Title: All That Is Left
Notes: Thanks for the reviews, the suggestions and the corrections.
Chapter 3
Four years ago...
"I don't understand, Grace!"
They are on the doorstep of the Polonski home. Grace has just told him that she doesn't want to see him anymore. That it's over. It's not going how she planned it in her head. She had wanted to do it quickly, cleanly, but he keeps trying to argue it with her, convince her to reconsider.
"This is what's best for both us," she says, "Neither one of us needs to be tied down when we're so young!"
"But..."Luke is trying to form words, only his mind can't seem to function. It's all falling apart and he can't understand why.
"It'll be fine." she assures him, although she is also trying to reassure herself. The look of pain on his face is too much for her and she just wants this night to end. Why can't he just accept it? "We aren't meant to be. You'll find someone else..."
Luke grips her shoulder, making sure she is looking straight into his eyes, "I don't want anyone else! I love you Grace! Do you hear me? I love you!"
"Stop saying that!" She pulls away from him. She hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Listening to his words, it feels like her insides are being torn out. She shouldn't allow herself to be so effected by him, allow his emotions to hold so much sway in her life. Upset and confused, she falls back on old habits and feels the familiar defensive rage boil up inside her.
"Get it through your head Girardi, it's over!" Grace knows she shouldn't be saying these things, but it seems so much easier to just be angry at him. "There is too much that I want to do, too many plans that I have for my life for me to give them up because of some guy!"
Luke bows his head under her barrage, unable to meet her eyes. Grace finds it easier now that he isn't looking at her. She continues her rant, needing to finish the job.
"We had some good times, but there are more important things." She can't believe what she hears herself saying, but the rage has her, shielding her, and she lets it flow. "I can't let myself be held back by you, or this thing we have...had. It's over. Move on." Opening the front door, she turns to leave before her anger can desert her.
"I thought you loved me." he says quietly.
"Maybe I did," she responds, unable to look at him, "but it isn't enough." Almost choking on her last words, Grace moves inside the house and shuts the door.
"Hello Grace"
Pushing the memory of that night aside, Grace focussed on the here-and-now, on Luke standing before her. She noted that there have been some slight changes to his appearance, more muscle, no glasses, yet he still looked like the Luke she knew. However, there seemed to be something different about him, something unsettling about his presence that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Realizing that she still had not responded to his greeting, Grace turned her thoughts to navigating what she expected would be a difficult conversation.
"Luke," she said, striving for a normal tone," You're home for the wedding." Grace cursed silently at her inane comment. "Way to state the obvious Grace." she thought to herself.
"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." Luke replied evenly. "So how have you been?"
"Fine. Fine. Keeping busy." As Grace struggled to come up with more to say, something struck her about his posture. He wasn't tense. She was a bundles of nerves, but from the way he casually stood there, hands in his pockets, you would think that he didn't have a care in the world. "Just got back from a few months of work with an NGO in Cambodia."
"Good for you." Luke commented, sounding like he meant it, "By the way, it might be a little late, but congratulations on graduating."
"Thanks." said Grace weakly. Hoping that Joan might interject, Grace realized that her friend had taken the opportunity to slip back into the house. She was on her own. "So...how are things at MIT?"
As Luke gave her a brief rundown of the things he was working on, Grace tried get a grip on what she was feeling. She was definitely confused. Something wasn't right about this conversation. He was so calm, so...normal. Over the years, Grace had run numerous scenarios through her head of how it would be to face Luke again and this didn't match up with any of them. When she'd imagined it, she had always expected there to be turmoil. He would yell or cry, call her names or demand an apology. Now, when she actually met him after all this time...he makes banal small talk. She kept waiting for him to turn the conversation to more personal matters, but it never happened.
"Will your dad be coming to the wedding?" Luke asked.
"Sure." she replied.
Grace was feeling off-balance. She should be happy that the conversation was going so pleasantly, that there hadn't been a hint of drama, yet she found it more unsettling then anything else. Luke was talking to her like he'd met her at a bus stop, like she was one of the distant relative inside the house, as if they had no past together, like...
As the realization hit, it felt as if ice water had seeped into her veins.
Luke was treating her like he would anyone else. Grace's breath caught in her throat as she processed this fact. He'd moved on. That was why he was so calm, so collected. She understood now. There would be no yelling from Luke, no questions or recriminations, no demands for an explanation or attempts at reconciliation. They would have a quiet, meaningless chat because he didn't care to have anything more. He didn't care about her anymore.
Suddenly feeling the need to flee, Grace started to move towards the kitchen door. "I have to get home." she told Luke quickly, "Check on my dad."
"Sure thing," he said, in that same casual tone, "See you at the wedding."
Grace pulled open the door and rushed inside. Moving quickly through the crowd she made her way to the front door and out onto the porch. Getting into her car, Grace paused as she put the keys in the ignition. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she thought back to what had just happened. She'd had been prepared for every argument he might have made, every insult he might have thrown. A thousand possible scenarios had been thought out and dealt with, but in the last four years she had never considered this one. She had never considered that Luke Girardi might no longer love her. With the realization of what she had lost, Grace Polk put her head down on the steering wheel and cried.
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Luke stayed out in backyard after she had left. Standing under the stars, he thought about his life over last four years, his life without Grace.
One week after the break-up...
Luke hangs up the telephone and sits on his bed. She won't even talk to him. Grace refuses to take his calls. She says they have nothing to talk about. Rabbi Polonski had been apologetic as he told Luke that he shouldn't phone the house anymore.
Sitting there in his room, Luke tries to figure out what went wrong. How could something so wonderful end so suddenly? Taking her framed picture off his desk, he stares at it, remembering the day it was taken, how happy she'd seemed. Curling up on his bed, he holds the picture to his chest and let the tears silently fall.
