoulders, Julianās hands found the small of Roryās back and pushed her forward slightly forcefully. Her freezing cold shirt stuck to the warm skin of his chest and he peeled it up gently, his fingers trailing her sides. āI donāt know if I can forgive you fully yet,ā he whispered, eyes hungry as he flashed Rory a smile. āI thinkā¦ you need to prove to me that youāll stay. Prove youāll be a good girl for me. Youāve been so bad. My gorgeous girl. Such a little tease.ā
In classic Julian fashion, he hoisted her into his arms and pushed her up against the closest wall in the living room. His body had taken over now, the confusion in his mind replaced with a desperate need to finish what theyād started weeks ago. Leaning into Roryās ear again, Julian smiled. āYou never did tell me exactly what about me drives you wild. Tell me, baby girl. Or I might have to punish you harder than Iām already about to.ā
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Rory wanted to stay in Julianās arms forever, completely crushed by the weight of his love until she couldnāt breathe. His touch stole the chill from her arms, lighting a fire inside her that warmed her from head to toe. She buried her face in his collarbone, her tears soaking into his neck as clouds moved in over the city like an ominous warning. The clouds were familiar to her, signaling what was sure to be a violent storm uncharacteristic for California. In that moment, she wouldāve stood in the eye of a hurricane if it meant she could stay with Julian without fear.
When he pulled back from her, she knew she looked a mess. Her windswept hair stuck to the tracks of tears on her face and her lips were split from being so chapped. Rory had never been good at internalizing her feelings, so, for the past two weeks, sheād been chewing on her bottom lip until it bled and scabbed over. She took both Belleās leash and the pearlescent hot pink guitar pick he held out for her, turning it over in her fingers. It meant more to her than anything sheād ever received and all she wanted to do was press it back in his hand and walk away. Why did she feel that way?
She held Belleās leash so tight her knuckles turned white. Tears continued to race down her face and she stood at the mercy of her heart like a wounded soldier going back to battle. Beaten and broken down, Rory just wanted to lay in bed, wrapped in the comforting leather of Julianās jacket and never see the light of day again. She could find someone to take care of Pancake. That way, nobody would need her anymore and she could let the earth swallow her whole, popping a daisy up in her place.
Julian joked with her a bit, obviously trying to make her feel better, but she wasnāt able to muster a smile. He was making this so difficult. Everyone else had been able to let her go so easilyāwhy was he holding on so tight? Why couldnāt he let her go?
āJulieā¦ā she said softly, her chin trembling as she drew a shaky breath. He kept talking and put her hand to his chest where she could feel his hummingbird heartbeat. Their gaze met and the tears welled up again, pushing against the dam and threatening to break through. She touched his chest with her fingertips, pleading with the universe to stretch this moment like taffy and make it last forever.
But she knew it couldnāt. She knew she had to end it because Julian never would.
I need you to be brave. Please, baby. Please.
She took her hand back, curling into herself as she looked down at the ground. The sun had all but disappeared overhead as dark, stormy clouds took its place. How fitting. Of course it would start looking abysmal and sad just as she made the decision to shatter this sweet boyās heart into a million pieces. Putting both hands on either side of his face, she pushed their foreheads together and stood there for a moment on her tiptoes. She connected their lips in a soft, small kiss that would hopefully tell him everything she couldnāt let herself say.
Pressing Belleās leash back into his hand and closing his fingers overtop of it, Rory clenched his hand and softly lied, āI donāt want you. Youāre not good enough.ā
Rain started to fall softly around them and she took a shaky breath before shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on the bench behind them. She didnāt bother looking back at him as she walked away, tears welling up in her eyes like lava. They spilled over and she ducked into an alleyway, pressing her back up against the brick wall and trying to catch her breath as sobs wracked her body.
What sheād thought was the red grimace before had only been a yellow frown. Thisā¦this was the red grimace.
āX
Three hours after sheād said goodbye to Julian, Rory realized what sheād done. Sheād taken her beautifully broken boy and smashed him against the pavement until only dust remained. Her chest felt empty, like sheād ripped her own heart out and left it there with what remained of Julianās.
The storm outside mirrored the inside of her head. The wind swirled through the streets violently, picking up scraps of paper and plastering them to dripping wet store windows. Howling and hammering, shutters opened and closed and balcony plants crashed to the street below. This storm would surely cause the city damage, but no more than Rory had caused on her thoughtless rampage earlier that day.
Noah was right. Of course he was right. Sheād been given a beautiful gift in the form of a damaged, caring boy who wanted nothing more than to give her the world and crumpled him up in her destructive, blood-stained hands. If he was irreparably damaged, it would be her fault and she couldnāt let that happen.
Without grabbing a jacket, she left out extra food for Pancake and locked up her apartment. In only a t-shirt, shorts, and a pair of slip-on Vans, she let her legs take over and lead her to Julianās place.
Every other person in the city was shuttered inside, doors locked, cars covered by hail blankets or safely in the garage. Rory walked against the wind, struggling up a hill as each raindrop hit her in the face like a hot oil splatter. Her t-shirt had soaked through in the first 30 seconds outside and, thanks to the sideways sheets of rain and pitch black streets, she got turned around more than a few times before reaching a familiar building.
Standing outside for a moment, she contemplated turning around, changing into pajamas, and snuggling into her own warm bed to wallow in her thoughts. Would going upstairs really help the situation, or would she only hurt him more than she already had? It was a classic Rory moveāshe always went back for more, even if it would only end up making the whole thing worse.
Before she could make up her mind, she was standing in front of his door with the guitar pick squeezed between her fingers for bravery. She shivered violently, dripping all over the hallway until she was standing in a puddle made of rainwater and tears. Bringing her shaking hand up to the door, she knocked as loud as her frozen knuckles would allow without breaking.
Please answer, Julian. Please.
Julian felt numb. That was the only word he could use to describe this feeling ā the hollow, weeping emptiness within him that hadnāt seemed to leave for the past three hours. Heād given Rory everything he possibly could. Heād laid his soul out for her, bare and broken, in the bright San Francisco sun. Heād promised her he would fight for her, tooth and nail ā whatever it took to keep her. And sheād still spoken the truth, then left without another word.
Heartbroken wasnāt a strong enough word for the pain Julian felt twisting within his chest. The past two weeks had been heartbreak. Today was pain, pure and raw, worse than the gruesome gash Dylan had inflicted on him in his childhood that had left a scar so big it could fill continents. Julian had stared at that scar in the mirror for a good ten minutes, tracing its valleys and peaks with the tip of his finger, trying to remind himself that he could always fix himself.
As he sat in his empty apartment, absentmindedly listening to the hail roll down in sheets outside, Julian wasnāt so sure this was a wound he could mend. This was After Rory. This was a depth of sadness he hadnāt known he could enter. This was aching, longing, despair, disappointment, all wrapped in a perfectly decorated sugar cookie bar and nestled in a wicker basket. This was Julian transforming back into the hollow shell of a boy heād once been, the boy he thought heād left behind in Santa Barbara.
