TITLE: A Mouthful of Air
AUTHOR: JD
CHAPTER SUMMARY: Luka and Abby actually have a – gasp! – conversation.
Chapter 4: Watching the Lights Go Down
The glimmering landscape faded on the sight, and all the air held a solemn stillness. The entire city was shutting down, and Abby with it.
She could recall seeing Luka standing on the platform, his mournful eyes searching hers for . . . anything, any sign of life. She didn't remember what she had said to him at the bar, right before she stormed out. She had already forgotten about stranding Susan and Chen at their table – she wasn't thinking of them. She wasn't thinking of anything right now. No thoughts at all. Only feelings consumed her, wrapping her up in their confusion and smothering her. Each fighting for prominence in her heart, but none was the victor.
Rocking herself to the rhythm of the train, Abby didn't know what she was feeling.
Fear. An insurmountable fear. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she would not let them escape. That man had stolen her confidence, her security. He was a ghost in her soul that would never be fully exorcised. She could never forget the sound of a latch breaking, of bone crunching bone, of a screeching kettle calling unheeded for help.
An acrid sensation came to the back of her throat as her ire grew – Brian was supposed to be in Idaho, for God's sake. He wasn't supposed to be in the same state, let alone the same fucking town. Bitterly, she came to the cynical conclusion that her landlord had lied to her. He had no idea where Brian moved and didn't care – he was just eager not to lose a faithful, paying tenant and had made up the whole damn thing. So here she'd been, happily ignorant of the peril lurking right under her nose, going about her merry little life.
Until tonight. Until her ignorance was shattered, split into irretrievable pieces. It was hearing his voice, not actually laying eyes upon him, that she would be carrying into her nightmares tonight. The pitch and tenor had scarred her ears, and she couldn't undo the damage. It didn't even matter that, when he had spoken tonight, it had been with a dimension of terror she'd never heard in his words before.
But it was that tinge of fear that kept intriguing her, kept pulling her thoughts away from that winter night she had hoped to bury in a remote segment of her mind. Brian had been petrified. The second she realized that Luka was the author of Brian's fright, she could almost envision Luka pummeling him. How had he done it? she wondered. Did he go to her apartment, just knocking on random doors until Brian appeared? Did he station himself outside of her building, waiting like a vengeful sentry? Or, even more perplexing, did he scour the subterranean recesses of the city, looking for a needle in a haystack? And then, once he'd found Brian, how did he mount the attack? Were any words exchanged? Did Brian even know why this stranger was thrashing him? Did he grasp Brian's shoulders and beat his head against the hard ground? It was the only way she could picture the scene, Brian's face in the place of the mugger's.
When she finally injected herself into those scenarios, remembering that her attack was the impetus for Luka's actions, she didn't know what it was she felt.
On the one hand, she was mad at Luka: this was not like their mugging. She had been attacked already, alone in her apartment. By the time Luka got to Brian, she was safe at County. And she had more than a well-placed suspicion that Brian's black-and-blue condition influenced the state's attorney's decision not to prosecute him.
On the other hand, she felt vindicated that Brian got what was coming to him. She wondered if he cried when Luka had hit him, if he begged for his life, or if – like the mugger – he wasn't able to get any words out during the attack. She tried to recall whether Luka had any marks on him in the days following her assault. The fact that she didn't remember seeing any scrapes or scratches indicated to her that Luka was unscathed. She morbidly wondered whether Brian even got off a single punch. She doubted it.
On the other hand (Jesus, I must be drunk – how many fucking hands does one person have? she thought), she felt a stitch of sadness for Luka. She remembered how awful he had felt after killing the anonymous mugger. He completely withdrew from her, furious with his own lack of control. But she convinced herself that he probably did not hate himself after beating up Brian, like he did after their first date. He had been downright peppy (A peppy Luka? Now that's a rarity, she laughed ruefully within the confines of her own head) in the days following her attack. Now that she thought about it, he had seemed rather pleased with himself in an undefined way back in those days, joking with her at work – practically flirting with her, in fact.
Abby's muted lighthearted reminiscing ebbed as it occurred to her that he'd committed such a heart-wrenching act of desperation and had kept it to himself all this time. The distance between them, despite the outward overtures he'd made to her, made her feel so alone and isolated. The fact that Luka could commit such an act of love and anger and not let anyone in on it . . . his bleak detachment made her feel as though one of them was standing on the precipice of an abyss, staring down at the other in obscured darkness. Only she wasn't sure who was looking up and who was peering down.
She pulled at her flimsy jacket, despite the warm night air and the stuffiness of the train car, because she couldn't stop shivering.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After what seemed like an eternity, the train reached her stop. In a daze, she stumbled home to her apartment, oblivious to the aggressive panhandlers and bickering couples that were scattered along her route. She didn't even notice the tall shadowy figure leaning against the car parked directly in front of her building until he stepped away from his vehicle and into her path. Startled, she looked up. She regained her composure once she realized who it was, replacing her temporary shock with her usual stony facade.
