"Okay. You're right. We need to go."
That was it. That was the hand that reached and pushed and toppled him over the edge. And he fell freely, swiftly, into that spiral of anger that he'd managed, thus far, to keep at bay.
Madness. Built upon frustration, interwoven with fear and lust and desire, topped with guilt. Such a remarkable mixture for such a simple man. But there it was, undeniably coursing a network through his veins, embedding itself in his skin, winding itself tightly around vital organs.
And it was her fault. And he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault that he let it be her fault.
This was it, Luke thought, he'd be thrust into hell for sure. It was his responsibility to look out for her, for the people he cared about.
Actually, not even hell. Hell was for the man who took some responsibility for his sins, who owned up to what he'd done and was proud of it. Luke would probably be sent to purgatory, where the aching nothingness was punishment enough. He had nothing to be proud of. Tortured in idleness, with idleness, for idleness.
Quickly he scrunched the paper bag closed with his fists, a crackle that sounded like fire in his hands.
"I'm taking you to a hospital." Luke pushed away from her and jammed the key into the ignition.
"No, Luke." Her voice pierced through the cab, blue and clear against the glaring brightness behind his eyelids. "I need to get outta here. No hospital."
If there were one thing, just one major horrific sin that he could avoid to keep from permanent residence in hell, this was it. He yanked the key out of the ignition and turned back to her.
"Lorelai. I can't…"
He was saying no to her.
His voice dissolved into a frustrated sigh as she shot glares at the keys in his hand. Luke lost his train of thought as he looked at her, huddled and bare and feeble-looking against the door opposite, trying to look menacing.
"Someone needs to look you over," he said quietly. "I can't do that. All I can do is clean you up." He waved cotton swabs in the air as proof. "But you need someone to… I don't know, check… everything." His eyes now swept over her body, an uncomfortable attempt at indicating his meaning.
He exhaled harshly out of frustration with himself.
See, this was exactly what hospitals are for. He only felt equipped to kick that guy's ass. "Does that… make any sense?"
She didn't get it. But when she saw his panicky broach toward the subject, she was taken aback, the brute force of his implications jarring.
That hadn't occurred to her. The panicky feeling flared for a moment, then gave way to something less fleeting; more angry, maybe even resentment. Those feelings were easier to dwell in than the panic.
"He didn't touch me anywhere else." Her voice had dropped cold.
Luke understood that, even by asking, he had offended her. Implied that she could be taken advantage of, in the most raw and unforgiving of ways.
He didn't want to know. He hated understanding, but his need to help her, to fix it, was winning. "Are you sure?"
His look was pointed, his expression forceful. And her instinct, as ever, was to match that familiar glare of determination in his eyes.
The moment was finding her lacking, though. General levels of fortitude were lacking.
She softened as she touched the fabric of his jeans, just above his knee, just for a moment. Silently, hesitantly asking him to trust her.
He couldn't hold her gaze when her eyes had that pleading look in them, so he nodded and left it at that. Smeared mascara on one side, mottled welt on the other. Decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, that she was past the point of protecting Christopher.
"I'm gonna call Rory." And she had slipped out of the truck unnoticed.
But the thought of a man forcing his way into her…
He closed his eyes, his field of vision black.
Anxious pulsations of light appeared as he pressed his fingers into them, trying to push the thought from his mind. The harder he pushed, the brighter the lights throbbed, morphing from shape to indefinable shape. From smudge to blot, from blot to her panic-stricken face. From there, her uneasy breath, her chest heaving irregularly, the skin around her eye flaring. Her face rendered less recognizable in its newfound asymmetry. Christopher's fist, clenched tightly, knuckles white. Being pitched at her. On purpose. Aimed at her delicate skin, just shy of her temple.
And that asshole was always taking what he wanted. Luke watched them when Christopher showed up; their eyes were brighter, cheeks rosy, both of them almost giddy. No one else could do that to them, just by being there. He'd never seen anyone make them act like that. Every time the guy shows up, they're like that.
And the day after he leaves, as soon as he's gone, their voices are more somber than he can ever remember them being. But they're still determined to be strong. Especially Rory.
That son of a bitch was never careful with them.
Luke was trying to keep the stream of pictures at bay. His kept his head down, laced his fingers together in his lap.
