Chapter Three: Luke


What do I remember most about the accident?

What kind of question is that?

You should ask me what it is that I don't remember, 'cause there isn't a part of that day that isn't permanently burned into my memory. I thought that I'd remember the blood most, there was so much of it and it was everywhere! Sometimes I still feel it on my hands. Dried and caked, holding my skin tightly, not letting it move. Her blood soaking into my jeans, they still have the stain, I have them in the bottom of my drawer. I can't throw them out. It's part of her, a part that the world could have lost. I know; that's probably really morbid and sick. What do I care what you think?

But that's not what I think about when I let myself think about it.

The thing I remember most, everyday, every time I think about her, is the night's in the hospital. Those nights when Lorelai would begin tossing and turning in the small little hospital room they put her in. Those rooms are always so small. That's another reason I hate the damn place. But she'd start moving all around like she was trying to escape something, tossing her head, moving her arms all over the place, legs kicking the blankets off her, and I knew what was coming.

After a little while she'd sit up, fling herself away from her pillow, screaming, still not quite awake. I'd see her eyes, those beautiful brown orbs that were usually filled with laughter and joy, filled with pain and fear. Sadness, hurt; I didn't know what to do. She looked like an animal that was caught in a trap, knowing they weren't safe but not knowing how to get out of it. Like a deer caught in headlights, not sure which way will lead to the forest and which will lead to the highway.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help. All I knew was that I wanted to. I had to.