She tried to walk past him. "Luka, I don't want . . ."
"You don't have to talk," he interrupted her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from escaping. He tried to look in her tired eyes, but she avoided his stare. "Once, a long time ago, you told me you wanted me to talk to you, but I shut you out. Now I want to talk." He sighed, wondering if she would accept his request. "Abby, I just want you to listen, OK?"
She stared at his chest, which loomed in front of her eyes. She didn't want to look at his face directly, as if he were some kind of earthbound eclipse and his glare would blind her forever.
"Come on," she relented. He removed his hand and allowed her to make her way up the steps to her apartment, following at a respectable distance.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Can I get you a drink?" she asked as she tossed her keys on a small table by her door.
"Only if you're having something." He stood frozen with his back to her door, not entirely comfortable with his impetuous decision to show up unannounced at her place.
Abby went to her kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer. She extended one to Luka, and he took it gratefully. She walked around to the front of her couch and flopped down at one end.
"Have a seat," she mumbled, her hair falling down around her hanging head.
Luka settled at the other end of the couch, downing a gulp of beer. Even though Abby seemed less than receptive to his being there, he began to speak the words that had been tearing through his mind for the past half hour.
"Abby . . . When I . . . When you . . ." This was going to be harder than he thought. "Govnarija," he muttered to himself. He knew precisely what he wanted to say, but the English rendition just lacked the gravity and exactitude of his Croatian explanation.
"What?" Abby's curtness masked her concern. She'd never known Luka to be at a loss for words. Unwilling to speak, yes, but never unable.
He eventually found the starting point for his thoughts and leaped off, hoping his errant memories would make sense once they were vocalized. "Our first date, down by the water. All of a sudden I was knocked out, and when I came to, you were being attacked. At first, I was trying to protect you. But then – I don't know when it happened exactly – I was on fire with rage. My mind, it . . ." What was the word he wanted to use? " . . . swirled with images of my children, of my friends, of my family, of my . . . of Danjiela."
At that last whispered word, Abby raised her eyes to him, but he was looking off across the room, reliving that night in his head. She returned her gaze to the dusty floorboards, allowing him to continue.
"All I could think of was them. That's why I didn't even hear you yelling for me to stop. You see," he focused his eyes on her, hoping what he had to say wouldn't hurt her, "you weren't there anymore. It was just me and them and the attacker."
His mouth was parched after such an exhausting confession, so he grabbed his drink and took a swig. After replacing it on the coffee table, he went on.
"But that night, when you came into the ER . . . You were the only one there. All I could think about was you." He considered telling her how she looked to him when the paramedics brought her in, but then decided she probably didn't need to reminisce about the details, and so he simply explained: "The sight of you, it crushed my soul."
Abby stared down at the beer she now held in her hands, praying Luka couldn't see the tears clinging to her cheeks. It crushed more than my soul, she thought.
In a cursory fashion, Luka related the rest of the evening: "I told Susan I needed to go home and unpack, but I went to that bar you said he liked to go to. He was there when I got there. The whole time, all I could picture was you."
He cleared his throat, took another sip of beer. Abby was catching her breath, suppressing the remaining tears she wanted to cry.
"When I . . ." The word "murdered" came to Luka's mind, but he shoved it down. ". . . hurt that mugger, I did it for me. But when I went after Brian, I did it for you."
Abby was on the verge of saying "I never asked you to" when the coldness and finality of that phrase occurred to her. She didn't want to feel cold anymore.
Luka shrugged, having said all he needed to say. "Well, that's all I wanted to explain. Thank you for hearing me. I'll go now."
He drained his beer, wiped his palms on his pants, and tried in vain to read Abby's expression. Giving up, he stood.
"Wait," she said, finally looking at him. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?"
Luka remained motionless, perplexed. Before tonight, it had never really occurred to him to tell her what he'd done. "Why would I have told you?"
"Well," she continued haltingly, "you said you did it for me. But you didn't tell me."
Luka returned to his place on the couch, fathoming a response. "I guess I didn't want you to think that I thought you owed me something, that I expected something in return. It was just something that had to be done."
Abby mulled that over while she helped herself to her drink. "I do owe you something." She placed her beer on the coffee table next to Luka's now-empty bottle. She willed herself to look him in the eyes. "I owe you thanks."
Luka appeared stunned, his eyebrows raised. Abby could see he'd misunderstood. "No, not for Brian. For everything else after that. For letting me stay with you, for helping me move back in . . ." She smiled slightly. "For being an impromptu handyman."
Luka, taken aback by her sweetness, managed to keep himself from dropping his jaw. Instead, he turned his head to look at the cornucopia of latches and locks on her door.
"Not bad, eh?" He gave a barely perceptible wink. "Maybe I should quit this whole doctor thing and become a carpenter."
