Hi there, I appreciate your waiting once again. Thanks where it's due. This has nothing to do with anyone anywhere ever. If you don't want to read this, I suggest leaving. And now, without further ado . . .on with the show.
Lucky Me -12-
Things don't go away just because you want them to. I don't know how long I stood there looking at myself in that bathroom mirror. Maybe hours. I don't know. Things don't go away just because you want them to. Things don't go away just because you want them to. Why wasn't I listening to myself? Things. Don't. Go away. Just. Because. You want them to. He has your laptop. He has your only way of communicating with Lance. Things don't go away just because you want them to. You've got to go get your laptop.
And I was out the door. I had to have that computer. At that point, I would have walked through fire to get it. Without it, I had no way of getting in touch with Lance. Jason had my computer, so I had to face him to get it back.
It seemed almost anti-climactic when Jason's car wasn't in his driveway. But I was relieved. I didn't have to face him after all. I would have if I'd had to, but I didn't have to. Breathing a small sigh of relief, I unlocked the door, using the key I had yet to take off my key chain, and I stepped into that house like it would explode if I made a sound.
The couch I'd fallen back on that first time he'd hit me. The corner where he'd beaten me with the baseball bat. The bloodstains I'd had to steam clean out of the carpet. The beer bottles. The endless beer bottles I'd picked up. The vomit I'd cleaned. The number of times I'd carried him to bed when he'd passed out--many times after he'd just finished hitting me. That's why I'm so strong, now. Because I carried him to bed so much. I felt like I had to. I felt like I owed it to him.
And in the bedroom. The walls I'd been thrown against. The shoes that had been thrown at me. The bloodstains I'd had to steam clean out of the carpet. The mirror above the dresser where I'd seen all the black eyes. Where I'd seen all the bruises on my torso. The mirror I'd look into and try to think of a way to explain this to my co-workers when they asked. They always did. I fell down the stairs. I walked into a door. I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it, I'm just clumsy. A man getting abused? That could never happen. They never suspected it--or they never brought it up if they did. The bed. He'd never been aggressive in bed. Not once had he forced me to do anything I didn't want to. That almost made it worse. It was in those times I convinced myself that everything was okay. It was there I convinced myself that he really did love me, and he wouldn't hurt me again. It was there I accepted his apologies.
As I stuffed clothes into the suitcase, the tears came and went. As the memories washed over me, the tears returned as well, making their hot rivers down my healed cheeks. I took the zipped case containing my laptop and shut it into my suitcase. In between the clothes, as a cushion. The tears were out of control, now. I could barely see. I had to get out of the house. There was more to get, but I had to get out. I had the laptop. I had what I came for. He could keep everything else. I had to get out of there. 'Things don't go away just because you want them to' echoed in the back of my mind, but I barked at it to shut up and started down the stairs.
I didn't even see him coming up the stairs. I ran into him, but it didn't even phase me. I was beyond surprises from this man.
"Luke, I saw your car outside. What are you doing here?"
It registered somewhere that he was sober, but I didn't care. I forced my voice from my throat. "I came to get my stuff. You threw me out, so I came to get my stuff." I pushed past him and continued down the stairs.
He followed me. "I never threw you out." Now, that made me pause. "I never threw you out," he repeated. "I told you I couldn't marry you, but I never threw you out. I couldn't marry you until you knew the truth about my cheating. I love you too much to hurt you." His voice had become very soft, and I felt his hand caressing my shoulder--that just made me even angrier.
The suitcase broke from my hand and dropped to the floor as I spun around to face him. Words I didn't even know I was capable of sprang from somewhere deep inside me, where they'd been lying in wait for a long time, now. "Jason, I asked you to marry me, granted, but that was a mistake. I was stupid enough to believe you actually loved me." He opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him. "No! Don't even think about saying it. I don't want to hear it. Do you really expect me to believe you love me?? Do you expect me to believe you love me too much to hurt me!?!" I actually laughed. "That's all you ever did, Jason!" I stared directly at him and spoke very slowly. "You. Hit. Me. I will never forgive you for that." After staring him down to make sure he understood every word, I turned on my heels, picked up the suitcase, and stormed out to my car.
