Disclaimer: Oh, come on, you know the truth.
A/N: Sorry if this chapter sucks guys. EXTREMELY busy lately and i wanted to give you guys and update so...im sorry if you don't like it. :( Once again-thanks to my reveiwers! keep it up you guys. Please. heh.
A single bedside lamp lit up Luke's entire bedroom.
Luke climbed out of bed and slumped over to his desk in the far right corner of the room, grabbing his glasses on the way. He sat down on the chair there, turning away from his clock. It must have been around four in the morning, because Luke figured he couldn't have been staring at his ceiling longer then three hours. He barley moved his head to put his glasses on and look at the digital clock on the wood surface before him.
Five o'clock in the freakin' morning.
He hadn't even tried to fall asleep. Not really, anyway.
Luke grabbed his computer mouse and jiggled it madly, causing the computer screen to shine brightly. He clicked a few links mindlessly and nearly jumped out of his chair when his speakers blared "YOU'VE GOT MAIL!"
Stupidly, he slammed his hand over the computer speaker, then, after realizing what his first reaction had been, quickly turned down the volume.
He sat completely still for a moment, hand still on the volume dial, his eyes staring at nothing while his ears strained for noises.
He shamefully sat back in his chair when he heard someone moving outside his closed door. The knob turned and the door opened.
"Man, do you sleep anymore?" Trey asked, hardly making out Luke's outline as he squinted against the sudden light.
Luke almost laughed at Trey's state of being. His auburn hair was messy, the usually straight locks that fell around his face disheveled and full, erupting in knots on the side of his head. He moved slowly and Luke wondered if he was even really awake.
"Don't follow my example." Luke said simply, amused, turning back to check his e-mail.
Trey stared at him for a minuet, mouth unconsciously gaped open and eyes still squinting, his body appearing to disappear in the large shirt he wore over his boxers. Luke couldn't really tell if Trey was too tired to understand what Luke had said, or if he was waiting to say something, the way he was so often lately.
Either way, Trey shook his head and closed his mouth, raising a hand to rub the light out of his eyes and he turned back into the dark hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.
"Girardi, I'm kicking you out, it's not that hard of a concept."
"Why?" Joan asked stubbornly from her spot at the table, gripping Grace's coffee mug in one hand.
"Did you really expect me to let you stay here?" Grace asked. Joan watched her pulling and drying dishes from her kitchen sink before sticking them in a high cabinet, the sound of porcelain clinking together mocking the state of production Grace was trying to imitate. Grace seemed to imitate a lot lately.
"Maybe for more then one night." Joan mumbled, watching the dark liquid in her cup swirl as she made circle motions with the mug.
"Well, you can't."
"Why?"
"How old are you? Five? You already asked me that."
"But you didn't answer."
"My boyfriend is coming home. You will not be here."
Joan immediately perked up. "Really? Can I meet him?"
"No."
"Please!" Joan begged, abandoning the table and leaning over the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, considerably closer to Grace.
"No."
"Grace, you won't even tell me his name."
"His name is Macon." Grace said, turning towards her suddenly, seeming calm and exhausted at the same time. Joan ignored the hint of annoyance she knew she was causing.
"Okay, so what if I leave right after I meet him?"
"No."
"Grace, come on."
"Do you not understand the meaning of the word? Finish your coffee, load up on caffeine, and get out of here." Grace said, making her point by jabbing her index finger in the direction of Joan's mug on the table. Grace turned back around to turn on the faucet and rinse the remaining soap bubbles in the sink down the drain.
"Coffee's cold." Joan whimpered.
Grace sighed after she turned the faucet off and turned her head, like she was waiting to look over her shoulder at Joan. Joan almost expected Grace to fill the pause she'd created with something thoughtful, something that would explain the endless mess of secrets their relationship had turned into, by the look on her face.
But instead Grace threw up her hands and said simply, "Then take a soda."
Joan looked puzzled for a moment. Grace looked like she feared for her friend's sanity.
"What?" Grace asked quietly, privately hoping she hadn't offended Joan somehow.
"Oh." Joan said, almost laughing in sudden realization. "Nothing, just, where I was, they called it pop. I just got used to saying that."