Christopher was always taking what he wanted. Lorelai's bruises, her countenance, her bare feet - they wouldn't leave Luke's mind.
He could've done whatever he wanted with her. With his tiny pencil dick pushing his way in and out, over and over, dry, searing her skin, stripping her of the hope for a family, of the ghosts of her affection for him. Replacing these with violence, rasps, the sting of humiliation and impotence and the rape of a sacred, deeply harboured wish. His fingers leaving imprints on her wrists, as dark as if he'd rolled them in red ink beforehand. Boring their way into her, their impressions left as a reminder of his presence for days to come. His hands marking her as his, marking her as conquered. With Christopher, the impressions aren't ever quick to fade.
Because the marks would stay, tattooing her with the loss of him, the loss of family portraits and control and Christmas mornings and dignity and father and husband and partner and friend and sanctity and home. Things he'd already stolen from her, things he stole again. Glaring at her with those unashamed eyes that would make her turn away, make her feel dirty, disgusted, alone. Taking what was his while leaving her with nothing but ache. Spilling himself into her as she cried and thrashed and tore and fought for something to focus on, anything to focus on but him, but this, but what he was taking from her, what he had taken from her time and time again. Willing her to submit. Yelling at her to shut the fuck up.
Yeah. It made his stomach churn and split in half about a thousand times over.
Bastard. Fucking asshole of a bastard.
"Still, I'd feel better if a doctor took a look at your eye." She was back at his side before he'd even registered that she was gone.
God, he was making this difficult. "Luke," she attempted a brief smile. "It's not that bad."
Those words swerved his anger toward her. From victimizer to victim. From hate to frustration that she was forgiving him, forgiving Christopher and his behavior and dismissing the entire situation.
She was calm. Nonchalant, the way she said it. This wasn't even Lorelai, and the end of the world must be upon them now for her to be so un-Lorelai.
No, he couldn't possibly be alone in wanting to rip the face off a scrawny, slick-nosed, bomber jacket asshole.
He needed to get this through to her. He was the rational one. For what that was worth.
Wordlessly, he flipped down the visor on the passenger side, tipping her chin up, perhaps with less care than he should have taken. Forcing her to look in the mirror.
Luke watched Lorelai immediately shut her eyes, refusing to see the raw swell of skin ballooning over her brow, cringing as the light off the mirror drove harshly into her face, the unnatural sort of blue color sweeping a gradient of a bruise across her cheekbone.
The glimpse that she did get made her think she looked like David Bowie from the Aladdin Sane cover, a lightening bolt explosion of color streaked down her face. Any other thought but that one and her hands began to tremble.
Lorelai closed her eyes and repeated the words over and over again, willing everything to disappear into a haze of meditation. Spring cleaning the mind. Dematerializing into a quiet little puddle of letters. And glam rock.
Aladdin Sane.
Aladdin Sane.
Aladdin Sane.
A Lad. Insane.
InsaneInsaneInsane.
"Lorelai?"
Right. "What."
He was speaking so softly. "Do you understand what he did to you?"
Stupid Luke. Stupid sane Luke, bringing her back to reality.
Lorelai took a deep breath. Needed to curl up on the seat and pass out. Wake up at the beginning of the day. Do it all differently.
She nodded, because at the end of the day, reality sucked.
"I'm taking you to the hospital now, okay? Actually no, better yet..." He was muttering now, the pace of his words accelerating. "The police. This guy's gotta be arrested, I mean if he's near Rory... Dammit. We gotta go get Rory. Do you know where she is? Where was she when you left? Is she at home--"
"No, Luke stop." She yanked his arm from the steering wheel. Gripped his forearm tightly. She was still a moment, feeling the quick pulse in his arm, watching his rapid breath fog the windows.
"I called her. I told her to stay at Lane's." His arm relaxed beneath her fingers.
"Did you tell her what happened?" Luke's voice was gravelly. Low and intense and it entranced her.
"I did." She spoke quickly now. "I didn't want to but I had to and she hated it and Chris and me for leaving, but I had to." She swallowed the scratchy lamb that had been sitting in her throat.
She released his arm, her own falling to the seat. "But I told her I'd be back before she leaves for D.C. In two weeks." Lorelai took a deep breath and sat up, tucking her legs up onto the seat.