He followed me. "I broke it off with the other guy I was seeing," he pleaded. "Luke, we can make this work. I'm different now; I've changed. Please, I love you. We can make this work, okay? I'm sorry."
I put the suitcase in the car, slammed the trunk, and practically growled at him. "I don't care if you're sorry. You're always sorry. It's not gonna cut it this time. You made your bed, Jason. Now, lie in it." I got in the car and drove off as fast as I could, leaving him there to deal with what he'd done.
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my hands began to hurt. I was angry. Angry that he'd done this to me, but angrier with myself for letting him. Angry with myself for staying in that house for a whole year. Angry with myself for playing the goddamn victim. "Never again," I whispered. "Not ever again."
As soon as I had the car parked in the driveway, I jumped out and started running. I was so angry with him--with myself--I just had to get it all out of my system. I ran around the subdivision five or six times before my legs gave out (it's a big subdivision). When my legs gave out, I did push-ups on the lawn. When my arms gave out, I did sit-ups. When my abs gave out, I did jumping jacks. Sweat poured from my temples and dripped from my chin. Every muscle I had was quivering, crying out for rest, but I couldn't stop. It must have been two hours before I felt normal again--normal, but completely exhausted. I grabbed my suitcase from the car and shlepped upstairs to the bedroom. The air hit my damp skin, causing a chill to run through me as I got ready for a shower. There, I washed it all away. I washed away all my anger. I washed away Jason. I washed it all away, and when I turned off the water and got out of the shower, I felt like a new person.
I threw on some sweat pants and went over to my suitcase, which lay on the bed. I didn't bother unpacking--why should I? I'd just repack it all later. Besides, unpacking would imply that this was my home, and it wasn't. This most definitely was not my home, not anymore. It used to be, but I was different now. I didn't belong here anymore. No, this wasn't my home. This was where I was living for lack of another place to stay. This house was not mine, and it never would be again.
I didn't unpack, but I did set up the computer. I put it on the desk in the corner of the room, and hooked it up to the phone line. And I couldn't help myself. I pushed the power button and eagerly awaited it to boot up. God, did it always take this long? The second the screen came up, I clicked on the internet icon and signed on. Then it was right to my e-mail account. And there it was. The only message in my mailbox.
From: jlancebass@jive.org To: lcrobertson@hotmail.com Subject: I'm going insane!
God, it's only been 12 hours since we left, and I already miss you more than anything. I don't know how I'll survive 2 and a half more months. I knew we'd have a busy schedule today, and I thought, with everything that needed to be done, I'd be too busy to be eaten up by missing you. But, all I did was think about you. I missed notes all over the place during sound checks. I messed up the dances more than usual. It was horrible. Everyone noticed. The guys told them I was just tired. Daryl, our choreographer, even took me aside and asked if I was alright. I just nodded, slapped on that patented Lance smile and told him I was just having an off day. More like an off 2 and a half months. How am I going to get through this without you here? God, I miss you.
But enough with the whining. lcrobertson, huh? Lucas C. Robertson. What does the C stand for? I've been so worried about you going over to Jason's. If you're reading this, I guess you've already gone. How did it go? Obviously you're still alive, but did he try to hurt you? I swear if he did, I'll fly right back out there and kill him. He didn't did he? I've been so worried about it ever since you told me you were going. I swear to God I'll kill him if he tried anything.
How are you? Really, how are you doing? Are you going crazy like I am? Are you sleeping, eating.....I'm worried about you.
I gave your e-mail address to the other guys, too. I knew you wouldn't mind, except for Justin maybe, but I gave it to him anyway. Are you mad at Justin? I saw that you didn't hug him goodbye. Don't be mad at him, Luke, please? I know he's our age--I'm a little older--but he's still a kid in so many ways. He's got a lot to learn about life. Don't be mad at him, okay?
I've got to get some shut-eye. We've got an early morning tomorrow. Rehearsals all day, maybe I'll be able to concentrate--probably not. The concert is the day after tomorrow and then we hit the road again. We're off to.....you know, I don't know. I'm usually so on top of these things. I blame you..:) I love you, Luke. Truly.
