Chapter Thirty-Two
Next morning...
Lucky sat at the dining room table nursing his second coffee while Tony burnt a couple of toaster waffles and placed the plate on the table with a tub of margarine and maple syrup. Neither of them had spoken a real word yet, just mumbles and grunts. The two non-morning persons reached for extra-crispy waffles and slathered them with toppings to disguise the taste.
After a couple of mouthfuls, Tony glanced over at Lucky and laughed. "Are we competing in the mattress-head contest, Spencer?" He pointed at the pseudo-bouffant teased look that the crown of Lucky's hair had adopted after a restless night.
"Speak for yourself, Billy Idol," Lucky replied sleepily, choking on his coffee as he tried not to laugh.
"What do you mean," Tony sniffed as he attempted to smooth out his punk rock hair mess.
After finishing his waffles, Tony went into the kitchen and brought back a daily pill dispenser. "I bought this for you when I picked up your prescriptions yesterday," he stated. "You need to take your morning prescriptions with food," he mentioned casually. Tony wanted to be sure that Lucky took his medications regularly.
Lucky opened the dispenser, swallowed his pills and toasted Tony with his coffee mug. "See, all gone," he said. "What are you, a mother hen?" Lucky rolled his eyes as Tony walked down the hall flapping his wings all the way.
~*~*~*~
Bobbie Spencer looked at the file in front of her for the fourth time in two minutes. Every time she reviewed it, she was distracted by other thoughts and lost her place. She sighed and turned away from the file, but brightened a bit when she saw Monica Quartermaine walking towards her. "Monica," she greeted warmly. She raised her eyebrows and asked, "Do you have a second for an old friend?" Monica smiled. "Sure do. I'm on my way for a break. Want to meet with me in the women's lounge?" she asked. Bobbie nodded and followed her.
The two friends sat down on a circa 1950's lumpy, tan leather couch. Bobbie spoke first. "Monica, I can't concentrate on my job this morning. It's terrible." Bobbie shook her head. "What's wrong?" asked Monica in a concerned voice. "You never let anything interfere with your work."
"It's Roy," said Bobbie through her tears. "I broke up with him last night."
Monica's face sunk a bit and she replied, "Oh, Bobbie. I'm so sorry. You two were so close. What happened?"
Bobbie shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't any one thing, Monica. He became rather possessive at times, and he just couldn't break away from his former life. It was more important than our relationship I guess." Bobbie looked down at her hands and fiddled with a crumpled tissue.
"Are you sure you can't work it out," Monica interjected.
Bobbie shook her head and sniffed with tears. "It's over." Monica drew Bobbie into a hug as she sobbed on Monica's shoulder.
~*~*~*~
Bobbie cradled the portable phone between her shoulder and ear as she bent over to pick up old newspapers and tidy the brownstone living room. She put her hand over the speaker and shouted, "Lucas, you stop that right now! You know that you can only rollerblade outside. Now you git!" Bobbie waved a dustcloth at her son, and he giggled wickedly as he rolled out the door.
Bobbie removed her hand from the phone and apologized. "Sorry, Tony," she said lightly. "You know how our son can be. What a little devil," she laughed. "Now, you were saying?"
Tony continued. "I was saying that I think Lucky misses his mother. He's been moping around the house lately. Has she even tried to contact him once? I know you went down to North Carolina to talk to her and tell her what's been happening to her son. How was she?"
"Oh, who ever knows what Laura is thinking," Bobbie said with a note of disdain in her voice. "She seemed relieved to know that Lucky had a good prognosis with his pneumonia, but she never mentioned coming back to Port Charles or visiting even when I offered to put her up at the brownstone. She seems a bit self-involved right now. She met some new guy that she's going on a holiday cruise with. That's mainly what she talked about. I gave up after a few tries. I'm walking a thin line trying to keep up some thread of a relationship with my ex-sister-in-law that I never really got along with."
"How is Lulu," Tony interrupted. "Did she ask about Lucky?"
"Lulu seemed sad to me. She's experienced so many changes and losses in her young life. She was pretty excited when I gave her a get-well card that she decorated for Lucky. She's too young to understand what's really going on with her brother. She asked me if Lucky was in jail with Daddy." Bobbie let out a ragged sigh. "Laura perked up when I volunteered to keep Lulu while she's on her cruise. I pick Lulu up at the airport in a few weeks."
