I have always had a way with words. They have always been my weapons of choice. Sometimes they serve to mask the gnawing feeling in my stomach I get in times of uncertainty, guilt, shame, and just about any other state of mind my mother, Saint Emily Gilmore, would not approve of. Sometimes, I use words to express the general chaos in my head. Seriously, it's crowded up there. Too many thoughts, ideas, worries, assorted dirtiness, and emotions. All milling about, having a party. So, it is rare, - we're talking Heart of the Ocean diamond rare -, that I am at a loss for words.
But when it comes to Luke... especially now, after what has happened... I can't seem to find the words.
Suuuuure. We've had this ranting, flirting, nauseatingly co-dependent relationship for years. But, in 10 glorious seconds, everything has changed. Shifted. Transformed.
He kissed me. I kissed him. We almost kissed each other. Damn that Kirk.
But, of course, nothing good ever lasts forever. I mean, a box of malomars hardly ever makes it through the day. Coffee? Downed in 30 seconds flat. And, that amazing buzz of warmth and sexuality and desire that overtook me after those 10 glorious seconds? It lasted about a half hour. Before my world came crashing on my head, with the weight of a giant elephant with a 400 pound man sitting on top of it.
Rory... my baby, my angel, my hope, my salvation... slept with Dean. Not just Dean, but married Dean, Lindsey's Dean. And, my angel lost her wings and became human. I suppose it was wrong of me to assume that she would be perfect forever. But, I could dream right? I could secretly wish that she would never make mistakes in the same realm as the mistakes I made growing up, right? I could pray that she would have a more rational take on life than me, ... and of course the ability to keep her knees shut when she should (ie: when being wooed by a married ex-boyfriend). But, hey, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree right? In a way, I feel like I've failed. Rory slept with married Dean. But, I feel like the one who has failed. Weird, isn't it? How motherhood works. For the first time ever, I feel like I may understand what my own mother went through 19 years ago. The feeling of failure in the face of her daughter's mistake.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
So, Luke and I have kissed. And, not just kissed as you would kiss your grandmother. Or your dog. But, KISSED... with the force of passion and all the elements of the universe coming together, juxtaposing our bodies into a perfect fit, rendering our minds senseless.
It felt so right.
And, now... I can't even really dwell on it. I have to concentrate on my daughter. On my child... who isn't a child anymore. I have to make this... this craziness... better for her. That is my priority.
Luke ... oh wow Luke... will have to wait.
Rory slept with me on my bed last night. She couldn't even venture into her room. It was just this blatant reminder of her indiscretion, her mistake, ... her colossal debacle. She knows she screwed up. Big time. And, so I went in there for her. Changed the bedsheets. Grabbed her snoopy pyjamas... a reminder of undoubtedly more innocent times... and brought them up to her. That night, she lay on my bed for hours, silently weeping into her pillow... hoping that I wouldn't hear her. But, I did of course. Because I was wide awake the whole night. I mean, how could I sleep? After all that happened? With her, with Luke ...
My God, Luke.
I have re-enacted those 10 seconds of bliss in my head over and over and over. And, then when that wasn't enough, I tried to imagine how the third kiss would have gone. My hands entwined in his hair. His strong hands holding my lower back, pressing me into his body with all the force he could exert. Our mouths relentlessly searching for all the answers we had stored away for the past million years.
Had we really been so stupid all those years? What had kept us apart? I tried to make a mental list of all the roadblocks we had encountered. Max. Christopher. Rachael. Blindness. Christopher again. Jess and Rory being together. Alex. Nicole. Jason. Stupidity. Stupidity. Stupidity. Pride. Fear. I wondered what had changed in him. Because, there was no mistaking that the Luke who had pulled me in for that warm embrace was not the same Luke who had shied away on so many earlier occasions from ever really letting me know how he truly felt. I recalled that one night eons ago, when Sookie and Jackson had their first date. He almost asked me out. And, I remember my heart stopping for that one moment when I thought he would.
And, of course... I mean, of course, he wasn't the only one who shied away. I secretly loved the way he looked at me with those intense eyes. Sure, I needed him to stay alive. He was after all my drug dealer of choice. But, I need him for so much more too. I'm not sure when that all started. My dependence on him. At first, he was just Luke, or rather Duke, the diner guy who also happened to be handy. I hired him the first year that we moved into our house to fix the roof shingles. I later found out he was great at cleaning out rain gutters. And, so it went. But, obviously, the man is good at fixing more than roof shingles, rain gutters, or broken porch rails and windows. He was always there to fix ME. To bring me down to earth when no one else could, or would. To listen to my insane ramblings and confusing diatribes. To lend a hand or to lend $30,000. He did it all. And, without any strings or any expectations. I was so hurt when he told me he had moved to Litchfield with Nicole. Not only because he had moved, but it was with her... another woman. And, although, I had no right over him... he was mine. He has always been mine.
Rory eventually fell asleep. And, I couldn't wait any longer. I know... I'm a terrible mother. But, I needed to see him. So, I gave her a kiss on the cheek, left her a note explaining that I needed to get back to the inn, and got ready to leave. I needed to face him. To tell him all the things I knew and understood. And, I prayed that the words would come. I just had to go.
I had waited too long as it was.