Dissociation came easily to Julian in times of stress. Danny, always his protector, had nearly made his way to the apartments above Jukebox when heād heard what had happened. āI donāt give a fuck how traumatized she is, Jules,ā heād told Julian. āTrauma doesnāt give you the right to be a heartless bitch.ā Julian had protested, ever the defender of the unworthy, and had asked his roommates to give him space. It felt odd defending Rory, the woman who had lifted him to the heavens and sent him hurtling back toward the earth in the span of two sentences. But she was his Rory. His Rory, who heād sworn to fight for, to care for, to always protect.
Only she wasnāt his. She never had been, really. Julian tried to remind himself of that fact as he absentmindedly played a few chords on the keyboard in his living room. Heād put on his sad acoustic playlist, Julien Bakerās strained vocals filling a bit of the void Rory had left in his heart. He tried, unsuccessfully, to finish the song heād started about Rory two weeks ago. Heād wanted to interpolate her favorite song ā Landslide by Fleetwood Mac ā but his musical brain felt emptier than it ever had been before. Suddenly his fingers couldnāt remember basic chords. The notes came out disjointed, clashing in the minor keys heād never once heard around Rory. Thatās what this felt like, though ā a constant barrage of minor chords, begging to be taken half a step upward but never quite reaching the perfect harmony.
His mind felt empty, hollow, as he stared blankly down at the keyboard. He couldnāt stop replaying the last words Rory had said to him: I donāt want you. Youāre not good enough. Just like that, sheād spoken the eight words heād always dreaded hearing, the eight words heād always known to be true. Julian knew he wasnāt good enough for Rory, but heād foolishly thought sheād see past his flaws and be willing to work with him till he was good enough for her.
You will never be good enough. You should stop looking. You will never find someone youāre good enough for because you donāt deserve to be loved.
The heartbreak hit him in waves, a dull pang in his chest that grew into a straining ache on his heart. Julian increased the volume on his speakers, hoping the music would drown out the deafening sound of his own self-doubts. Heād asked Danny to take Belle for the night and now he wished he hadnāt. He needed someone here to hold him together, someone to hold a mirror up to him and point to all the good parts he hid from himself. But the reality was and had always been that he was alone ā painfully, completely alone.
Julian was half a second away from calling his mom when he heard a desperate knock at the door. Raising his head slightly, he stood without thinking, a marionette controlled by something outside his control. It was later than usual, but Julian was sure the person knocking was Rosie, his elderly neighbor from the duplex next door who always came over to borrow a cup of sugar. He always bought an extra package of it at the store for her, but she always came over anyway, and Julian knew she probably needed the company. Theyād sit and talk about life, drinking tea and playing with her cat.
Usually Rosie came over during the day. It surprised Julian, then, that sheād be here this late. Still, he was too dazed to put a shirt on or even turn off the incredibly depressing music echoing from his speakers. The only muscle memory he had was to grab the bag of sugar he had in the pantry. Sugar in tow, Julian shuffled over to the door. āYou alright, Rosie? Is Muffin okay? Itās late outā¦ā he began, his words trailing off as he opened the door and his gaze shifted downward.
Well, this certainly wasnāt Rosie.
As quickly as heād dissociated, Julian found himself hurtled back into reality, like a rubber band finally snapping back into place. His eyes widened, heat rising to his cheeks and tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of Rory in his hallway. Was this an apparition? Had his demons finally gotten the better of him, and were they making him hallucinate? Julian blinked once, twice, refusing to let the tears fall as he tried to decipher the reality of the situation. Julian Evans didnāt cry, and he wasnāt going to change that for the second time today.
He stood there at the door for a moment, the intoxicating scent of Roryās perfume overwhelming his senses. Slowly, it all came into focus: his little lioness, trembling like a leaf in the wind, dripping like the condensation on the glass of water heād given her two weeks ago. Mascara trailed down her cheeks, and Julian watched, brokenhearted, as she shivered and shook in front of him.
His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario: sheād been out at night and someone had hurt her the way he thought heād hurt her all those nights ago. Heād seen this before in Zoe, in his aunt, in so many of his female friends whose most intimate wishes hadnāt been respected. As much as it pained him to do so, Julian knew he had to respect Roryās wishes. He wasnāt good enough for her romantically, and he would respect her opinion. But he wasnāt able to leave her out in the cold, especially when something terrible had probably happened to her. You never leave someone vulnerable out to dry, Juju, his momās voice whispered in his head. Always be kind, especially to those who are in pain.
Without a second thought, Julian took Roryās hand and pulled her inside, into the warmth of his apartment, into the safety he knew he could provide her. Closing the door behind her, he immediately got to work, feverishly traveling to the bathroom and back to bring her one of his clean towels and one of his t-shirts. As gently as possible, he draped the towel around her and began pressing it against her skin, being extra careful not to press too hard in case sheād gotten hurt. When the first towel soaked up, he scurried back to the bathroom and retrieved another.
Still dabbing at the softness of her skin, Julian asked in a soft voice, āWhat happened, Rory? Did someone hurt you? Do you need me to take you down to the station?ā He couldnāt look at her ā it hurt too bad, and it hurt him even more knowing someone had probably violated her in some way. āItās freezing outside. Youāre shaking. Who did this to you? Do you know where they are? Iāll take care of them. Just tell me where. No one hurts you on my watch.ā
Once he was done drying Rory off, Julian grabbed his leather jacket from the piano bench and slid it onto her, making sure he touched her as little as possible. āI know you probably hate this jacket by now, but itās the one that gets you warm in the shortest amount of time. Iāll turn on the heating in a sec but I donāt want it to get too stuffy in here,ā he stated blankly, still shoving his heartbreak to the back of his mind as he tended to her. After he got her into the jacket, Julian grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and draped it around her. āThis is the softest blanket we have. From our a cappella days.ā
After getting her a warm cup of tea and placing his stuffed elephant in her arms, Julian finally stopped moving and settled back on the piano bench. The pain seared straight through his heart now as he realized what had just happened. Rory had come back after shooting him down, and heād have to ignore every instinct he had when it came to being with her. He was here to take care of her as a friend, not a lover.
I donāt want you. Youāre not good enough.
Roryās words echoed in his mind, a constant, tragic reminder that sheād come here for his care and nothing more. A few stray tears trickled down Julianās cheeks and he quickly looked out at his garden on the balcony, not wanting Rory to see his pain so clearly just yet. āAre you okay? Do you need more blankets?ā he asked softly, his voice hoarse and broken. āThe weather is terrible tonight.ā
I donāt want you. Youāre not good enough. I donāt want you. Youāre not good enough. I donāt want you. Youāre not good enough.
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TW: mentions (no descriptors) of assault and also this is long AF and i donāt want to frick up the dash sorry i have no self control
TW: mentions of abuse, brief mentions of suicide and descriptions of blood and also this is loooong
There it was. Another person leaving him in the dust. Another person punching the breath out of him and leaving him to gasp for air, alone. Another person leaving him to stitch himself back up, alone. Another person leaving him to clean the cuts, tend to the bruises, put one foot in front of the other. Another person leaving him alone.