"Great," Tony replied. "It will do both Lucky and Lulu a world of good to spend some time together. Keep me posted."
"I'd keep Lulu's visit to yourself for now," cautioned Bobbie. "I don't know how reliable Laura is. Hopefully, we'll have a nice surprise for both Lulu and Lucky. Gotta finish my housework and run over to Kelly's. Talk to you later, Tony," Bobbie said, pausing to smile before she put the portable phone on an end table. It seemed like the old days, she and Tony discussing kids and family.
~*~*~*~
Lucky stepped into the shower and let the hot sheets of water pelt his skin as he tried in vain to relax before heading to bed.
Lucky struggled as the memories of his
imprisonment kept bubbling and surfacing to the top of his consciousness and nudged and
pricked at his nerves. He was able to occupy his mind during the days most of the time
with his GED studies and work on the free-clinic computer networking woes, but he was
afraid to fall asleep at night as his dreams seemed to take on the worst parts of his life
in the compound and add a measure of unnatural terror to them. Before, the alcohol and
drugs had helped him to sleep obliviously and to slide through the days. Even with
counseling and Kevin's prescriptions, it was still difficult to hang on and appear normal
to everyone. Emily was the bright star in the midst of his problems. She'd had her own
drug addictions and offered an understanding heart and sympathetic ear to Lucky.
*** "Lucky, you were there for me when no one else knew what I was going through," Emily explained. "Now it's my turn. You don't always have to be the strong one. I already know that you're strong. You proved that to me more times than I can count."
"But I just feel like such a loser most of the time," Lucky complained. "I don't feel like I can be a real boyfriend to you."
"Oh, and what does that make me then," Emily laughed dryly. "I'm sticking with you, so I'm a loser, too? I don't think so, Lucky-boy." Emily leaned over, kissed Lucky lightly on the lips and looked deep into his eyes. "I'm the winner, I'm with you," she murmured, snuggling closer to him. "I like it that we're going slow with no pressure on either of us. It's nice. I feel good. I can hug and kiss you without worrying that you're going to try to jump my bones or put the make on another girl." Emily's eyes flickered with pain as she recalled her ex-boyfriend Juan's aggressive and wanton ways.
Emily settled into Lucky's arms as
they sat on the couch and quietly enjoyed each other's company, each lost in their own
thoughts and feelings. ***
Lucky absentmindedly stroked himself in the shower as he recalled hugging and kissing Emily and the pleasure that he'd experienced with her. He parted her lips and their tongues danced rhythmically as he felt the exciting sensation of her generous softness hugging his muscular chest. Lucky looked down, stunned, as his body reacted to his actions and imagination. He felt panic rising in sharp, liquid shards starting from his stomach and advancing to his chest, constricting his lungs and making him feel spacey and out of breath. His shaking hands turned off the shower, and he stepped out, toweling himself and wrapping the damp towel around his waist. He concentrated on untangling and combing out his hair section by section, careful not to look directly into the mirror where he was subconsciously afraid of what he'd see reflected back at him. Lucky kept pushing away his panicky feelings and reached for the blowdryer, concentrating on directing its soothing heat.
Memories of his time in Faison's compound kept intruding into his consciousness, and all of a sudden, he felt someone rudely grab his hair in a tight fist, slamming him down face first onto the hard surface of a porcelain sink. Lucky felt the cool, clammy surface pressing on his stinging cheek. His vision wavered and lost focus, and the blowdryer smashed onto the tile floor and broke, abruptly stopping its flow of hot air. Lucky frantically reached out for something to orient himself. He grasped at the wood paneled door of the bathroom, the white plastic towel rack and vinyl shower curtain, blindly moving his hands from one surface to another as he felt his face slam repeatedly into the cold sink.
He dropped onto the cold tile floor as
his legs gave out. The jarring shock to his body snapped him out of his near-flashback,
and he panted in his efforts to stay in his present reality. Lucky brought his palms to
his face and pressed them into his cheekbones as his fingers fanned out to cover his
staring eyes.