Love,
Lance
From: lcrobertson@hotmail.com To: jlancebass@jive.org Subject: It's so quiet
I don't think it's hit me yet that you're not here. It's been over a day since you left, but it doesn't seem real. It's so hard to convince myself that I have to start living my life again. It's like I'm in the space between worlds right now, between life with you, and life without you. That's another thing. I sat in the airport for almost half-an-hour after you left, just sort of stunned. It hit me just then that I'd spent a week and a half hanging out with *N Sync. It's so hard to fathom that I've been a fan for as long as I have, and now I actually know the five of you. It's not like anything I ever imagined. You're real people. That sounds stupid, I know, but you're not the two-dimensional characters Mr. TV would have me believe. You're real people--it's difficult to adjust to.
I do miss you. Everything's so empty, now. So quiet. It's strange to be in the car, and you're not there beside me. It seems wrong to be sitting around without you close by. I feel alone. I know that I'm not really alone. I know that you and the guys are an e-mail away if I need you, and later just a phone call. But still, you aren't here, and it's hard to get used to.
I'm sorry you can't concentrate, sweetheart. I kind of feel responsible. I mean, if I weren't so great, then you wouldn't miss me, right? Nice and modest, ain't I?
By the way, my name's not Lucas. It's Lukas. Technicality, I know, but I can't see 'Lucas' without thinking 'mucus', and that's just plain gross....:) The C stands for Charles. Lukas Charles Robertson.
Yes, I've been to Jason's, and don't worry. He didn't try to hurt me. He didn't even lay a hand on me. Actually, he was sober. I don't quite understand that. He's never sober. Maybe he's turning over a new leaf--that's kind of too much to hope for though, isn't it? When I got to his house, he wasn't even home. It was hard to be there. It upset me a little. But I got all the stuff I needed, and I ran into him on the way out. He wanted me back. He said he never wanted to hurt me. That got me angry. I sort of went off on him, and I left him there in the dust. But he deserved it. He's a bastard. Well, moving on....
I'm doing okay. I slept alright last night, and I eat occasionally, though I've never been a huge eater. I have things to keep me busy, and I think that's a good thing. I have an appointment with Ave tomorrow, and I'll find out exactly what's what. Then I'll start apartment hunting. I don't know my budget yet, but hopefully I'll be able to afford the apartments close to your house. I worked in a real-estate agent's office for over a year, so I know that those apartments aren't the least expensive in town, but they're definitely worth the money you pay for them. I'm a little worried about selling the house. Houses aren't really moving that well, right now. Especially large houses like this one. But I'll get another job, and everything will be alright. I'm sure of it.
Of course I don't mind you giving my e-mail address to the guys. I can't believe I forgot. And I'm not mad at Justin. It's just gonna take awhile. I have a big trust issue. I trust and respect someone right off the bat, and when they do something to betray that trust or respect, I give then a second chance, it just takes me awhile. I'm not mad at him; I'm just . . .dealing with it, alright?
Well, this e-mail's already a mile long, and I'm sure you've got far more important things to do than read an e-mail from . . .me. Lance, can we talk about that? What we are to each other now, I mean. I know I'm the one who said the words 'break up', but that just feels so wrong to me. I had my reasons for wanting that, but no matter what I'm scared of, I can't stand the thought of not being with you in any way I can be. What do you think about this, Lance? I don't know what to do, here. I do love you, Lance.
Love,
Luke
I smiled as I clicked 'send' and shut down the computer. The smile, though, did not linger there, but instead fell from my lips as fast as it had appeared. Silence has never seemed so loud to me as it did at that moment. A complete lack of anything but the sound of your breathing and the blood pumping through your veins--which just serves to make the silence louder. It was as if I were beneath a wet blanket that had been stapled to the floor. You push against it, but it won't give. The stifling humidity and the uncomfortably hot feeling of breathing in the air you just expelled. Your hands tear at the staples, trying to rip them from their homes in the floorboards, but they don't budge. They won't budge. What do you do now?
I panicked at first. The blood rushed louder and louder in my ears; my slow breaths turned to frantic gasps. Everything whirled around me in a nauseating vertigo, but I caught myself. I focused on the room until it stopped spinning. I willed my breathing to come slower. I concentrated until my heart slowed down. I stopped panicking and yielded to the wet blanket--the stiflingly humid, oppressively grotesque silence. It saturated me and swallowed me into insignificance.