(TW: suicide mention and description)
The more Julian listened to Rory, the more his heart broke into a thousand glass shards, ones that fell from his core and twinkled in the grass beneath him, right next to Belleās paws. He couldnāt feel Belle with him there anymore, or the leash held in a death grip in his left hand, or the grass beneath his feet or any bone in his body. He was floating up, up, and away, back to the places heād hid himself the last time heād gotten hurt. Back to the space above his body where he watched Kelsey beat him nearly to death. Back to the bathroom where heād watched the blood trickle out of his wrists, the bathwater stained a morbid, scarlet pink. Back to the living room wall that still had a dent in it from his teenaged body.Ā (END TW)
Back, back, back he went, so far into the recesses of his mind that he could barely hear Roryās words anymore. Julian couldnāt feel the sobs beginning to wrack his body, couldnāt feel the air leaving his lungs as he threw his arms around Roryās small frame and pulled her into as tight of a hug as he could. He couldnāt hear himself whispering that all too familiar mantra into her hair, the one heād whispered to so many people so many times over. āPlease donāt leave me. Please donāt leave me. Please, Rory. I am begging you with everything I have. Please donāt leave me.ā
He could barely hear her words, her sentences slurring together as time whirred around them in supersonic motions. He had no idea what she was saying, but one line struck him through the chaos: All Iām going to do is take your magic away. And then more, forming in little waves in front of him, clear as crystal: Iām not good for you. I donāt think I can give you anything. Iām only going to get you hurt.
He couldnāt work with the guilt that still crushed his lungs long after sheād forgiven him. But he could work with this ā Roryās own self-image, her own self-sabotage that was tearing them apart before theyād even held themselves together as a whole. It all shifted back into focus then ā Rory, tiny and afraid, shivering in his arms. Rory ā sweet, gentle, kind Rory ā who had been lied to so badly she felt herself worthless to him. Rory Graham, his Rory Graham, lying to herself right in front of him.
If there was one thing Julian Evans could do, it was comfort people. His closest friends, his dearest family, little kids who skinned their knee after tripping on the street, strangers breaking down in the middle of the bread aisle at the grocery store ā he somehow knew the way to get through to them. He knew it was his momās superpower, the one thing sheād passed down to him that had made it out of his dadās clutches. She was a nurse and he had grown to become something adjacent to one, to the point that his friends had nicknamed him Nurse Julian.
Through the cacophony of thoughts and endless self-doubts screaming in his mind, Nurse Julian placed a gentle hand on regular Julianās shoulder. Go sit down, Julian. I got this, the other voice told him. In one moment, Julian closed his eyes, calmed his shaking by breathing in deeply and out completely. He still held Rory like a mother protecting her young, terrified sheād slip out of his hands the same way she had last time if he let her go even for a second. He had promised her he would listen, and he couldnāt listen if he was having a breakdown and dissociating. So he did what he had always done best: he stopped, breathed, and listened.
He let Rory say her piece, and at one point, Julian had to stop himself from laughing. If it werenāt so debilitating, it would be hilarious, how terribly wrong Rory was about herself. After she finished, he wiped his tears, blinking into the sunlight like a newborn baby animal as he attempted to calm himself down fully. Julian knew he couldnāt give the liar in her brain any ammo to worsen its attack on her spirit, and he knew every tear that rolled down his cheeks would be used against her. In the back of his mind, Dylanās deep, gruff voice spoke to him: Shut up, Julian. Stop crying. Not everything is about you. Youāre always so selfish. Stop being such a fucking baby. Grow up.
Julian had always hated his dad, but the primal fear the older man had instilled in him meant that heād always listened to and followed his orders. Without another word, he listened to his dad again. He shut up, he stopped crying, and he stopped being selfish. Keeping his hands on Roryās trembling shoulders, he knelt down to her level and looked her deep in the eyes. Heād seen that look before ā it was the same look he gave himself in the mirror, one full of so much disgust and self-hatred that he usually broke his own gaze after looking at his reflection for more than a second. But he wasnāt going to break Roryās gaze, no matter how hard she tried to budge from him. Not today.
Nurse Julian handed Belleās leash to Rory, his hands wrapping around hers again. āYou hold Belle, okay? Sheās very good at cheering people up. She doesnāt like mean people. And right now, she doesnāt like how mean youāre being to yourself. Look at her,ā he explained, nodding down to Belle. The dog sat patiently by Roryās side, her dark, wide eyes slightly teary as she rubbed the side of her head against the girlās leg.
āSheās heartbroken. I know that look very well. Sheās saying, āYouāre hurting me, Rory. Please stop being mean to yourself. Please make me happy again by being nice to yourself.āā He took another breath, a hint of a smile cracking through his tear-stained face. āI hear you. And now Iām giving you my dog so if you try to run away again, I have something to track you down. I can report you for dog-napping. I have way too much experience with police reports. Iāll do it in a heartbeat. So donāt even think about it, sweetheart.ā
Keeping his eyes level with her, Nurse Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out the small tin he always carried with him. His mom had one, too ā theyād both started carrying them after Dylanās abuse had started, and it always came in handy. Opening the tin, he fished past the stitches, gauze, and antiseptic wipes to pull out a hot pink guitar pick. āHere. This is for you. I want you to hold onto this, okay? And when you feel yourself starting to think those thoughts again, I want you to squeeze it. Itās something my mom taught me. Itāll help bring you back to whatās real. Not what the liar in your head is telling you. Thatās all I want you to do right now. Hold Belle and this guitar pick for me.ā
This was easier now that Nurse Julian was in charge. Somewhere deep in his mind, regular Julian thanked the version of Julian that was slowly, carefully putting the pieces back together. Now that he had a level head, Julian could see Roryās arms trembling. San Francisco had never been particularly forgiving when it came to the wind, especially being so close to the water, and Julian immediately thanked himself for having brought his trusty leather jacket with him. Peeling it off slowly, he draped it over Roryās shoulders, then pulled her arms through and adjusted it on her. āThere. Better. It was starting to not smell like you, anyway. Figured weād change that,ā he said, kissing her closed hands gently. āNow Iāll be in for assault and youāll be in for dog-napping and theft if you leave. Weāre two of a kind.ā
Julian took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his heart pulled in two separate directions. How much was he willing to reveal to Rory in this moment? So many of the words sheād spoken were words heād said before to himself, words others had told him before hitting him or taking away the things he held dear. As he exhaled and his eyes fluttered open, he decided: he would tell her as much as he had to if it meant she stayed.
āLook at me, Aurora,ā he said softly, tenderly, trying to outfit his voice with as much love as he possibly could. āI would love to believe you. I really would. But none of what you said is true, and Iām going to tell you why. Because itās exactly what I say to myself, every single day. Itās a trauma response. After enough people tell you youāre worthless, you start to believe it. Weāre the same. I know that because I know you, Rory. I see you. I see the patterns in you the same way I see them in myself. I see you, not this bullshit Rory the liar in your head makes you out to be. And Iām sorry for cursing. Really, I am. I donāt do it much outside of the bedroom. But everything you said is complete bullshit.ā
āThis is the real Rory. You are a baker, and a damn good one at that. You remember every customerās order, even the mean ones. You cover shifts for people without a second of hesitation. You were going to make me tea when I ordered an oat milk latte, just because you knew thatās what I get, and because you knew I was nervous. You have a bunny named Pancake and you care for him with your whole heart. Everyone who knows you at Jukebox absolutely adores you. And I know that because I know everyone there. Literally everyone, even security. You are a ray of light to people, Rory. I saw it with my own two eyes.ā
Julian ran both hands through her hair, cupping her small face in his hands and rubbing his thumb along her cheek. āYou are brave, Rory. Youāre my little lioness. You have to be with this gorgeous blonde hair of yours, donāt you?ā he asked, running one hand through her hair before returning it to her cheek. āYou moved across the country by yourself at 23. You found your own apartment and your own job and youāre living in the big city and youāre surviving against this monster in your head. You did that, Rory.ā
āI donāt see how you could possibly ruin my magic, angel. Because you are magic. Everything about you. Your kind heart. Your selflessness. Your ability to put people at ease. Your baking. Your eyes. Your smile. God, Rory, your smile. The world could be ending around me and you could smile and everything would be okay for me,ā he admitted, looking at her so lovingly he swore she could see the hearts forming in his eyes.