One month after...
It's Luke's first day at MIT. He should be excited and happy, the moment he dreamed of for years is finally here. He feels empty. All he can think of is how useless this all seems without Grace to share it with.
His father gives him a rough hug goodbye and tells him to, "Make me proud". Giving him a kiss on the cheek, his mother tells him she loves him. "It will pass." she whispers in his ear. "Time heals, you'll see." He smiles for her, but inside he knows that he will never truly be whole again.
Three months...
His eyes are fixed on the bundle of letters that came today. All his. All addressed to Grace. All returned unopened. He hadn't heard a word from her since she broke it off. These letters had been a last ditch attempt to reach her. He stares at the words "RETURN TO SENDER" scrawled across each envelope in Grace's handwriting. Placing them in a drawer, he pulls out his textbooks and begins reading, forcing himself to think of nothing but his schoolwork. He almost failed his last test because he'd been so distracted. That wasn't going to happen gain.
Five months...
The bright orange flames are reflected in his blue eyes. The fire in the trash bin burns bright, fuelled by numerous letters, notes and photos. Drunkenly, he spits a mouthful of vodka into the flames, watching as they flare up. On the phone, Joan had let slip that Grace was seeing some new guy. Luke had told his sister that he didn't care, then he'd gone out and bought himself a bottle of Stoli. Tossing the last handful into the bin, he smiles grimly as it is engulfed by the rapacious flames. He hopes that ridding himself of all these reminders will help him to put her out of his thoughts. Even as the last photo curls and blackens, Luke knows it's futile. His dreams will always be of Grace.
Seven months...
The lab is deserted except for him. Everyone else left hours ago. Luke continues his work, focussing all his attention and energy on the experiment in front of him. He's at the top of his class and he should be. There is no one who puts in more hours studying or spends more time in the lab then he does. Even his professors have told him to ease off, spend some time relaxing, going out with friends. He doesn't listen. Luke pours himself into his studies, pushing all else aside. The more work he does, the less time he has to think about her.
A year...
Luke knows that it's almost a year to the day that she left him, but he gives no outward sign. He's become good at that, cloaking his feelings, burying them. He stayed in Cambridge over the summer, doing an extra course, he didn't want to have to go back to Arcadia. The girls down the hall invite him to a party. The cute brunette is rather insistent that Luke come. He begs off, saying he has work. He won't fall into the trap of getting involved again. Besides, none of them ever seem to even begin to compare with her
Eighteen months...
Helen Girardi stands in her kitchen, staring at her family gathered in the living room. Luke is home for the holidays. The first time he's been back in nearly eight months. She had been so happy that he was coming to visit, but now, watching him, she couldn't help but feel a bit sad. He wasn't the Luke she remembered. He was quieter, reserved. The shy sweetness that had been a part of her youngest son was gone. Luke had always been the kind of boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, but not anymore. He had a guarded look in his eyes now and she often found it almost impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Her husband puts his hand on her shoulder as he notices where she's looking. "Give him time," he says, "He'll get back to normal." Helen gazes at her son and prays that Will is right.
Two years...
The girl writhes beneath his body, bucking her hips against his. Focussing his mind solely on finishing, Luke shuts out all other thoughts, like the fact that he can't even remember this one's name. She climaxes with a soft cry and he follows soon after. She pulls him down for a kiss, but he dips his head and trails kisses on her neck instead, avoiding her lips.
Laying there afterwards, he looks at the girl sleeping beside him and curses himself. How many times would he repeat this sordid little ritual. Picking up some short-haired blonde, taking her home, fucking her, only to end up feeling disappointed and empty. Always small blondes with short hair.
Grabbing his underwear, Luke starts to frame his excuse as to why he has to leave.
Two years, Six months...
Luke checks his hair in the mirror before he leaves for class. Stopping for a moment, he gazes at his reflection. He's filled out in the last couple of years, adding muscle to his tall frame. The glasses are gone, made redundant by laser surgery. There's a steely look in his blue eyes that few who knew him in Arcadia would recognize. Luke stands in front of the mirror, staring at his unsmiling reflection. Lashing out, his fist smashes into the mirror, fracturing it and sending shards falling to the floor.
"What the hell happened?" his roommate asks, running in.
"Nothing." Luke lies, "Tripped." He calmly turns on the water and washes the blood off his knuckles.
Three years...
He rarely thinks of her anymore. Makes sure that he doesn't. Occasionally he wakes up in the night, the name "Grace" on his lips, but in those instances he chides himself for being stupid and goes back to sleep, ignoring the moisture on his pillow. He has things in his life that satisfy him, that occupy him. Luke is one of the top students at MIT. He won a full scholarship and has already been published. Teachers and students alike all comment on his singular, unflinching drive . He has few friends and most of those are closer to acquaintances. There is no one special in his life and no one that he would ever let get that close. Focussed totally on his work, he tells himself that anything else is unnecessary, not worth the risk. Sometimes he even believes it.
Their little talk had gone well, Luke thought to himself. Four years of burying his emotions, pushing everything aside had served him well. He'd been able to hold a perfectly normal conversation with her, not letting her know how much she had hurt him.
He knew what the other students in his classes thought about him, that he was cold and unemotional. That was fine with him. It had taken him a long time and many sacrifices to build up the walls around his heart, but they were worth it. Tonight he'd stood face to face with Grace and hadn't given the slightest sign of the damage she had done or the way that he felt about her. Not the slightest sign...almost.
Taking his hands out of his pockets, he carefully released his clenched fists for the first time since seeing Grace. Crimson crescents marked the palms of both hands where his fingernails had dug small furrows into the skin.
Luke gazed at the tiny droplets of blood for a few moments, then slowly went back inside the house.
TBC