The rest of that day is very fuzzy. I honestly don't know how I got downstairs, but the next thing I remember, I was sitting on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chest, staring into oblivion. I get that way sometimes. Sometimes, I pull so far inside myself, it feels I no longer have an active role in the world. I withdraw so far that it's like I'm just watching life go by, without me in it. And honestly, sometimes it's nicer that way. Sometimes the world is such a shitty place that I don't want to be involved in it. If I'm not careful, though, I get lost in that world. I get caught up with wandering the beautiful landscapes I create for myself, and I forget all about the actuality I ran from.
That's such a bad habit I have. I always run from things. No matter how much I know I shouldn't, it takes so much resolve to make myself live the life that's thrown at me. Often, I just don't have that resolve. Often, the world I create is a million times more inviting that it's real counterpart. Often, it's nearly impossible to dissuade myself from retreating into my haven.
I'd been able to tell myself I had to go to Jason's that morning. I'd actually been able to convince myself to get in my car and drive there, but once it got too hard, I couldn't convince myself not to leave. It was the thought of not being able to communicate with Lance that made me unquestionably decide to go. It had been the terrifying thought of not being connected with him that made me realize I didn't have a choice. It had been that very thought, in fact, that made me understand I'd made a horrible mistake when I'd told Lance we had to break up. I was so scared that when he left, he'd stop loving me--that was still scaring me--but it was that very fear, in and of itself, that made me comprehend that it was the reason I couldn't let him go--so he wouldn't have a chance to stop loving me. As long as we were connected in any way, as long as we were together in some form, I could tell myself that he loved me and everything was alright--because it takes two people to make a connection.
But I was only one person, and somewhere deep inside, I knew that until I had officially reconnected myself with him, I wouldn't be whole. That startlingly thick silence made me realize that I did, in fact, love him. And it didn't matter how long we'd know each other. And it didn't matter how long we'd been together. I loved that man--deeply. And it scared me--a lot--but I wasn't willing to let that fear hold me back. Not from Lance.
I don't think I slept that night. If I did, it was on that couch with my knees pulled to my chest. But, I think I just sat there, studying the air molecules as they traveled from high-pressured areas to low-pressured areas. Such simple structures that knew exactly how to handle themselves. And me? I was made up of billions of simple structures just like them, and I couldn't even make myself get off the couch.
I felt weak. Fighting against the wet blanket had tired me out, and it seemed as though I was contenting myself with going into a fetal position until someone decided to save me.
I stayed on the couch like that until about two o'clock the next afternoon. It was then that the logical side of my brain got enough oxygen to remind me I had to be at Ave's office for our appointment in an hour. I don't remember having a shower and getting dressed, nor do I remember actually driving over there, but I was suddenly aware that I was sitting in front of Ave's desk studying the wavy lines in his marble pen stand.
He was sitting behind the desk, a closed file folder in front of him, and I could feel him looking at me. "Luke, are you alright?"
"Yeah, fine." The deflector shield had gone up, and it was answering all the questions now. But I wasn't about to complain. I was hardly in the mood.
"Luke, what is it?" He hadn't believed me.
"Nothing," said the shield. "Nothing. I'm fine."
I heard him sigh. "You'll feel better if you tell me, ya know."
Impatience took over. "Can we just get this done, please?"
"Uhm, yeah," he whispered in quiet surprise. "Yes, of course." He straightened his tie and opened the file folder. I saw him pause and promptly snap the file shut again, springing out of his chair, over to close the door. His voice was harsher now. "No, Luke. No, we can't just get this done. I'm not blind, Luke. Any moron could see that something's wrong with you. I care about you too much to sit here and watch you hurt. We're not getting any papers signed until you tell me what's on your mind." He came to sit in the chair beside mine.
The shield shattered. Impatience retreated, and it was just me sitting in that chair, looking at his blue-suited form sitting next to me. I had been plucked from my haven, and slammed into the real world, and it hurt. The tears made it to my eyes before I could do anything about it, and they ran down my cheek without permission. Ave handed me a handkerchief, with which I wiped away the insolent tears, and the ones that followed.
"What is it, Luke?" He scooted his chair closer and put his hand on my arm. "It's alright; just tell me."