āYou think youāre messy? Iām the king of messy. You donāt even know. I have so much emotional baggage that it doesnāt fit in the overhead bin and I have to check it at the gate. And thatās why I know you will eventually leave, but not like this. Because I feel this, Rory. This,ā Julian explained, pointing to her heart and then pointing to his. āThis connection between us. Itās undeniable. This connection doesnāt give one flying fuck about your baggage, and neither do I. Because Iām being selfish, and I want you, even though I will probably ruin you, too. I will fight for you, Rory. I donāt care how many obstacles I have to go through. I donāt care if it hurts. I donāt care who I have to go through. I want you, Aurora. You are all I want.ā
Julian sighed slightly, still keeping his eyes focused on Rory. āI canāt tell you what to do. I canāt force you to date me, no matter how right I think we are for each other. I still need to take you on the perfect date around San Francisco. I have it all planned out in my head. And I will fight to take you on that date if I have to. I will fight against that liar in your head. I will fight against the people whoāve hurt you so bad that theyāve made you believe the words you say. I will fight to the death for you, Rory. Because you do this to me. You make my heart beat a million times a minute. No one has ever done this to me before. No one,ā he said, taking her hand and putting it over his heart.
āIf you really want to leave, I will let you leave, because I refuse to dictate your actions and take away your agency. But I need you to tell me itās because you donāt want me. Because Iām not good enough. I need you to say those words to me, Rory. āYouāre not good enough and I donāt want you.ā Because if you donāt, Iāll know youāre lying to yourself and letting your fear keep us apart. You will give me everything, Rory, because you are everything to me. I need you to be brave for me, my little lioness. One last time, I need you to be brave. Please, baby. Please.ā
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well, well, well, if it isnāt the feelings iāve been trying to avoidĀ
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The two weeks following her meeting with Julian and subsequent leaving of his apartment felt like six lifetimes. Her days passed in black and white, disappointing and flavorless. San Francisco had lost its charm and become loud and dirty. The strangers on the street seemed to look at her with pity, knowing sheād just ruined what couldāve possibly turned her life into the fairytale sheād always dreamed of it being.
Getting home that day had been nearly impossible. The sun had set while sheād been in Julianās apartment and by the time she got outside, flustered and tear-stained, dusk had fallen over the city like a weighted blanket. The sky hung heavy overhead, nearly crushing her as the wind whipped around her with its icy claws scratching down her bare arms and legs. After pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she realized sheād left her scrunchie back in Julianās room, alone on the floor and lost forever.
Caught in an iron grip, her heart ached more than it ever had. After her last relationship, she didnāt think it possible but here it was, the pain doctors had warned her about as a child when asking her to rate her pain. Theyād pointed at colorful charts with different faces ranging from a bright smile to a red grimace. When she was 7 years old and went to the doctor for a bad cold, sheād rated her cough a red grimace, ever the dramatic little girl. In reality, it was probably on the lower, chartreuse end of the spectrum where the mouth made a straight line. It meant uncomfortable, but not unbearable.
This was the feared red grimace and she was caught in the undertow, waves lapping over her head and forcing water into her lungs every few seconds. The sobs that wracked her body on the walk home from Julianās nearly broke her in half. Her insides burned and churned and the wind chapped her face. There were a million times she nearly turned back, but a billion more that told her to keep walking. This was for Julian, for his own good. He didnāt know it yet, but sheād saved him.
For a few days, all she did was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, only getting up to feed pancake and refill her water bottle. The silence in her apartment haunted her, but she couldnāt bring herself to listen to music or turn on the TV. Enjoying anything when she felt so guilty didnāt seem right.
Noah had been right. She ruined everything. Sheād spent the last 2 years trying to convince herself he was wrong, that he was hateful and mean and abusive and only said those things to her because of his own issues. Tangled in her sheets and wearing the same t-shirt sheād taken from Julian for the fourth day in a row, all of her hard work had been undone. He was right. Heād always been right, even if heād delivered the news in crushing blows and violent screams.
On the fourth day, Rory dragged herself out of bed, changed her clothes, and went back to work. She fumbled through her day, burning herself on the milk frother, scorching a hole in her apron, and nearly lighting a sandwich on fire. Everything hit her and painted the world gray, getting progressively darker each time the door opened and Julian wasnāt the person coming inside. He was avoiding her, respecting the space sheād all but begged him for, and as much as she appreciated it, she hated him for it. Everyday she prayed he would come in for an Earl Grey, sit at his spot by the window, and look over at her wistfully and everyday she was let down.
The display case of the cafe was filled to the brim with her stress baking, each creation more intricate. Sheād learned how to make the perfect pie crust from scratch. Her creme brĆ»lĆ©e had a caramelized top that let out a sickeningly sweet crack at the slight touch of a spoon. Braids, twists, savory, sweetāRory had made it all in this time of distraction. Her apartment had become a revolving bakery door and although the Jukebox Cafe was profiting off her sadness, the hole in her heart that was usually filled by chocolate chips, buttercream frosting, and the perfect lavender white chocolate scone was starting to open back up with every passing day.
There were days she yearned to have his phone number so she could call him up and tell him how stupid and rash sheād acted, that she was a product of a traumatic past but if he was willing to look past it and help her heal, she would leave the door unlocked for him. However, she didnāt have his phone number and that made everything much easier and much harder at the same time. She wanted to hear his voice again, whether it be a whisper or a scream.
The Tuesday after their ill-fated meeting, she saw his name on a small marquee outside a bar while on an uncharacteristic nighttime walk. There was a line outside of excited looking girls and the bouncer was slowly letting people inside the already packed venue. Her heart fluttered thinking about seeing him again and without another thought, she got in line, paid the cover fee with whatever crumpled cash she had in her pocket, and ordered a double vodka tonic.
When the lights on the stage came up, illuminating his familiar face, she nearly broke into a million pieces. He looked exhausted, like heād slept just as much as she had in the past few days. She met him in every dream she had, rendering her nights sleepless in a desperate attempt to stop running into him.
His voice rang over the microphone and plunged a dagger into her heart, twisting it with every syllable. She finished her drink, her brain TV static. She fought the urge to push past everyone and get to the front of the room so she could touch him, just one more time.
Three songs in, she ordered a shot of vodka. Five songs in, she ordered a shot of Fireball. Seven songs in, she asked for tequila. Every bit of alcohol running down her throat in a warm stream rendered her a bit more reckless. With a bit of liquid confidence pooling in the bottom of her stomach, she lined up to meet with him after the show behind a rather large crowd of people.