Grace glanced over at Joan with an unintentional death glare before she turned and walked around the counter, collapsing in a lounge chair in the living room area.
"I thought you said he was coming home tomorrow night, anyway?" Joan asked from her spot at the counter.
Grace freed herself before her lie could even catch her. "Night…morning…his hours are unpredictable."
"What's he do?"
"None of your business."
"What is he, a hooker or something?" Joan scoffed.
"Why are you still in my apartment?" Grace answered, frustrated. She'd forgotten how different Joan was. Most people stopped short at the front lines of battle. Joan walked straight into enemy territory, arms swinging.
"Dude, you look like shit."
Luke glanced up at Trey bluntly, before turning back to the paper in front of him. Trey had just entered the kitchen, grabbing a bag of potato chip from the pantry. His hair was combed now and fell around his face, the longest pieces ending just below his jaw line. He was skinny, but had made up for his small frame, his t-shirt and long shorts exposing the well defined muscles in his arms and calves. He was the person everyone at the music store usually called to carry in heavy boxes.
"Inventory paper. Forgot to do it." Luke told him.
"Roger's gonna kick your ass, man."
"How are you eating that? It's eight thirty in the morning." Luke asked, glancing up from his paper to see his room mate stuffing potato chips into his mouth. Trey looked insulted and shrugged.
"You gonna make me pancakes?"
"No."
"Then potato chips for breakfast." Trey answered in a logical tone, causing Luke to let a smile break loose absently.
"So", Trey began, pulling himself up to sit on the kitchen counter behind Luke. "You haven't slept in, like, a month."
"How do you know?" Luke asked in monotone, concentrating on the words and numbers coming out of his pen.
"I sleep a lot lighter then you think." Trey answered seriously.
Luke sighed and leaned back in his chair. He turned his head towards his friend. "Sorry."
Trey simply scrunched his face up for a moment and shook his head, silently denying Luke's apology. "I fall back asleep."
Luke turned back to the paper. "Okay, good." He said lightly.
There was a long beat of silence that Luke didn't really seem to notice.
"What's up, man?" Trey asked. Trey was hardly ever this serious. It made Luke kind of nervous. He let out a half hearted laugh.
"Nothing. You know…Big house crap." Luke said, using the nickname Trey had given the music store they worked at. Once, when they both were working the same late night shift, Trey had faked a mini breakdown in the staff lounge, pounding his fist on the coffee table and referring to the store as "The Big House". Luke and the other two staff members in the room had erupted into laughter and adopted the name as a reference to their workplace. Oddly enough, after the joke died down and everyone they worked with began using the name, they were still able to use it, even when they were talking in all seriousness.
"You're not sleeping and you dropped graduate school at MIT…'Cause of The Big House?"
"No", Luke answered quickly. "That was…they're both totally different."
Luke didn't need to see Trey's brown eyes staring at him because he could practically feel them. They had met when Luke began working at Flat House Records, a local music store that was originally opened by a man Trey often referred to as "Bald Lou", though he'd never met him nor had he'd proved Lou to be bald. Trey started working there when he was thirteen, taken in by Roger, the boss, after Trey was kicked out of his house by his single father. Trey and Roger made a deal: if Trey worked off half of the rent at the store and kept his grades up, Roger would provide a roof over his head. Luke knew Roger was actually a very easy going guy, despite how hard he came down on his staff sometimes. He secretly wondered if Roger, who had been halfway through his thirties when Trey was thirteen, had really ever longed for a son of his own.
Trey showed Luke the ropes of the store when he applied there during his freshman year at MIT. They were exactly the same age, but intelligent in completely different ways. Luke knew math and science. Trey could survive by himself on a deserted island. He had an amazing grip on common sense and he had always been able to see right through Luke.
"'Kay." Trey said quietly, sliding off the counter. "Come on, buddy, I told Roger we'd open today."
Joan held her cell phone to her ear tightly, straining to hear Adam's voice over the people around her and the engine of the bus. "Yeah, I did get to see her, I stayed the night." Joan told him, continuing their conversation.
Adam balanced his kitchen phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tangled himself in the plastic phone cord, making himself a poor excuse for a breakfast.