I began to calm down, but I couldn't look at him--I just stared at my knees. Even I was surprised by what I said. "My parents are dead. My love life's . . .really screwed up. I don't have any friends. I haven't got anyone anymore . . ." The words trailed off into nothing.
"I'm your friend," he said quietly.
"You're my lawyer," I corrected as I ran the handkerchief over my cheek.
"I care enough about you to make you tell me what's wrong. In my book, that's a friend. It just so happens that I'm also your lawyer."
"You said that before," I said, looking up at him. "Why do you care about me?"
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"I don't understand. Why do you care about me?"
He sat back in his chair and looked in my eyes. "You remember when I handled that case for your mother a few years ago?" I nodded. "She'd never come to the office, so I'd always have to go to the house." I nodded again, remembering. "You were there, Luke. I saw you every single time I went." He paused. "I saw how much it hurt you to live with her. Excuse me for saying so, but your mother wasn't a very loving woman."
I chuckled. "You got that right."
"It was a bad environment for you to have to grow up in. She didn't understand anything about you. And, from what I could tell, she didn't try very hard." He paused. "God, I shouldn't be talking this way about someone who just died."
"Just because she's dead, Ave, doesn't make her a good person. She wasn't a good mother, and she didn't try to be. You're completely right."
He nodded, sadly. "I just hated seeing you in so much pain. I wished there was something I could do, but what would that have been? She wasn't breaking any laws. She wasn't neglecting you, or abusing you from what I could tell, and just generally being a pain in the ass isn't a crime."
I smiled up at him. "But wouldn't it be great if it was?"
He chuckled and nodded. "I think about that a lot, Luke--a lot." He shrugged. "So, that's why I care about you."
I smiled and wiped away the last of the tears. "I don't deserve you, Ave."
"Yes you do," he said sternly, so sternly it made me look up. "That's the whole point, Luke. You do deserve friends--everyone does. What's made you think you don't deserve them just like everyone else?"
I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair. "Loaded question." I looked up at him. "A lot of things--which I'd rather not talk about." Unwelcome images flew through my mind, but I pushed them aside. "It's just that . . .on Wednesday . . .and he . . .and . . ." The words just refused to come.
"Is it about Lance?" he asked, softly.
I looked to him in surprise, and he knew he'd hit it on the head.
"Are you two . . .ya know, dating?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." I got up and started pacing. "We were, but then he left on Wednesday, and we broke up, but that just feels so wrong, and I'd do anything to take that back now, but I don't know if there's anything I can do, and I don't even know if he wants to take it back or not, and you can't tell anyone, and I don't even know which way's up anymore; I guess I just needed someone to talk to because I love him so much, and that really scares me because I've only known him a week and a half, and besides the fact that he's famous and everything, and could a relationship even work with us, and what about him traveling all the time; I think I might go insane if I had to spend all that tour time not with him, but I don't think there's anything I can do about that, and then I come back to whether or not he even wants to be together again; I mean I know he does, but I don't know if he wants a long distance relationship even though he said so once . . .and . . .and . . .I just don't know." I took a breath and sank back down in my chair.
"Wow," he blinked. "Feel better now?"
"Yes, much." And I did. Once I'd put it all out there, it wasn't just mine anymore--a little bit of it was his too. Confiding in him brought him into the situation, indirectly of course, but it was still enough to drive home the fact that I wasn't alone in this. I wasn't alone. Not only had Ave torn the wet blanket from the floorboards, but he's burned it and promised not to let it appear again. Wow, it really did feel better once you'd talked about it.
"And you don't have to worry, Luke, I'd never dream of telling anyone."
I smiled at him in honest appreciation. "Thanks. He and I haven't talked about that, really. We didn't talk at all about the future, we just lived in the moment until he had to leave." It had felt good to live from second to second like that, not having to worry about anything. But that was over, now. Now, I did have to worry about the future, and not just Lance's and mine, but mine-financially and economically, and all that fun real life stuff-which brought me back to Ave and the appointment. "Right, well," I smiled, "I believe I've got some papers and such to sign."