At the first sight of his smile, she turned and ran. He was happy without her around. Even drunk, she knew that much. She couldnāt ruin that for him, no matter how badly she wanted to take him in her arms and kiss him in between apologies.
She spent the next morning with her head in a trashcan, her stomach full of only regret and the desire to move past what sheād done to him. Ā
Two weeks After Julian, sheād switched her leggings to a real pair of jeans. She fastened her favorite enamel pin to her apron strap. She made a latte without burning the milk and smiled as she dropped it off at the table. For the first time in 10 days, she felt a little bit more like herself. While her heart still felt like it was cast out of iron, heavy and unflinching, she could feel it starting to crack.
āGetting your usual today, Jim?ā She asked the old man who came in every single morning promptly at 8:24AM for a single black coffee and a scone. Her baking excursion had made him very happy, though she was sure he would change his mind if he knew the reason it had started.
He nodded curtly and placed $3 in the tip jar. āLooking more like yourself today, Miss Rory. Glad to see you feeling better. Mustāve been a nasty flu bug!ā He took his coffee to-go, crunching the scone bag in his wrinkled hands and walking out as if he hadnāt just made her entire day that much brighter.
Then, the gift basket had shown up that afternoon and the hole in her heart ripped back open like it had been blown open with a shotgun.
Her favorite flowers, her favorite food, her favorite scentā¦there was no doubt this had come from Julian. His attention to detail gripped her and squeezed the air from her lungs. Thank God it was the end of her shift, so she could pick the basket up and run upstairs with it, blinking back tears.
Everything was handmade and delicate. This basket looked like her insides spilled onto a plate, ripe for the taking. She turned everything over in her hands, tears making gray pathways down her face as she silently cursed herself for choosing today to start wearing makeup again. She wiped her tears and took everything out of the basket, finding an envelope with a note stuck to the front. Graphite came off on her fingers when she ran them over his messy letters and imagined him hunched over, painstakingly choosing each word to send to her. Her careful, considerate Julian.
(TW: ASSAULT) Inside the envelope, she found a police report filled out in the same scrawl as the note. It was all of Julianās information, filled out and ready to turn in. Her eyes scanned the page for the reason and she saw it haphazardly at the bottom: SEXUAL ASSAULT.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips and her grip tightened on the piece of paper, crumpling it slightly. He thought he hurt her? Was that why he was avoiding her as carefully as he was? She nearly threw her heart up so she could throw it across the room, getting rid of it for good. All this time, sheād been making this about her when it had always been about Julian. (END TW)
Without bothering to change, she gave Pancake a quick pat on the head and promised him sheād be back later that night. She left the police report on her kitchen counter, ink smudged from her sweaty, nervous grip. She needed to find Julian and she needed to find him now.
Asking around a bit got her to a park near Jukebox that was near empty. The sun shone down on the electric green grass and Rory nearly found herself distracted by how nice it all seemed. She frequented Dolores Park, but this secluded, small oasis was right up Julianās alley and perfect to Rory. Of course this is where he would be, somewhere beautiful and unassuming.
She searched for him in the faces of strangers, becoming more and more desperate to find him with every passing second. She needed to set the record straight, she needed him to know he had never and would never hurt her. This was all on her and always would be. _Look at the mess youāve gotten yourself into now, Aurora. What a surprise, hurting those you Ā claim to care about the most. _Noahās voice echoed between her ears and she swatted him away like a mischievous flyāthis was not about her insecurities, this was about Julian.
Before she could find him herself, she was nearly run over by a slate gray pitbull chasing after a ball with an excitement only legal for a dog. Rory jumped backwards to avoid the charging animal, following the dog with her eyes as she trotted back to her owner. To her _Julian. _
Even though sheād been looking for him for nearly half an hour, seeing him so close froze her to the spot. Her knees locked up and her feet refused to move towards him. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her side, squeezing her eyes tight. Come on, Rory. Just talk to him. Donāt be such a baby. Ā
Half an eternity later, she found herself walking towards him with her head down. She tugged at the ends of her cropped t-shirt as if it would magically grow and cover her midriff and give her more of an appropriate āconfrontationā outfit. Why hadnāt she grabbed a sweatshirt? Why hadnāt she thought this through? What was she doing here, in front of the boy who had turned her inside out for the world to see and poke fun at?
āHi, Julian,ā she said quietly, thinking that was the best place for her to start. Was there a good place to start a conversation like this? āIs this Belle?ā
TW: descriptions of abuse/domestic violence
This was Julianās new reality, the reality that heād always known would come ā the one where he ended up alone, sewing his broken heart back together with trembling hands. Julian knew he could do it ā he was always calm under pressure, always able to take one more step forward, always able to survive. Heād learned how to sew his own stitches at age thirteen, after Dylan had left Claire unconscious and Julian hadnāt known how to get himself to the hospital. Heād found her first aid kit and kept his mouth shut while stifling screams. Heād haphazardly cleaned the gashes running along his chest that had torn him nearly in half. He hadnāt wanted the neighbors to hear. He hadnāt wanted to cause a scene.
Slowly, painfully, clumsily, heād sewn himself back together, a limp, broken ragdoll of a boy just trying to survive one more day. Heād stitched up the garish gash above Claireās eyebrow as she sat unconscious in front of him, swatting away his tears when his vision had started to blur. Julian knew he had to be strong for her. He couldnāt tell his aunts, he couldnāt tell his teachers, he couldnāt tell his momās coworkers. This was their little secret, their frightening nighttime ritual. He had to be there for her, and he had to be there for himself. And so heād put his mom back together, the same way heād put himself back together, bit by bit, stitch by stitch, tear by tear.
He still had the scar from that night, deep and traversing a large portion of his left side. When people asked about it, Julian told them heād tripped and fallen while hiking. The lies slipped out easily, the same way they always did when he showed up to the ER with black eyes and bruises littering his neck. He hadnāt done the stitches properly, so the scar wasnāt pretty or cool or triumphant like some scars were on other people. It was a glaring, caustic memory from his past, but it was also a reminder that he could survive alone. He had himself, and that was all he had ever needed. That was all heād ever deserved.
Julian was perfectly content, then, tossing the ball to Belle and petting her when she returned with it in tow. His heart ached, a dull, throbbing sort of pain that he knew wouldnāt go away anytime soon, but he was used to dealing with nagging injuries. He hadnāt been fully healthy since the age of six ā there was always a bruise healing, always a cut scabbing over, always a cast on some part of his body. His back had never properly healed from the time Dylan had thrown him into the bathroom mirror and fractured one of his vertebrae. He hadnāt had full range of motion in his neck after Kelsey had hit him so hard heād gotten a concussion. There was always pain lingering somewhere in Julianās body, and he knew that at this point, it was par for the course.
He could handle this, too. He knew he could. Everything was fine and dandy, the sun shining and Belle panting while running, until it wasnāt. It took him half a second to notice the small blonde girl walking toward him, Belle galloping toward him without a care in the world. All of a sudden, Julian wasnāt so sure he could survive this wound. Sure, heād gotten through pain before, but this ā this was different.
This was real, this was raw, this was someone up above pulling him in two entirely different directions at once, the makeshift stitches heād put together bursting at the seams. Part of him wanted to run to Rory this instant, pull her into his arms and hold her so tightly she wouldnāt run away again. But the logical part of his brain knew they couldnāt have that again ā not after what heād done. Now it was time for him to be smart, respectful, cautious ā the Julian everyone knew.
