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chapter twenty-two: my house with all the cobwebs

a/n:

TWS — BAD PARENTING, CONCERNING BEHAVIOR

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They didn't throw a wake.

Too many people would want to come, Oliver reasoned.

He'd have hated it, anyway, she said back, and then she laughed. Best to get it over with.

However, now, standing beside her father in front of her grandparents' mausoleum and watching the pallbearers slide the casket into its final resting place, Rory feels like she'll never laugh again.

The ceremony itself was corny. A priest came even if Eli was never religious and read a sermon, and one of her aunts delivered a tearful rendition of a Frost poem that Rory's sure she doesn't know the true meaning of, and there were dozens of people that shook Rory's hand and let her know that they were so sorry for her loss. Part of her knows that it's only common courtesy, that there's a universally agreed on way to speak to the bereaved at a funeral, but a bigger part can't help but be angry. Elijah Myrtle was not a good man. People shouldn't be lining up just to grieve him. He didn't do anything good. And, even then, where were all of these crying people when he was dying? Where were they when she was wiping his sweat and wetting his lips with wet sponges? They didn't love him. They shouldn't have.

Yet she did, and didn't, somehow, in equal measure.

She realizes that, as the tomb's door closes for the last time, she's spent so much time telling herself not to be sad that she never got to process any of it. The fact that he died in front of her, and the fact that he was mean, and the fact that, maybe, she had wanted him to go.

Krystal grabs her hand and squeezes it reassuringly, but it doesn't matter.

She wants more time.

She wants to go back in time, shedding the years like layers of skin, and do it all over again. To do it right.

But, as she learned a very long time ago, the universe cares very little for what she wants, and she has no other choice but to let her stepmother pull her along the winding path back to the home, leading the people away and leaving the l caretakers to do what they needed to.

The after 'party' is hardly that. It's more of a blur of somber faces. Some she can recognize, most she can't. They repeat the same two phrases about his character and share vague, obviously censored stories of their interactions with her grandfather that she doesn't ask for, doing their best to aid her but boring her more than anything. She smiles this thin-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and drinks anything that's handed to her, but the buzz does nothing to make her feel any better.

If anything, it just dulls the edges of everything, makes their tall tales easier to listen to.

She, unfocusing her eyes as one of her grandfather's old coworkers realizes that he was about to tell her all about how lecherous he was to female coworkers, starts to wish that she hadn't told Rick not to come.

He'd have let her hang onto his arm, whispered snarky little comments about her extended family and all the people trying to kiss her grandfather's ass post-death, and held her close to him.

He'd have been someone to rely on.

Someone to talk to.

(The Ducks, per her request to Charlie, were leaving her alone. They wouldn't even look her in the eye anymore, and Adam, who seems to be going through something else entirely, can only do so much for her.)

About an hour into it, Rory, having been handed her sister by a very disgruntled Oliver, escapes to the back patio with Ellie in her arms and lounges on the plush furniture. She watches curiously as the child gnaws on one of her teething toys until she hears someone step onto the patio with her and looks up.

Janice, holding a glass of wine, spares her daughter a slight smile before sitting down with her.

"Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding." She half-lies, glancing away because it feels strange to hold her mother's gaze. "I just... There's a lot of people in there, and no one my age wants to speak to me, and I miss the guy I'm dating."

"Why are they not speaking to you? I thought you were friends, no?"

"We got into a huge fight a few weeks ago and I asked them to leave me alone... But I'm kind of regretting that, I think. I don't know."

Her mother hums. Rory feels something twist inside her and looks down at Ellie.

Janice chews on the skin on the inside of her cheek and observes Rory's interaction with the baby for a moment before she hesitantly, like she's approaching a spooked animal, puts her free hand on Rory's knee. The sudden cold of Janice's hand, wet from the condensation on the glass, makes goosebumps erupt across the surface of her flesh. (Or, perhaps, it's just the rare feel of her mother's touch altogether that sends a chill straight up her spine.)

"You're... You're all alone in this."

"I know." Rory says quietly, pulling her necklace from the mouth of the curious infant. She finds herself feeling six years old again suddenly, her covers pulled up over her head as imaginary monsters descended upon her bed. "But, I'll figure it out. I always do."

To that, Janice flashes another smile that's barely a smile.

She pins the only child that bears her face—— not those eyes, though, because they're all Oliver (and that puts a bitter taste in the back of her throat)—— under her gaze and can't manage anything but a grimace.

"I am so, very sorry, Lorelei."

"You don't have to be sorry, mom. He was old. He was going to die eventually."

"That wasn't what I was apologizing for."

Rory stops and, out of habit (even if she's had a few), sits up straighter. She doesn't apologize for her interruption out of fear of interrupting again.

"I... wanted to apologize because you're alone. You've always been, and you always will be, because there is something about you that just will not let anyone care about you." Her voice holds such a raw sincerity that Rory can hardly breathe, choking on air as Janice takes the cold hand from her knee to brush a stray lock of hair behind Rory's ear. "And I think it's because I never loved you. I hope that comforts you, Lorelei. The fact that isn't your fault."

Rory's brow creases slightly as tears well up in her eyes. The monsters of her childhood have her by the throat, now, and, when she blinks her mother is one of the many nannies who'd come running when she screamed for her mommy.

The change in her expression isn't surreptitious enough because Janice's not-a-smile wobbles.

"You must think I'm a monster."

No. Not a monster. Just an absence. A dark figure out of the corner of my eye. A role filled by women dad paid, then fucked, then fired like clockwork.

