Title: Picture Perfect
Author:Sabrinasmom3
Rating:PG
Disclaimer:I don't own Joan of Arcadia or the actors, blah, blah blah.
Summary:Luke and Grace do normal, everyday things together that end up meaning much more and that someone else sees as picture perfect.
Note:I wasn't going to post again so soon, but Anti-Like-Grace begged, so this is for you ALG.
Chapter 6
Grace wasn't so much upset that her mom was drunk or that they had had an argument, but she was devastated that her painting had been damaged. This was the one thing in all the world that belonged to her alone. Not so much the painting itself, but what it represented: her soul, not her tortured soul, that everyone saw, but her true, deep, inner soul. The one that she kept locked safe away so it couldn't get hurt. The one that had come out briefly during the only time she was vulnerable. Grace knew she never slept like that at home. At home she was always in ready mode. Ready to jump up and run if it became necessary. This painting represented what Grace wanted to be able to be, someday perhaps, even while awake.
Grace wasn't sure where she was going or what she was doing, she just zoned her mind out and let her feet take over. She almost forgot that she was walking. She felt like she was floating around aimlessly and weightlessly, drifting from place to place, but never getting anywhere. Lucky for her, her feet were creatures of habit and, following Grace's most frequented path, led her directly to the only place she could get help.
Grace looked up, startled to see that she was standing at the Girardi's front door. She didn't remember the walk here, just a fuzzy, sleepy feeling, like being under hypnosis. "Of course", Grace thought, "who better to fix the painting than the artist." If anyone could fix it, Mrs. Girardi could.
Grace knocked on the door and waited. Mrs. Girardi gasped when she saw Grace standing there, but Grace didn't seem to notice. She rushed through the door and held out the painting. "Can you fix it?" But she wasn't looking at the painting, she was looking at Grace's eyes. They were sad and pleading, like a child's. "Please, Mrs. G, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, is there anything you can do?" Grace pleaded. Mrs. Girardi finally looked down at the painting and fingered the rip carefully. "Grace, I can fix the painting, that's not a problem, but we need to fix you first." Then she turned and yelled up the stairs for Luke.
Grace was puzzled. "I don't understand what you're talking about." Mrs. Girardi took Grace by the shoulders and turned her around to face the mirror on the wall. Grace just stared at herself. She had no idea that was how she looked. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her nose was red. Her hair was messy and wild. There was a dried trickle of blood running down her chin and her lip was purple and swollen where she'd been hit with the painting. No wonder Mrs. Girardi had looked so worried.
When it finally dawned on her what she really looked like, she was stunned. Just then she heard Luke start down the stairs. Before he could see her, she attempted to escape through the front door, but his legs were longer than hers and he caught up to her as she opened the door.
"Hey, Grace. Where you go…ing." The sight of his Grace's beautiful face swollen and discolored broke his heart. He nearly burst into tears on the spot, but almost immediately his feelings turned to complete anger. "Grace, what did she do to you?" he cried as he cupped her face in his hands.
Grace's terrified eyes went from him to his mother and back to him. "It was an accident," she whispered. "No Grace, I'm not letting you hide it. She's gone too far this time. You either tell us what happened, or I'm calling the police and you can tell them."
Grace let Luke lead her into the kitchen. She sat down at the table while his mother fixed her a cup of coffee and Luke got her a damp cloth to wash her face. He knelt on the floor next to her chair and examined her cut. At least it didn't need stitches. He got up and got her an ice pack, all the while, seething inside. He imagined several possible scenarios, but he couldn't make any of them look remotely like an accident, no matter how hard he tried.
They all sat down and Grace recounted everything that happened. Once she was finished, she sighed and said, "See, so it really was just an accident." Luke shook his head. "You getting hurt might have been an accident, but her getting drunk wasn't. And ultimately, that makes her responsible." Grace turned to look at his mom. She nodded in agreement. She was looking at Grace all simpy like Luke did when he first found out. Grace couldn't take that. She leaped up and started pacing. "Well what the hell do you want from me! There's nothing I can do. I can only control me and my actions, right!"
Luke responded with his own rant. "You're right Grace, you can't control her and you can't feel responsible for her, but by doing nothing you are letting HER control YOU. I worry about what might happen next. Maybe its irrational and maybe its selfish and maybe you'll pummel me for it, but I feel like its by job to protect you and take care of you. I can't stand seeing you hurt emotionally and seeing you hurt physically has really taken me over the edge. If it were up to me, I'd lock you in my room and never let you go back there. I want to make it all better, but I know I can't. All I can do is be here for you."
Luke finally took a breath. He got up, walked over to Grace and pulled her into a hug. He was so upset that he was shaking. As they stood there, Luke tilted his face toward her and very quietly whispered in her ear. "I know you're not ready to hear me say how I feel, but I hope you're able to see it." With that he pressed the side of his face to her cheek, brushed his lips across hers and strode quickly out of the room. Grace reached up to dry her cheek, but the tears left there were not hers.
For the first time, Grace realized that nothing was about just her anymore and it never would be again. There was someone in this world who cared about her so much, that her every thought and action effected him too. Her mother could step on her feelings, tear out pieces of her heart and even leave her physically bruised, but she would not, could not tolerate her mother hurting Luke through her. Her mind was made up. She turned to Luke's mom. "I think I have a plan. I'll need your help."