"Really? That's cool."
"Yeah, she kicked me out though, I'm heading for a hotel now." Joan laughed. "'Cause her boyfriend was coming home or something."
"Macon?" Adam asked absently.
"You've met him?"
"A couple of times." Adam paused. "Grace just let you stay over?"
Joan furrowed her brow. Adam could practically hear it over the phone.
"Yes. Why? Did she say she was mad at me or something?"
"No."
"…Then why would you ask?"
"Oh, I just mean, cause…you know."
"No, I really don't."
"You were just gone for so long and all."
"Yeah, but, " Joan began helplessly, unsure of how she'd justify herself "That doesn't change much, we're still friends."
"I know. I just didn't think Grace would forgive you that easily."
"Adam," Joan began, slightly enraged. "Was she really that mad at me while I was gone? Because everyone's making it sound like I killed somebody or something."
Adam shifted uncomfortably before he turned around, tangling the phone cord on his legs even more. "You just left, Jane. No one really saw it coming. You didn't even talk to us really."
"I graduated high school, went to college, and then came home." Joan fumed. She knew she had been wrong, but she couldn't admit it for some reason. Not again, anyway. "It's not that big of deal. I did talk to you once in a while."
"You gave your family a phone call on birthdays and holidays. You didn't even go home during your summer breaks."
"Is everyone trying to make me feel guilty? Is that what this is? Team up on Joan?"
"No, Jane-"
"Because, I mean, I get to my parents house and they're shooting me kicked puppy looks the whole time, Luke won't even talk to me, Kevin and I haven't had a conversation beyond, like, 'are my socks clean', and all I get from you and Grace are guilt trips and questions!"
"What did you expect?" Adam asked timidly.
"I don't…" Joan let out a sigh and rested her head against the bus window. "I don't know."
"Did you think you could leave and then come back and pick up where you left off?"
"No. I guess not."
"Your parents were devastated, Joan." Adam said boldly, not even realizing the drop of her nickname. "They didn't know what they did wrong."
"They didn't do anything wrong." She whimpered, silently begging him to stop.
"Then why did you have to leave? Why did you just go without saying anything?" Adam asked, the questions he had floating in his mind for five years just rolling out, like he had no control over them.
"I…I can't explain. It's just something I needed to do."
"That's what you said when you joined cheerleading, and chess club, and marching band", Adam let go, the memories rolling off his tongue. He hardly even heard Joan tell him "I know, I know". He was too wrapped up in everything he wanted to say, like a little kid so proud that he was riding a bike for the first time he didn't even see the brick wall he was heading for. "That's what you said when you smashed my sculpture and took piano lessons!"
"I know!"
"Well, the excuse doesn't work anymore!"
Adam stood, frozen, in his kitchen, unsure of what to do with the silence he'd created.
"I'm sorry." Joan said for the hundredth time that week, quiet and defeated. "I'll call you later, Adam."
Adam sighed at the sound of the dial tone, before looking down and wondering how he'd untangle himself from his phone cord.
Luke walked back into his apartment five hours after opening the music store. Trey had stayed behind, so Luke grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and went straight to his bedroom. He tugged at his t-shirt slightly, feeling overheated in the summer humidity. Over the years of working at a music store, Luke had slowly traded his collared shirts and button up dress clothes for t-shirts branded with band names and jeans. He still had his glasses though. He really didn't care enough about his appearance to wear contacts.
Luke sat down at his desk, the one his mother had bought him when they moved to Arcadia and Joan had carved 'NERD' into shortly after. He smiled slightly at the memory, reaching to the side of the desk and running his fingers over the letters.
He missed his memories. He missed Joan.
"I cut my hand on the sidewalk."
"What were you doing? Crawling?" Grace asked, before opening the closet door and pulling out a small crate. Joan rolled her eyes.
"I tripped."
Joan had waited a day and a half at the hotel she had checked into before calling Grace. Grace told her she could come back over, and Joan quickly took her up on the offer, not questioning as to why Macon wasn't home again.
Grace pulled a few things from the crate and wiped the blood from Joan's hand with a wash cloth. "Where'd you stay?"