"That you do," he smiled as he got up and walked around to the other side of the desk, seating himself in his chair. "Now," he reopened the file, "I'm not sure how much you know about your mother's financial situation, so I'll explain. After that lawsuit I handled for your mother, she lost her job, remember?" I nodded. "I have no idea what came over her, but after that she never got health insurance of her own. The company had always provided her with that. Your father had left enough behind for her and yourself to live on for several years, so that's what she did. Before she had the heart attack, there was about $40,000 in her bank account, give or take. But, since she didn't have any health insurance, all the hospital costs came out of her account after her death, leaving only $6,000. That is part of your inheritance from her, and I'll need to you sign these." He shoved some papers across the desk, pointed to some dotted lines, and took them back once I'd labeled them with my John Hancock.
He smiled. "All that did was transfer everything in her bank account to yours. The other part of your inheritance is the house and all it's contents. I'll need you to sign these to put all of that into your name." I did some more signing. "And, really, that's it, Luke."
"My, that was far less painless than I expected." I smiled.
He closed the file and pushed it to the side. "All that will be processed today, and it will be in effect by tomorrow, yadda yadda yadda." He leaned forward a little. "Say, what are you doing this evening?"
"Absolutely nothing. Why?"
He grinned. "How'd you like to come over for dinner? You can meet Paula, she's been dying to meet you."
"Paula?"
"My fiancee."
I blinked-that surprised me for some reason. "Oh, I had no idea."
He nodded. "Thought I was gay, huh?"
I shook my head. "No, no . . .well, yes, actually, I did. I don't mean anything by it . . .it's just that I assumed for some reason."
"Don't worry about it. It's happened my whole life. I guess I emit false gaydar waves or something, but one thing's for sure: I like women. Can't get enough of them."
I chuckled. "Well, whatever floats your boat."
"You still got that card I gave you?" I nodded, getting out my wallet and handing it to him. He scrawled his address on the back. "Do you know where that is?"
I thought for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah, only about fifteen minutes away from the house."
"Oh yeah? Where do you live, now?"
"The house," I repeated. "Her house."
"Oh. I just thought you'd have moved out by now."
I struggled to think how to get out of this conversation. "Well, I did. I was living somewhere else for awhile, but that kind of . . .fell through, so now I'm back at the house." I didn't feel the need to give him the full detailed version of the why's and when's. I knew I could, it's not that I felt uncomfortable talking about it with him, it's just that I didn't want to talk about it at all. "I'll be moving out and getting an apartment as soon as I can, though."
I could see that he knew there was something I wasn't telling him, but he didn't push. "Well, I'll see you at around . . .say, sevenish?"
"Sure thing, Ave. See ya then." I smiled at him and walked out of the office.
At exactly seven o'clock--I am always punctual--I rolled into Ave's driveway. I shut the car door behind me, making sure it was locked, and I ascended the steps of the medium-sized, white house.
Milliseconds after I'd knocked on the door, it was flung open, and standing there I saw a shortish, brunette woman practically bursting with energy. "Luke?" she chirped.
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "Paula?" I grinned.
She squealed with joy and threw her arms around my neck. Chuckling, I returned the hug. "I feel like I've known you for years with how much Ave talks about you," she said as she pulled me into the house.
My eyes raised to Ave who was standing in the doorway of what seemed to be the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon. "You talk about me?" I questioned him.
He smiled. "I told ya I thought about it a lot, Luke. Oh, by the way . . .you're not a vegetarian, are you?" I shook my head. "Good," he grinned and retreated back into the kitchen.
I smiled after him. "You should feel lucky," I said, looking at Paula. "He's gonna make a great housewife."
Her laughter was honest, loud, and melodious. "He insisted on cooking." She shrugged. "But I'm not complaining. Can I get you something to drink?"
"A soda would be great," I smiled. She exited towards the kitchen, and I took the opportunity to absorb my surroundings. It was cozy-very homey. It was the kind of room I could picture myself dozing off in, in a recliner, with a good book still open on my lap. I smiled at my little daydream, and Ave and Paula came back into the living room.
She handed me the soda, and we all sat down. "So, Paula," I started, "what do you do for a living?"
She smiled. I couldn't get over how happy this girl was; it was impossible to frown around her. "I'm a teacher at the elementary school down the street."
Suddenly, I got a flash of Paula as a mother. She'd be a good mother. Happy, but not too annoying. Grounded, but still with a sense of imagination. "Do you like it there?"