His heart pumped so loudly he was sure the entire park could hear its deafening roar. Was he allowed to look at her, or would that trigger her even more? Had she seen him yet? Maybe he could grab his things and make a run for it before she noticed him. Thoughts screamed at him in every direction, a cacophony of yelling and whispers and anxiety so bad it made his hands shake. Through it all, one thought kept coming back to Julian: You have to protect her. You have to keep her safe. You canāt hurt her again. Donāt you dare.
Rory was walking toward him. Why was she walking toward him? Had she gotten his gift basket, and was she coming to throw his orange chicken back at him in his face? Suddenly Julian felt incredibly stupid, embarrassment prickling every nerve ending in his body. How patronizing was he to send the girl heād just assaulted a gift basket of all things? Hey, I just traumatized you for life and youāll have to spend thousands in therapy bills trying to get back to normal after I assaulted you. Have some orange chicken!
Then she was next to him, so close he could smell her vanilla perfume again, in yet another outfit that lit a fire within the quietest corners of his mind. Julian ran his hand through his hair, greeting her with a shaky breath. The memories all flooded back instantly: her gorgeous smile, the way sheād scrunched her nose when talking about Pancake, her hands in his hair, the words sheād said that had pushed him over the edge. A soft, quiet voice whispered in his ear: Julian, please.
āHā¦ hi, Rory,ā Julian stuttered, immediately cursing himself for his inability to speak properly in front of her. He wanted to look at her, but he didnāt want to scare her even more than he already had, so he kept his eyes focused on Belle and pet her as calmly as he could. āOh, yeah, thisā¦ this is Belle. Belle, sweetie, this is Rory, our newā¦ friend,ā he murmured, a hint of a smile making his way to his lips as Belle turned to Rory and began nuzzling her leg. āBelle, shake,ā Julian instructed, the nerves subsiding slightly as he watched Belle hold her paw up for Rory. āGood job, muffin. Youāre so smart.ā
He made the mistake of standing up and finally looking at Rory. It took one second for his fears to come flooding back to him, a barrage of worry hitting him like a tsunami. The dark circles under her eyes matched his, and he could tell sheād tried to cover them with concealer, the same way heād always covered his bruises with high coverage makeup. She looked like sheād been crying. Had he made her cry? Had she taken the police report in? Had something happened to her on the way back from his place that day? Why hadnāt he called her a ride home? How could he have been so foolish?
A million thoughts swirled in his mind as he searched desperately for the right words to say. Julian opened his mouth to speak, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as he read Roryās body language. Her arms were folded over her midriff, the same protective stance heād seen his mom take so many times. He took a slight step back from her, regret and disgust and pain and guilt wracking his chest like an almost-stifled sob. He had to give her space, even when he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and kiss her forehead. He had to make sure she felt safe. Safe from him. Safe from the monster heād become, or perhaps the monster heād always been.
āRory, Iā¦ Iām soā¦ so sorry,ā Julian murmured, tears trickling down his cheeks before he could stop them from falling. āIā¦ Iā¦ā Suddenly he was back in fourth grade, trying to read in front of the class, his debilitating stutter sending a searing blush through his cheeks. The impediment was a holdover from his dadās abuse, one heād worked tirelessly to suffocate at the root so people wouldnāt catch onto his past. But he couldnāt stop it, not now, not as the tears rolled down his cheeks and bounced onto Belleās ears.
āI neverā¦ never meant to hurt you,ā he explained softly, gently, clutching Belleās leash so tightly his knuckles burned white. āI crossedā¦ so many boundaries. I didnāt listen to you. I moved so fucking fast and I violated you and I hurt you so bad and I feel terrible about it, Rory. Itās been eating me up inside. I havenāt slept properly since we met. I just keepā¦ w- wishingā¦ wishing I couldā¦ go back and justā¦ notā¦ hurt you. Andā¦ and I know that sounds selfish, when youāre the one who wasā¦ā
He couldnāt spit the word out, the three syllables stuck in his throat. Assaulted. When youāre the one who was assaulted. Come on, Julian. Say it. You have to admit what you did if you ever want to be forgiven. āā¦ assaulted,ā he squeaked out, his voice breaking as tears began flooding his senses. Julian looked away from her, his gaze tunneling into the grass below him, as he tried to stay as calm as possible. āIā¦ Iām not supposed to be that guy. Iām supposed to be a good friend and someone you can rely on and I justā¦ I let my desire get the best of me. I showed you the monster I really am. And I will never, ever forgive myself for that. I donāt expect you to forgive me, either.ā
āI just needed you to know thatā¦ Iāll do anything I have to do to make it up to you. I know you probably donāt ever want to see me again. Iā¦ I have a lot of female friends whoāve beenā¦ā Julian inhaled, his breaths shallow and ragged as he ran his hand through his hair nervously again. He couldnāt finish that sentence, and he hated himself for it. Here she was, brave, strong Rory, standing up to him after heād violated her, and he couldnāt even admit what heād done to her.
āIāllā¦ Iāll drive you to therapy if you need it. Or Iāll get you an Uber to take you there if youāre not comfortable around me. Iāll send Chinese delivery to your place. Iāll pay for your rent if you want to move so far away from here that you never have to remember me again. Anything I have to, Rory. I know it wonāt be enough. But anything you can think of, Iā¦ Iāll do it. Iām just soā¦ so sorry.ā
Julian wasn't sure why he was still talking, or why Rory still stood in front of him. Now that he had her attention, though, he had to admit what he'd wanted to tell her since that fateful night. It wasn't easy, and he stumbled through his thoughts, drunk off all the words he'd been meaning to say. "No girl has ever made me feel needed. You know, really needed, like they miss me when I'm gone and theyād fall apart if I wasnāt there. And I know I'm nothing to write home about. I know you could date a thousand other guys on this block alone who are taller and more successful and not as dumb as me and justā¦ better. But you made me feel... special. I've never felt special before. I've never felt wanted, and for a second I thought that... maybe you could want me. Like maybe I could be a person that someone desires. I know that's selfish of me. I know it's inconsiderate. But it's true.ā
He hated this and yet he couldnāt stop it. The words spewed out of him like a fire hydrant that had been cracked open, flooding the air between them. āI know you're going to leave eventually, because no one ever stays. Not for someone like me. I know I probably need you more than you need me. But I want to be with you and I want to be there for you and I will move heaven and earth for you if you'll let me, Rory. I'll get better, I promise.ā
Now came the time he hated the most, the time where he begged, pleaded through shaking breaths for someone to stay. āIāll... I'll listen, more, to your body language. I'll really listen. The bath bombs won't be so misshapen next time. I'll make you the perfect veggie spring rolls and the meal will actually be complete next time. And maybe if I work hard enough, and if I just listen... right... and if you give me enough next times... one day I'll be good enough for you to stay.ā
Wiping the tears from his eyes furiously, Julian slung his guitar back over his shoulder and hoisted his backpack onto his other shoulder. Why was he even saying these things when she most probably never wanted to see him again anyway? āIā¦ I should go. You probably h- hate my guts. I donāt want to t- trigger you again. If you need to get ahold of me, my numberās on theā¦ā He couldnāt find the strength to mention the police report heād filled out and left in the basket. āThe r- report in the basket I gave to Finn,ā he stuttered, plastering a fake half smile on as he looked down at Belle. āYou ready to go, honey? We can go cuddle. Yeah, lots of cuddles.ā
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ā closed starter || julian x jeremiah ( @jeremiahgreyā )
Californians were spoiled. Julian had heard about this concept before, but it usually only extended to Angelenos and out-of-touch celebrities who paid $13 for a green juice every morning. But, as he stood, neck craning as far as it could to see the mountainous redwood trees crowded around him and Jeremiah, Julian knew that he was spoiled, along with the rest of the people who lived in San Francisco. They were a stoneās throw from the ocean and a car ride away from the most breathtaking trails heād ever seen in his life. It was a miracle anyone got anything done with all the beauty surrounding them.
