Luke Triton and the Great Farewell –Part 7-
Luke stared numbly into his tea, his reflection staring swimmingly back at him. Layton sat on a diagonal from him, watching the boy closely. Luke wished he wouldn't. He didn't want to see the professor with that expression. He hated that expression.
Luke bit his lip, unsure of what to do next. He could make a bolt for the door, but something told him that in all his seriousness, the professor would catch him. Even if he had to tackle him, he would catch him. There was no escape that way.
What if he knocked over the tea and feigned a burn? Would that get him out of this awful situation? How could he knock it over realistically? The professor was watching too closely. He wasn't sure if he could do it realistically. Though, the tea was still too hot to drink. Even if it was an act, the pain would be real. That would make it realistic. It wouldn't matter if it was on purpose or not at that point. It would be real enough.
Perhaps he could just change the subject. He could pick any subject. Baseball. Puzzles. Homework. How are your lectures going, professor? or maybe, Have you met anyone special lately? The trouble with this plan was, of course, that there was no subject to change from. How can you switch topics when there is no topic? Wouldn't that just be starting a conversation?
All sorts of options swirled around in Luke's head, a rapid thought conundrum pounding against his skull. Make it stop, Luke thought. Make it stop.
The professor made it stop. "Luke?"
Luke looked up, startled. "Yes? What? Sorry? Did you say something?"
"You've been rather…distracted since you returned," the professor said. "You've been alternately cold, depressed, hysterical and friendly. You pull away from me and berate me, yet you cry out and cling to me."
In all his wit, Luke had no idea how to respond. "Y-yes."
"I just want to know why." The professor sipped his tea, wincing. "Ah. It's still rather hot. I would wait if I were you."
Luke dropped his gaze again. "I…I can't say."
"Why not?"
"It's too hard."
"Nothing is too difficult for my number one apprentice. You've proven that to me time and time again. How is this any different?"
"It is! It's—it's very different."
"How so?"
"All those puzzles, those adventures—those were…I could do those. Those had answers."
"Every puzzle has an answer. Again, I ask you—how is this any different?"
"I…I don't know." He hung his head. "Professor…please, stop this. It—it hurts."
"I know, Luke. Think of it as disinfecting a wound. The pain is required before the healing."
"That's a bad comparison. Not all disinfectants hurt."
"Really?" The professor raised his eyebrows. "Pity…all the kinds I've tried have. Are you sure?" Luke said nothing. The professor cleared his throat. "Er, but I fear I digress. Talk to me. It doesn't have to be anything serious—not yet, at any rate. But I need you to be able to talk to me." He chuckled. "If you wish, you may insult me for a while longer. That seemed to come quickly to your tongue."
"I—I didn't mean to—I—" Luke stammered.
The professor held up a hand. "I know. I tried to make light of the situation. I shouldn't have. Please, though. Speak to me."
"Yes, professor." Luke struggled to find words. "I-it was difficult after I moved. My mother, as you know, had died the year before… Father didn't take it well. He was okay when I was with you, but…I think I reminded him far too much of her. We never had a good relationship, really—I'm sure you knew that as well. But…well…it was too much for him."
"The marks on your body…did he cause those?"
"N-no!" Luke exclaimed quickly. "No, he…not intentionally. A few times he came back from the bar, drunk, and… it wasn't his fault. He didn't attack me or anything, I promise you that. I just…got underfoot, I suppose. He didn't beat me. I don't think it even ever occurred to him."
Layton studied his face carefully. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, professor. I'm not lying. You knew him. He had a temper, but he would never resort to violence. Not…not physical violence."
"He yelled at you?"
Luke paused. "Yes. Sometimes. It hurt him to look at me. It was like looking at my mum, I guess. We tried to stay away from each other from the most part."
"You didn't morn his death, did you? When you mentioned it, you sounded…relieved."
"Avoiding your own parent—isn't that a difficult way to live? I sounded relieved because I was." Luke ran his index finger along the lip of the teacup. "I knew he didn't want me, but…he didn't not want me, either. I reminded him of her, which he hated, but he didn't want to lose me. That would mean losing her." Luke took a shaky breath, then chuckled. "It seems pathetic, really. I don't know why I get so upset, but I do."
Layton reached over and touched Luke's face, brushing his hair from his eyes. "I suppose I never noticed it, but you do resemble her."
"I know. I don't really remember her face, but I saw the pictures he hoarded."
"Please, continue." Layton withdrew his hand, taking another sip of tea.
"After a while, I couldn't stand it any longer. I didn't want to be ignored or yelled at. I wanted him to…love me, I suppose. I did my best in my studies. I thought maybe if I was the perfect son, he'd want me again. Want me for me, not for some ridiculous reminder of my mother."
"I see. I'm beginning to understand your behaviour these last couple of weeks."
Luke flinched. "Yes."
"Continue."
"After a while, though, he sent me to an all boys' boarding school. I suppose he couldn't look at me any longer." Luke finally drank some of his tea, soothed a little by its warmth. "Things didn't go so smoothly there, I'm afraid. The others didn't take very kindly to my behaviour."
"Behaviour?"
"Ever the academic, I suppose." Luke laughed bitterly. "I admit, I was probably a little antisocial. Can you blame me? I was probably rather rude to them at times as well. I learned to feign confidence in an attempt to keep them away. I didn't want to be picked on due to shyness, as I had in the past."
"The cold demeanour you displayed before—is that where it came from?"
"Quite possibly. It's become a bit of a habit, really. I can't control myself. Isn't that great? If you lie about something enough, it eventually becomes the truth."
The professor frowned. "It isn't the truth, my boy. I know it isn't. You aren't like this—not really."
"I'm sorry, professor. I'm afraid it is."