She scooted a little closer to Ave on the couch, and he put his arm around her. "Yeah, I do. I love kids. Sure, they can get a little trying at times, but it's so wonderful to be able to have a little part in their lives at that age. Do you think you'll ever have children, Luke?"
I tensed.
Ave noticed my discomfort. "Paula . . ." he warned.
"No," I said, quietly, "it's alright, Ave." I looked into Paula's eyes. "I . . .uh, I didn't really have a good experience when I lived with my mother. I've actually thought about this a lot-I just don't think I'd be a good father. I'm just so terrified that I'd end up being the same kind of parent my mother was."
Paula took a sip of her drink. "But you could consciously try to be better than she was, Luke."
I nodded. "Yes, I could, but I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good." I paused. "Honestly, I'm just too scared. But it isn't really a factor right now, anyway. I'm not in a position to think about children. My boyfriend . . ." I cringed at the word, as I didn't really know that's what he was; I almost felt like I was lying, and I didn't believe in lying. "My boyfriend is about three thousand miles away, right now, and gay couples can't adopt in Florida anyway." I shrugged. "Right now, I'm not ready to be a father, but I guess that's alright because I'm not." I smiled at her.
She furrowed her eyebrows. "I didn't know gay couples couldn't adopt in this state."
Ave nodded. "It's in the law books. I've seen it with my own eyes."
Silence fell on the room for a moment.
Paula spoke up again. "I hate to state the obvious," she said, "but that really sucks."
We all nodded. The timer sounded from the kitchen-saved by the bell. Ave leapt out of his seat. "Oh boy, dinner's on!" He clapped his hands as he pranced into the kitchen.
"He's so strange, sometimes," Paula mumbled as she followed him.
I thought I'd offer to help with anything, so I stepped inside the kitchen as well. But before I'd gotten both feet in the door, Paula turned on me. "What are you doing in here?" She promptly came over and turned me around. "Get out of here. Go. Go. Go. Shoo. Shoo. Shoo." I chuckled as she propelled me out the door into the living room again.
A few minutes later, Ave and Paula emerged from the kitchen holding various plates and bowls and such. "Follow us," Paula smiled. They led me into the dining room adjoining the living room, and we all sat. Ave dished out the food, which looked divine--it was only then I realized I hadn't eaten in about two days. Just as we'd started into the meal, Paula laid her napkin on the table and scooted her chair out. "Forgot the rolls," she answered to our silent inquiry. "Be right back."
"I'll go," Ave offered as he began to stand up, but she pushed him back down.
"Sit. Eat. I'll be right back." She smiled and left for the kitchen.
"So," Ave grinned at me, "what do you think?"
"She's great, Ave," I smiled. "I mean, she's fantastic. If I were straight--"
"Just stop right there." He mock-threatened me with his fork. "Let's just be glad you're not straight, shall we?"
"Do I feel my ears burning?" Paula grinned as she came back into the dining room.
"Yeah, you do," Ave smiled from his seat. "We were just talking about how wonderful you are."
"Aww, how sweet." Paula leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. "Well, who am I to argue?" She got herself situated again and turned to me. " So Luke, Ave tells me your moving soon?"
I looked at Ave and grinned. "Why don't you just tell her everything about me."
He looked back at me, lightheartedly, but there was a thread of seriousness I picked up on. "I didn't tell her everything."
I smiled at him and sent him a mental thanks that I hope he picked up on. Turning back to Paula, I smiled. "Yes, I hope to be. I'm going to look around this weekend, and hopefully I'll have the down-payment in and I'll be able to start moving Monday." I took a sip of my soda. They'd offered me wine, but I'd politely refused.
She blinked. "Monday . . .wow. You act like you're not going to shop around."
"Oh, well I'm probably not. I worked in a real-estate agent's office for over a year. I know what's worth it, and what's not. I also know what I can afford and what I can't, since Ave and I had that meeting this morning. Just thinking about it now . . ." I turned the numbers over in my head, "there are four or five apartment houses in Orlando I can afford-only two of which are actually worth the money you pay for them. One's on Elm, and the other's way across town. If I had my choice, I'd pick the one on Elm." It was closest to Lance by a long shot. "Last time I checked they had a couple of availabilities, but that was a few weeks ago. I'll check on it tomorrow, though."