Julian had met Jeremiah a few years prior. He was a bit of an oddball, but Julian was pretty odd himself, so the two of them made the perfect team. Jeremiah was always the person he thought of when he wanted to go hiking, or when he, for whatever reason, wanted to torture himself by going on a run. The two hadnāt caught up in some time, and once Jeremiah had mentioned he hadnāt been to the Muir Woods, Julian knew it was time for another outing with his curious friend.
āI stillā¦ donāt understand how we live in the same world as these trees,ā Julian murmured, awestruck by the power of the redwoods around him. āI also canāt believe youāve never been here before. Youāve lived in SF how long? Weāll have to do the super long trails around here. Itās mindblowing.ā Finally looking back down to Jeremiah, he flashed the other boy a bright smile and continued walking along the path. āHow have things been with you?ā
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āyouāre so sweet!ā thank you i have abandonment issues
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Friend: Wanna hang out tomorrow?
Me: I actually performed an Activity yesterday. Please wait the three day recovery period to submit another inquiry
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ā closed starter: julian x rory
TW: continued mentions of domestic violence/abuse/assault
Julian knew the life cycle of a bruise intimately well. Heād nursed his fair share of them from inception to death, an unwitting father to hundreds of thousands who lived within the confines of his own body. There was the initial hit ā deep red, burning scarlet, the accompanying taste of metal and the shallow gasping of breath. Then came the aftermath ā dark purple, a bloody night sky streaked across the skin, pain to the touch. Eventually it faded, a yellow ring waltzing into frame, replacing the tender flesh with something closer to normalcy. And then things went back to normal, the skin healed, free of its markings, as if nothing had ever really transpired at all.
It had been two weeks since the day heād met Aurora Graham. Knowing Julian, heād have that date branded into his memory forever ā the day heād met Rory, the day heād come crawling out of his self-imposed prison and seen the sunlight, the day heād violated her trust and her body and her boundaries and had watched her leave with one last twirl of her skirt. Like Rory had mentioned that afternoon, his life had somehow split down the middle, the story of his life now composed entirely of a Before Rory and After Rory section. Heād expected After Rory to be full of bright lights and gentle hugs, skipping heartbeats and sugar cookies. And now After Rory had turned into anything but that utopic paradise.
When theyād first met, things seemed too good to be true. They clicked on another level ā something cosmic, something visceral, something real beyond belief. Thereād been the brush of fingertips, the earthen scent of an alleyway, smudged lipstick and the imprint of her lips against the lightly freckled skin of his shoulder. It had all happened so fast ā too fast for someone like Julian, who usually needed weeks to even scratch the surface of another person.
He shouldāve known better. Thatās the one thought that kept creeping back into Julianās mind night after night: You should have known better. He was better than this. He was not the boy who couldnāt control himself around a woman. He was not the boy who pushed her past her comfort zone, the one who acted first and asked for permission later. He was not the boy his female friends all talked about ā the one who took things that werenāt his, the one who scarred them and left, the one who left wounds that couldnāt ever be fully healed. That was not, and never had been, him.
And yet itās who heād become. Julian had dreaded this reality more than anything, the one where the spectral hands of his dad finally coalesced around his neck and choked the last remaining bits of good out of him. He walked through life as a different person now ā Julian Porter, son of Dylan. Julian Porter, temperamental, hard to deal with, brilliantly creative but at a cost. Julian Porter, abuser, assaulter, a machine filled to the brim with rage and anger nestled inside the body of someone who took it out on others.
He looked in the mirror and all he could see was his dadās jaw line ā strong, masculine, the jaw women went weak at the knees for. He saw the protruding veins threading up his arms, the same veins that ran up the canvas of his dadās wrists, the ones that carried the unmistakable reality of his hellish heritage in his blood. He saw his dadās nose, the one that was still slightly crooked after having been broken on three separate occasions. He saw his dad, fully and completely, blood splattered across his face, jaw clenched tightly. He had become his worst nightmare, and the transformation had happened at the expense of the girl he cared most about in the world.
It had all started out bright red ā Rory scrambling out of his arms like a piece of prey trying to get out of the clutches of a predator. He could still see the heat in her cheeks, the tears clinging to the sides of her jade green eyes. He could hear her mumbling, babbling, throwing reasons into the air as she collected her things and left. Rory had left in such a hurry that Julian had found her baby pink hair tie on the ground next to his bed days later.
Heād tasted the blood again that night, felt the searing heat of the wound heād somehow scratched into his own skin. He didnāt even have her phone number. That was something that had slapped the reality back into Julian ā heād just assaulted a woman heād barely known for a few hours, a woman he couldnāt even properly apologize to. Rory hadnāt drawn blood as she removed herself from the prison of his arms, but she may as well have, because the aftermath felt exactly the same.
That night Julian had drawn the curtains and tended to the scarlet pain in his heart the only way he knew how. He thanked God for his roommates, who came back and respected his boundaries when heād merely shaken his head at them and closed his door. At least some people in this house know how to respect boundaries, you fucking monster, heād thought to himself. Night fell upon San Francisco, the sky dotted with muted stars. He looked up at the heavens, a swirling, dark purple, and felt it swallow him whole from his spot on the balcony.
Heād gone back in and felt the muted orchid bloom behind his irises as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take the past day back. Heād taken down every note that heād previously taped up to his wall, all the little references his students and family members and friends had given Rory just hours prior. He wanted to apologize to all of them en masse for pulling the wool over their eyes, but it was too late, so heād put the notes into an old shoebox and shoved them into the back of his closet, right past the black shirt Rory had almost worn to dinner.
The tiger lilies died slowly, agonizingly, their bright orange petals begging for attention that Julian just didnāt have anymore. Heād spent the next few days after that in a mulberry haze, red and purple and all the colors in between, healing as best as he could from the pain heād inflicted on himself. He went to work, put more notes into the shoebox, let Belle tug along at the leash on walks, her dark, watery eyes looking into his as if saying, āPlease step outside, dad. Please stop punishing yourself.ā
He finally picked up his guitar a week after Rory had left. The songs had come to him in a flash, dark plum fading into something softer, more tender, a light lilac that only time could bring. Julian had heard the piano keys in his mind one morning and had ignored them, forcing the songs out onto the strings of his guitar instead. Piano was her instrument. He didnāt deserve the ivory anymore, not when heād almost certainly taint it with splotches of red and black, the same way heād tainted her. And so the music was scribbled onto lined sheets through an incongruous medium, one that sounded just slightly off for the subject matter. Over the last two weeks, Julian had learned to accept that everything from now on would feel slightly off, now that Rory was gone from his life.
