I DO NOT OWN THE BREAKFAST CLUB. SHOUTOUT TO POPPY471.
Allison and Luke's Apartment. Later that evening.
(Allison)
I shut the door to my bedroom a little harder than I meant to. I hadn't actually run away from Luke, but I was too overwhelmed to cope with all of this. A date, a guy who didn't want me for housekeeping or sex. I had almost kissed him. You know, really kissed him. But at the last second I kissed his cheek instead. It was all so weird. I'd never had someone to talk about art with. Luke was easy to talk to. I wasn't tongue-tied with him. Well, at least not the whole time.
I started undressing.
He and I had both been through tumultuous break ups, and helped each other out. When I wasn't breaking down in uncontrollable tears or raging about Bender's behavior, I felt shy. Doubly so as my tears and rage were pretty embarrassing on their own. Having Luke around all the time, living in my apartment, I slipped into quiet acceptance and comfort. But then, wow, a date? Who would want to date me anyway? Well, Luke obviously, or he wouldn't have asked me out. But why?
These thoughts were rolling through my mind as I shucked my skirt and blouse.
That offer of sex... I think I would have liked it, sleeping with Luke. But I really couldn't think what else he'd want me for. Being turned down usually hurts, doesn't it? But having this offer turned down was actually… nice. I was glad he'd said no.
I tossed my clothes in the hamper (something Bender never learned how to do), and my thoughts continued.
Luke was so different from Bender. He was helpful, gentle, and subtle. Look at all the housework he'd already done. More in two days than Bender had done in a month. Bender was pretty insistent about pushing me to go further, when we were still in high school. Being wooed so earnestly had been flattering, but really, he just wanted to get in my pants. He didn't really care if I'd had any fun, he'd shown that when we moved in together.
And here was Luke, turning down a blatant offer of sex. He seemed to want me for something other than sex.
Pulling on my pajamas, I remembered how I'd felt so worthless before the breakfast club detention. Having friends and a boyfriend had made me think, maybe, just maybe, I was worth something to someone; maybe. But then the whole Bender thing happened. Being his maid and piece of ass made me feel I only had two things that made me worthy of any kind of care. And even those two things, I felt I'd been doing them all wrong, the way Bender always bitched and moaned and found fault.
But dammit, that was over and I would put it behind me. What things made me worthy of existence? My grades at art school were really good, so I must have some kind of talent. Even getting into the Institute in the first place already showed I had a bit of talent. So that was real, it was objective. When evaluating my work, professors graded me high.
What else made me worthy? Well, I'd treated Luke's wounds. I helped him out by posing. I listened to his problems with Claire. I'd done several things, and he must have liked it, or he wouldn't have asked me out on a date.
I shook my head. I couldn't read Luke's mind. If he wanted to tell me why he wanted to go out on a date with me, he'd tell me. Time to brush my teeth.
Allison and Luke's apartment. Saturday, September 1, 1984.
Luke was tousle headed when he came in from the living room the next morning. He still looked awful, battered and bruised. I'd tried to be quiet as I went about, making an omelet and frying bacon.
"There's coffee," I said softly. Some people didn't like to talk in the morning.
He mumbled thanks and poured himself a cup. I set a glass of orange juice in front of him, and he thanked me again. It was such a small thing, but being thanked felt great. And it really was a small thing, easy to do, no real effort, yet Bender never thanked me.
Luke was gently rubbing his side, where that awful bruise was.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Not so bad." He seemed to think for a while, thoughts slowed down by morning sleepiness. "It looks worse than it feels."
I served him the omelet with bacon on the side, put two pieces of bread in the toaster and began my own omelet. By the time I'd buttered the toast and put it on the table, my omelet was ready and I sat to join Luke.
"I had a good time last night." This popped out of me, and I put my head down to avoid meeting his eye. What if he hadn't had a good time? I sneaked a look.
He was smiling. But not a mean smile. Smiles aren't always nice. This one was, though. I ducked my head back down quickly, before we could make eye contact.
"I did, too, Allison." He sounded like he meant it. I wanted to know if he really meant it, so I risked another peek. His face was soft with sleep, but maybe that was affection shining through, too.
"This is a regal breakfast. I haven't eaten this well in a long time. How do you make your omelets so tender?"
"I don't know," I said. This was a lie. I knew that over-beating the eggs made them tough and rubbery. I had read this in The Joy of Cooking. When we were in detention, I'd said "I can make spaghetti," but I could make far more than that, now. All those hours alone in my parents' house, being ignored, I'd flipped through The Joy of Cooking, idly at first, then with more interest. I stole it on my way out, and tried things out on Bender. He was my first audience. A very ungrateful, uncommunicative audience, but I could tell when something was good because he would demand more.
"Well, whatever you do, this is good."
"Thank you." I barely squeaked this out. Being paid attention to was novel, and a bit alarming. I focused on my bacon to avoid looking at Luke. When I surreptitiously scanned the table, I saw Luke had finished his breakfast. Yet he sat on, as if he were keeping me company. As if he enjoyed being with me.
I made a huge effort. Before our date I could look at Luke, and I could look at him now. People normally look at each other, and looking wouldn't jinx me. I hoped.
So I looked up and found him looking at me. It was very hard, but I managed to continue looking and gave him a small smile.
As if that was what he had been waiting for, he got up and began clearing our empty plates and glasses.
"I need to get to work by 10. Is it ok if I hop in the shower, after these dishes?"
"You don't need to do that. I can do the dishes."
"It's only fair," Luke insisted. He brandished a spoon at me and said, "This is an equal opportunity kitchen. You cooked, so I clean."
I couldn't just watch him do dishes and loll about as if I were a lazy lout. I began wiping down the table, then the counters and finally the stove top.
Relishing the quiet so rare in this apartment, without Bender blaring the TV or radio, I got out my art history textbook again. We had moved on to the Renaissance at last. The debate about dates and eras was a bit boring, but the illustrations were fascinating.
Luke was in a hurry to get to work after his shower, and only gave me a quick goodbye. I returned to my textbook, happier than I had been in a long time.
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