That all dies on Rory's tongue, though. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"I just needed you to know that you come by it honestly. You weren't born this way, but it's just as much your birthright as any of the rest of this."

Janice punctuates her words with a sip of her wine and Rory's head spins.

Birthright. What a funny word. How many times has it been spat in Lorelei Myrtle-Carrington's face throughout her sixteen years of life? How many times has her father used it to twist the knife? To make her comply? You have to be at the top of your class, and have proper manners (and be broken, and have no friends) because you are a Myrtle and it is your birthright.

"You're my daughter." An actual smile this time, but twinged with sadness. "There's no cure for that."

A rogue tear rolls down Rory's cheek.

"I would very much appreciate it if you left me alone, now."

"Of course."

Janice is gone as soon as she came, drunk enough to stumble but sober enough to make her way back into the house. In her absence, Rory sobs, holding Ellie close to her chest and squeezing her eyes tight, wondering just how much of this she's meant to take.

Krystal appears a few minutes later.

"Rory?" She asks as she sits down beside the sobbing teenager. "What's wrong?"

Rory wriggles out of Krystal's hold, though, and gives her the baby so she can run away.

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Luis, after the party ends and she hides herself away, is the one that finds her curled up on the floor of her room. She's not sure how long she was 'missing' (or if anyone else was actually looking for her) or how long she'd been crying by then, but he takes one look at her and removes his suit jacket to drape it over her shoulders.

She pulls it tighter around her and then she, sniffling, looks up at him.

"You look weird in a suit."

Rory's not sure if it's what she said or the way she said it, but Luis' face cracks into half a smile.

"It's nice to see that you still have a sense of humor."

"I have my moments."

Luis sits on the floor, too, just a few feet across from her. Neither of them speaks for a few moments, things that should be said and things that they want to say to one another swelling in the air between them.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He nods and purses his lips.

"I've been dating Melinda Sinclair."

Rory doesn't know why he says it, but she's so desperate to talk about anything other than her grandfather and her mother and the fact that she's fundamentally unloveable that she appreciates it.

"Like... as in Rick's ex-girlfriend, Melinda Sinclair?"

"Yeah."

Rory's never spoken to the girl. She's only ever heard about her through word of mouth, and, while Rick has nothing but polite and cordial things to say about her, Rachel and Scott both had nothing nice to say.

"You're so... stupid."

"Hey."

"She's older than you."

"It's a year." He scoffs.

"Rachel said she got left back in sixth grade. It's two." Rory holds her pointer and middle fingers up.

"Two years, big deal."

"Girl develop way faster than guys." She points to her temple for emphasis. "It's like four years difference, man."

Luis gives her a look, hesitating for a moment before he speaks.

"Well, she likes me."

Rory sighs a bit. He's got this soft expression on his face, dark eyes all sparkly as he stares over at her.

"Don't look at me like that." He says softly. "She does—— she said so herself."

"No offense, Luis, but I bet you she says that to all of her boys."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's probably true." She tucks a hair behind her ear. "Scott told me that she's... not the monogamous type, so who knows what she's doing—— God, you are being safe, aren't you?"

Luis narrows his eyes. "Are you?"

Rory's face flushes a deeper red than it already was.

"Of course—— I've only—— Luis."

"Exactly."

"You're—— You deserve better than someone like her."

"And you deserve someone better than Rick Riley."

The way he says Rick's name makes her want to scowl.

She doesn't, though, because she knows better.

Rick might be very sweet to her, but he's not a very nice person, either.

(Maybe that's a theme in her life. Maybe good men just don't want anything to do with her. Maybe there are no truly good men.)

"You don't know him like I do."

Luis quietly contemplates that. She finds herself, once again, wishing that she could just go back in time.

"Does he make you happy, at least?"

"He doesn't make me feel like there's something wrong with me." Rory says it softly.

Luis nods. He looks away from her, back down at the floor, and taps his fingers against the wood.

"He deserves better than me." She's whispering now, voice thick. "I don't think—— I think I'm just not good for anyone. Maybe everyone would just be better off I just..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't know how to.

She wishes the words would stop pouring out of her.

Luis's face pinches with concern.

"My mother told me she didn't love me... That has to mean something, right?"

"I think that you've just had a lot of bad luck in life," Luis says, "and I think that you've had a few really bad days."

He stands up and closes the space between them in two steps.

"C'mon." Luis extends a hand and gestures with his head. "Let's get you to bed."

Sniffing miserably, Rory takes it and allows him to pull her to her feet. He kicks her abandoned heels to the side and marches her to her bed, and then, once she's sitting, starts to help her undo the elaborate updo that someone put her hair into.

"I haven't been sleeping well."

"Why not? Nightmares?"

She shakes her head.

"Just dreams." Rory murmurs. "They're not even scary. They're pleasant, even. But when I wake up, his room is empty, and I'm still lonely..."

Tears burning her eyes, she's cut off by the lump in her throat. Luis frowns sympathetically as he drops a handful of bobby-pins onto the bedside table.

"I'll stay with you tonight, okay?"

Rory, exhausted, nods.

Still in their funeral clothes, the two of them lie down on her bed, her head on his chest and one of his arms wrapped around her. It's too intimate after everything but she relaxes anyway, listening to the sound of his heart and the other inner workings of his body.

He rubs her back and stares at the cobwebs on the walls.

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a/n

word count — 2338

this chapter is short but like short funerals for evil men and the next chapter was 4K words before the rewrite so I figured you'd need a bit of a break.

comments and votes are super appreciated! they let me know that you guys like my writing and they motivate me to continue! thank you