She pictured Rory, baby-thin hair pinned on the sides, blue cotton dress and white Elle sandals, chatting with Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein about human pesticide experiments and forest fire prevention and hating every moment of it because her mother ruined everything because her father had to be Christopher and Christopher had to be an ass.
"Okay, well, then I'm still calling the police." His hand was on the door, and the door was opening, and he was sliding out, and for some reason that was really, really not good.
"No! Luke please don't-" She lunged across the seat and clung to his arm. Pulled and urged and willed it back into the truck. Her heartbeat shot up again.
His head whipped back in her direction once her nails dug through his shirt and into his skin. She half-lay across the bench, gripping his arm and looking up at him from deeply panicked, absolutely desperate eyes. He slid back into his seat reluctantly, nudging himself next to her.
"No." Her voice wobbled low and stern next to his ear. That was enough. For Luke, that was enough to forget the police and the anger and slide his arm around her waist and press her closer and let her chin rest on his shoulder while her breathing slowed. Because that's what she needed. She needed him. And he was right there.
"Can we leave now, please?" Her voice was muffled in his flannel. She let it brush her cheek and smooth over her lips. She let the scruff of his jaw scratch her temple. She willed the rise and fall of her chest to match the rise and fall of his.
And, one aching muscle at a time, she relaxed.
While Luke stared at the floormats.
"Where do you want me to take you?"
"Wherever." She'd muttered her half-response as she slid back to the other side. And rested her head against the window. And was lulled by the hum of the engine.
Lorelai couldn't think about that right now. Right now, her main priority was figuring out how to appease the nagging in her head, the yammering voice that was telling her to just get out, leave, run away. And ignore the cost, the ramifications. The why, the how. Just forget and run.
Except, you probably should think about the where. Because if you don't, you'll end up at the hospital. Which Luke is pulling into now.
She didn't want to have to argue with him. She wasn't sure if she had the energy.
But then again, Lorelai always ended up in control. She'd centered her life on the principle.
Like the time Taylor had restocked the ice cream supply with an off-brand because it was more economical, and she'd begged and pleaded and puppy-dog-eyed her way into convincing him that the other brand is better because the carton is prettier and people buy pretty things no matter how much they cost. And a few days later it was back to Cookies 'n Cream, not a single carton of Kookie Krumble to be found. She considered it one of her greatest triumphs.
Or the time the green-uniformed crew cut guy, came to her door saying that the tree out front needs to be cut down or else its roots are going to grow into the foundation of the house, and she'd told him that if Simon wants to take up residence in her home, then who is she to turn him away?
Or when she was five and her mother organized those inane tea parties for Lorelai and her "friends" because that's what she was supposed to like, but she hated them, and instead of throwing a fit she'd make everyone a nametag bearing something ridiculous like "Kiki Snodgrass" or "Miffy Lou" or "Filberta Lesterina von Sissy Spank." Because at least it was fun for someone.
"I… Listen, Luke. It was nice of you to bring me here but I think I'd rather just… go somewhere else."
Done. Control regained. Turn around and drive away, my friend, because we are so not going in there.
Luke's palms smoothed his cheeks, eyes squeezed closed. The gravity of the situation was becoming unbearable.
"What," he barked suddenly. "Where. Tell me where, Lorelai, or what you want me to do, or something. I don't know what you need me for, I don't know what I'm supposed to do here." His voice was fractured; he held his face as if his hands could keep his expression from crumbling.
Her fists were clenching again, her head beginning to throb.
Dammitdammitdammitdammit. "I just need to go somewhere! I don't know, Luke- please." She was struggling not to stumble over her words, but every new one that came through her mind and out of her mouth hurt. She needed an ice-pack. And an Aspirin. Maybe a shot of tequila. She didn't want to have to explain anything or do anything or… anything. "Just…" She sighed heavily. "Take me outta here. Wherever."
With that last word, she slumped against the door, hoisting her feet onto the seat. The scratchy blanket that Luke kept behind the bench wrapped itself around her and she closed her eyes, willingly surrendering any decisions to him. He would know where to take her, she thought, as she adjusted her covers and turned off her mind. Luke would take care of it.
Control relinquished.