"Luka the carpenter." Abby tried to visualize that. "Hmmm. I'm not convinced. Maybe if you built me some bookshelves, or refaced my kitchen cabinets . . ."
Luka grinned broadly and wagged his finger at her. "Oh no. Nice try."
They sat quietly for a few moments, both feeling calmer and more at ease.
Abby forced herself to pierce the comfortable silence. "I'm glad you ran into us tonight." She paused, remembering why he'd been at the bar to begin with. "Oh, but I'm sorry Michelle never made it."
She truly looked sympathetic, and Luka didn't feel like telling her the whole story. "Hmmm? Oh, right." Honestly, he hadn't even thought about Michelle since the second he ran out of the bar. He'd have to take her to a nice restaurant soon to make it up to her, he decided.
"Well, I'm glad you made it out," Abby went on. She hesitated, not sure that she wanted to bring up the subject that had been present in her mind for the past week or so. "I . . . I was beginning to think . . . you were avoiding me . . . at work." Jesus, why did I say that? Abby vowed never to open her mouth again, and she couldn't look Luka in the eye.
Luka obviously thought there was merit to that statement, however, because he responded. "Well, I know you're with Car. . . with John now, and I don't want to get in the way of that."
Abby, stunned by his answer, replied, "You wouldn't be in the way. We'd just be talking – like we are now."
Luka smiled uncomfortably. "I just know that, when we were together, I was . . ." Say it, Luka, he goaded himself, "I was jealous of the amount of time you spent talking to Carter." He laughed quietly at the absurdity of his confession.
While it seemed a meaningless trifle to him, though, Abby gawked. She crossed her arms over her chest. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she said, "You never acted jealous!"
He thought back to the waning days of their relationship. "I guess I didn't want you to think I was too possessive. You should have friends you can talk to." He lowered his chin to his chest and let loose a rueful grin. "It's not like we were very good in that department, anyway."
Abby smiled despite herself. "Uh, no. Conversation was never one of our strong suits."
Luka looked at his watch. It was nearly 1:30 in the morning. He wasn't sure if Abby was on tomorrow, but his shift started at 7 that morning. "I probably should be going. Are you going to be OK?"
"I'll be OK."
"I mean, are you going to be able to get to sleep?"
Abby's expression was undecipherable, and her smile had faded.
"I'm fine, Luka."
Luka kept staring at her, uncertain. I'm fine. I'm OK. She was like a reverse hypochondriac, always trying to avoid the sympathy and attention that most people craved. Ordinarily, he would have believed her, or at least given her the benefit of the doubt. But tonight, he felt emboldened to call her bluff.
"Look, why don't I just stay here until you fall asleep? I can hang out on the couch and watch TV. Once you're asleep, I'll go home."
Abby looked at him weirdly. "Really, Luka, I appreciate the offer, but you don't have to do that. I'll be fine, really," she protested.
"I know I don't have to. And you'd never ask me to stay. Please. I would feel better, after everything that's happened tonight. I'll be fine out here, I won't disturb you at all. Give me a spare key so I can lock the deadbolt when I leave. I'll give it back to you at work next time I see you."
He wasn't leaving her much room to object. Abby hated to admit it, but she was still fairly shaken up from this evening's encounter. It still disturbed her to think that Brian had been in Chicago this whole time. Thank God it's a big city, she thought.
Abby looked from Luka to her bedroom door. Well, she thought, it wouldn't be the first time one of us has literally slept over.
"OK," she finally said in a very businesslike manner. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I can't vouch for anything's expiration date, taste, or suitability for human consumption."
Luka chuckled. "That's OK. I'll probably just grab another beer and watch TV."
Abby walked to the kitchen and took a beer out of the fridge. She then opened a kitchen drawer and fished out a spare deadbolt key. She stepped into the living room and handed both to Luka. "Sorry I don't have cable . . . or Playstation."
He grinned. "That's OK. I'm too wiped out for zombies tonight." There are enough real dangers in the world, his mind appended.
Abby seemed to be thinking the same thing, for she suddenly looked drained. "Goodnight, Luka," she said and retreated into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
"Goodnight," he called after her. He twisted the cap off his beer and settled in, hoping there'd be something remotely interesting on the TV at this late hour.
END NOTES: The chapter title comes from Bush's "Letting the Cables Sleep," which was hauntingly magnificent in "Such Sweet Sorrow" and includes the lines: "You in the dark, you in the pain, you on the run. Living a hell, living your ghost, living your end. . . . You in the sea, on a decline, breaking the waves." (more drowning metaphors with which to beat my readers over the head – yay!) First line of the chapter is a paraphrase of the poetry of Mr. Thomas Gray. "You don't have to talk" is clearly lifted from the uber-angsty, dysfunctional-relationship-commencing "Flight of Fancy." And Abby's "fines" and "OKs" are shades of Scully. Thanks to Em for the laundry list of Croatian swears, one of which is used herein [govnarija = shit]