"A hotel." She watched Grace pour some liquid from a brown, unmarked bottle onto a cotton ball.
"This is going to sting. Give me your hand."
Joan hesitantly reached her hand out, palm facing up. Grace quickly blotched at the cut with the cotton ball and Joan pulled away even faster, mumbling a series of "ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. That hurts!"
"Do you want your hand to turn green?" Grace asked her impatiently. Joan timidly shook her head. "Then give me your hand."
Joan bit down on her lip as her palm burned. "You really know what you're doing."
"Yeah, well," Grace began, peeling a band aid off and handing it to Joan. "I read instructions. It's not that difficult."
Joan gingerly put the band aid on her palm and sat down in a chair from the living room table. She looked Grace over and felt her eyebrows slant together in confusion.
"Aren't you warm?"
"No." Grace answered awkwardly, hugging her sweatshirt around her.
A long pause hung over them.
Both girls jumped when they heard a loud banging at the door, accompanied by a shouting, deep voice. "Grace, I left my keys in there, let me in!" Grace quickly went to the door and opened it, looking slightly uncomfortable. A man stood there, just about Grace's age, with messy dark hair and defined features, all of them seeming inferior to his piercing brown eyes.
"Hey." He said quietly, before pushing past her and walking towards the kitchen. He stopped by the table and looked at Joan curiously. "Hey…Grace's friend."
"Joan."
"Oh. Hey Joan."
He grabbed a chain of keys from the counter and tossed them in the air absently, before catching them and stuffing them into his pocket. He didn't look at Joan again, but right at Grace, following his line of sight with a quick, purposed pace. He stood in front of Grace, blocking her from Joan's view. She could see him reach out and touch Grace's arm gently. There were hushed words between them, like there was more then just Joan in the room.
"Listen, I'm sorry. Anyway, I'll be back around six." Grace nodded. He muttered a sincere "I love you" before kissing her forehead and turning around in the doorway, giving a casual wave to Joan and Grace before pulling the door shut.
"He seemed nice." Said Joan.
Grace didn't answer, just gave a half nod, feet planted by the door.
"Why was he sorry?"
"You really can't keep out of other peoples business." Grace said bluntly.
"No. I guess not. What was it?"
Grace rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch. "Nothing."
For some reason, at that second, everything came together in Joan's mind. Her heart felt heavy, and she was afraid to confirm her suspicions. She couldn't think logically about how to ask the next question she was holding under her lips because the realization was that blinding.
The possible truth of the life Grace had gotten herself into crept into Joan's mind and nothing else seemed to matter anymore.
"Why are you wearing a sweater?" Joan asked slowly, in a accusing tone that would make anyone uneasy.
Grace pretended to not understand. "What?"
"It's eighty degrees outside. Why are you wearing a sweater?" Joan's eyes didn't stray to Grace, but stared straight ahead.
"I was cold." Grace answered, a twinge of fear in her voice.
Joan's gaze snapped to Grace. "How could you be cold? It's summer!"
"Joan, what the hell? Are you seriously mad at me because I'm wearing a sweater?"
Joan shook her head slowly. "What are you hiding?"
Grace squirmed. She felt like she was sinking, dizzy, Joan's questions flying by her too quickly. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Show me your arms then."
"You've seen arms before, I don't think you need to see mine."
"Grace," Joan scoffed "How can you say you're not hiding something? You kick me out to keep me from meeting the newest person in your life and won't even show me your arms?"
"Joan," Grace said through clenched teeth, her eyes fixed on the coffee table. "Shut up."
Joan stood up and sat on the couch next to Grace, who shifted uncomfortably.
She firmly took hold of Grace's shoulder and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when Grace cringed, trying to turn away or hide her visible expression of pain.
"How long," Joan began, hearing her breath shake as she exhaled, "has he been hitting you?"
Less then two hours later, Grace threw some clothes and necessities into a duffle bag before Joan practically dragged her onto a bus. Joan waited until Grace had fallen asleep in her hotel room to shrink to the cold bathroom floor and explain everything to Adam over the phone in a scared, weepy voice.
That night, Adam quit his job and bought a train ticket to New York City.