"You obviously know more about this than we do," Ave smiled. "We'll be happy to help you move if you'd like." Paula nodded her agreement.
That was nice of them. I would need some help. "On Monday? Don't you two have to work?"
Paula shook her head. "We got out for Christmas holidays today, and Ave's taking two week off."
Oh god, Christmas. I'd forgotten all about Christmas. It was in eight days--I wasn't especially looking forward to it. Christmas by myself, wasn't a very cheery thought. I managed to drag myself back from the mental plane to which I'd gone. "That sounds great, guys, if you're sure you don't mind."
"Would we have offered if we minded?"
I smiled and went back to the chicken.
Dinner was wonderful. The company was even better. After dinner, we made ourselves cosy on the couch and Ave popped in The Matrix. Great movie--I'd seen it about three times before, but this time it was a little different. After that fabulous birthing scene, we were watching Neo having his "eyes opened", and we saw how hard it was for him to adjust to the new world he was experiencing. I connected with him. I didn't know how to handle my life now that Lance was in it. Had I never met Lance, and I'd had to find another place to live, I'm sure I would have been able to do it. I'd have gone to my old job and tried to get a connection--something, I would have managed. But Lance . . .he just threw a wrench in my gears.
Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't take back meeting Lance for anything in the world, but it was definitely hard to adjust to. As I watched the movie, I found myself more and more consumed with missing him. But, I wasn't sad. I found that, instead of the emptiness as I'd expected, I felt fulfilled. Even though things with Lance were a little up in the air, it definitely felt good to love him.
And though I did feel happy at the thought of loving him, that scared me more than anything. Physically, there was no evidence that I'd ever even know Jason. But mentally--mentally was a different story. I'd loved Jason. I had. There was no denying it. When my mother had kicked me out, I'd gone to his house without even thinking about it. I'd felt liked I belonged with him. And he'd loved me. I knew that. He lost control sometimes--okay, so he lost control a lot, but I knew he'd loved me. When he began hitting me, I'd been ready to leave him. After the third time, I'd actually packed. But he begged me to stay--he'd actually gotten on his knees, professing his love, apologizing until his lips turned blue. And I'd stayed. I never packed my things after that. I thought about leaving, but never actually did anything about it. Eventually, I stopped considering it all together. He'd made me believed I deserved what I was getting. But I'd loved him. And when I'd gone to get my stuff, and I ended up yelling at him, I couldn't help feeling a twinge deep inside me that told me I shouldn't be yelling at someone I used to love.
Used to. There's the key. I didn't love him anymore. I didn't. He hit me, and I'd finally re-realized what a horrible thing that was. I loved Lance. With all my heart, I loved Lance. But that really scared me. Not only because I'd only known him for a week and a half, but because . . .at one time I'd loved Jason, too. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think Lance would ever hit me, or hurt me like Jason had. But, it'd happened before, and I couldn't help but be scared that it might happen again--that the love I so believed in would crumble all over again.
That was why I'd said Lance and I had to break up. Because if we weren't together, he couldn't hurt me as much as if we were. But that turned out to be a crock of shit. It hurt more to be without him, honestly not with him, that anything I'd ever experienced before. And it had only been a day--maybe less. That day that I had been without Lance in every way there was--it hurt more than anything: more than when Jason hit me; more than when Jason's and my love crumbled; more than anything. I was willing to go through anything to be with him, and if that meant taking the risk that I might be hurt again, then that's a risk I was going to have to take.
To Be Continued . . .
***Well, there ya are. Okay, I made such a plea before, but I need to make it again. I am not at all confident that anyone's reading this anymore. And I know I take a long time . . .but hell, I'm only human. I have a life, but I fit this in where I can. I am going to keep writing this until the story's over, which isn't gonna be for awhile now, and I'll keep posting it. I love writing, and regardless if you're reading it or not I'll keep writing AND posting. However, it would make me feel so much better if you'd just drop me a line. So, I'm asking, if you're reading this right now, e-mail me at Lauren2993@aol.com and just say, "I still read." I may not write you back, but I will appreciate it SO much if you'll do this for me. I love you guys, -Lauren