Finally, after a week and a half, signs of life began to emerge from the cocoon Julian had wrapped himself in. Heād started throwing himself into his work, coming up with extra songs to teach the kids about subtraction, their subject of the week. He couldnāt go to Jukebox anymore, so songwriting was the next best thing, and the subject matter felt fitting, anyway. A piece of him was missing now, permanently gone, and he had to live with the guilt of that truth for the rest of his life.
It was time now for him to repent, to speak clearly about his sins and apologize as best as he could. Julian found himself looking for forgiveness everywhere he could ā in the few churches heād stepped into, in the major chords he strummed, in the notes he scribbled out and eventually threw in the trash because theyād never quite express just how sorry he was. Heād mulled the apology over in his mind, turning the words around in his consciousness over and over again, searching for the right thing to tell Rory, but nothing ever did his feelings justice.
After days upon days of serving penance for a crime everyone universally agreed he hadnāt committed, Julian had settled on the package heād send to Rory. It wasnāt perfect by any means, but he knew he had to do something, anything, to let her know he understood her pain and would do anything to make things up to her. The project had taken the entire weekend, and it still didnāt feel right in his hands, even as he walked it to Jukebox and handed it to Finn, right in the alleyway where heād kissed Rory a fortnight ago.
Over the weekend, Julian had learned why Zoe paid the employees at Lush $7.95 for a perfectly-made bath bomb. Heād always had a respect for people who made things by hand, but this weekend had imbued in him an undying gratitude for bath bomb creators. Heād probably inhaled more citric acid and cornstarch than he cared to admit, but after hours of tampering with the formula, Julian had three only slightly misshapen vanilla sugar bath bombs to add to his gift basket.
The next part of the gift had come much more easily to him. Chinese food had never been his forte, but Julian had promised himself heād perfect the recipe for orange chicken and chow mein even if it killed him. Poor Danny, Kevin, and Zoe had eaten at least five different iterations of the recipe, especially since he couldnāt eat the chicken, and heād made a mental note to make them their favorite foods as thanks for acting as lab rats. Finally, after much trial and error, heād settled on the perfect recipes. Heād even went and gotten a fancy glass container to deliver the food in instead of his usual, spaghetti sauce splattered Tupperware. It all had to be perfect, or as close to perfect as it possibly could be.
The last part was the easiest of them all. Julian had always frequented the floral shop a few blocks down from his apartment, run by a tiny, old Chinese woman who told the white people of San Francisco that her name was Chloe when her Chinese name was Mei. Heād been paying Mei a visit every month for the past six years, to the point where sheād begun to add a few tiger lilies into his bouquet free of charge. It was an expensive habit to have, but tiger lilies had always reminded him of his mom, and he liked supporting local businesses. Occasionally heād get other plants and flowers from her ā succulents for Finn, roses for Zoe, sunflowers for Dannyās sister, Sarah.
They were good friends now, which meant Mei had immediately been able to pinpoint that something was wrong with Julian when heād walked in. āNo tiger lilies today, Xiao Liwu?ā sheād asked, a paper-thin frown settling into her wrinkled skin. Sheād given him the nickname ā Little Gift in Chinese ā after Julian had shown her a picture of the baby panda, Xiao Liwu, that heād seen at the San Diego Zoo long ago. āYou are a little gift to everyone, Julian. Donāt stop being who you are,ā she had told him after sticking a free tiger lily in his bouquet all those years ago.
āNo tiger lilies today, Mei,ā heād said, the dejection palpable in his tone. Julian wanted to ask her to give the nickname to someone else, someone better, someone who actually was a gift to the people around them. Someone like Rory. But he swallowed his doubts and gave her a hilariously simple run down of what he needed the lush bouquet of baby pink and white peonies for: āI really hurt someone and I need to make it up to them before I hurt them more.ā Mei had smiled and given him the flowers free of charge, leaving him with a simple statement: āYou couldnāt hurt a fly, Xiao Liwu, even if it flew onto your flowers and started eating them.ā
The final touch, the warped, sharp-edged piece de resistance that struck him to his core, was the police report Julian had printed and filled out. Filling out his details came almost too naturally to him ā cosmetically the report looked slightly different from Santa Barbaraās version of it, but the innards were all the same, and it took him a little less than a minute to get all his information down. This time, though, heād put his information in a different set of boxes ā the ones labeled ādescription of suspectā. Brown hair, brown eyes, crooked nose, the spitting image of Santa Barbaraās own Dylan Porter.
And so heād done it ā heād met Finn in the alleyway and handed him the small wicker basket, complete with bath bombs, pristinely packaged Chinese food, peony bouquet, and the stupid police report Kevin had told him to leave out. Heād left Rory a tiny note, written in his cleanest handwriting, the paper still crumpled slightly at the edges from the tears he hadnāt been able to contain. āHi, Rory. Iām so sorry. I donāt expect you to ever forgive me and I donāt think Iāll ever forgive myself for hurting you. I promise Iāll be better in the future with the boundaries of other people, for you. I never, ever meant to hurt you, and I am infinitely sorry that I did. You really are something special. Please donāt ever stop smiling. X Julian.ā
He knew Finn would get the gift to Rory. In fact, heād probably found her right after going back to the cafĆ© ā this was the time sheād taken her lunch break two weeks ago, and Julian could only hope sheād be craving Chinese food the same way she had that day, if he hadnāt ruined the idea of it for her entirely. It broke his heart knowing heād inadvertently created a new trigger for someone ā that someone wouldnāt be able to enjoy their favorite food or wear their plaid skirt or see tiger lilies the same way anymore. But a part of him had accepted who heād become. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he handed the gift over and led Belle back onto the sidewalk, guitar slung around his shoulders, dog treats and songwriting notebook in tow.
It was bright out, and for the first time in weeks, Julian welcomed the warmth that illuminated the path before him. The sunshine surrounded him, pale golden like the bruise that had finally started to heal, even if it was still tender to the touch. Today was a new day ā a better day, heād already decided. Perhaps heād pick up a few more shifts at the animal shelter later today, or heād make another lasagna to take to the soup kitchen. His momentum was trending upward, and he knew he needed to take advantage of it.
āExcited for play time, pumpkin?ā Julian asked Belle, a genuine smile spreading onto his features as Belle looked up at him and woofed. They walked a few minutes past the record store to one of the parks less frequented by tourists and locals alike. It was smaller than the other parks in the area, less decorated and a bit unassuming, but Belle had always loved it more than any of the others. Perhaps she knew her dad needed the solitude.
He found a spot to himself easily and offered a few passersby a half-smile as he fished Belleās favorite ball out of his backpack. āYou ready, muffin? Go get it!ā Julian exclaimed, excitement palpable in his voice as he set his things down and wiggled the ball in front of her eyes. Watching the joy creep into Belle always lifted his spirits, and he couldnāt help but beam brightly as he tossed the ball and watched her chase after it at lightning speed. The slightly portly pit bull came trotting back to him with the ball, excitement lighting up her entire face. āGood job, monkey. Iām so proud of you. I love you so much.ā
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we all deserve a ādid you eatā person in our lives
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