Lucifer // L.H

two ~

Hi. Im Mari, welcome to my new fanfiction experiment. I get my inspiration from Songs, t.v shows, books, etc. So if you see any similarities, you know. Hope you like it. Welcome to the world of Luke and Aretha. Of Lucifer and Seraph.

***

"Alright mum, I'll talk to you later. Love you, bye." I spoke into the phone, before slipping it back into my pocket. It’s been awhile since I've seen her. Around a month. I miss her. At nineteen, I make her believe that I can take care of myself while at college, as she's not often in the country. Out on business trips, more important stuff, I prefer her out and busy, rather than sitting at home and taking care of me. It busies her burdened mind and that’s enough to satisfy me. I want what's best for us both. But the truth is, I can’t take care of myself. A year and pieces of me have been chipping away to the bone. Like I've been fading and many have yet to notice.

These thought however, dematerialize as I enter the famous city bar. The floor vibrates and people are blissful and carefree. Their eyes are glinting with elation, as they completely indulge themselves in the moment. I'm happy that they're happy. At least some people are.

I however, push my way through the crowd to the bar.

"A bottle of Bourbon, please.” Philip, the bartender nods. I've been here many times before, and he doesn't raise his eyebrows at my stereotypical girly lightweightedness. I wasn't one. On a less busy day, he would’ve sat down and taken a drink with me.

He serves me my drink, and it is at this moment that a group of boys - men - enter. They scatter as they do, some making their way to the pool tables and some to the floor. I realize that I recognize one of them.

His hair is swept into a golden quiff. He towers over the pretty girl he has his arms around and although I can't see them well from here, I know his eyes are a piercing blue. His skin is covered in tattoos, creeping all the way up to his collarbones which protrude from his shirt. But I'm not close enough to make them out properly. Not that I care enough to anyway.

I don't want to stare. But I realize how much people change in four years.

He left us in the junior year of high school. (him being a senior) Left me and our tight little group of friends. Me, Jane, Matt and Cole. It was as if we had all suffered a painful loss, one day he was here and the next he wasn't. And now here he is again, three yeasr later, in a city that no longer holds anything for him. I laugh humourlessly. I still remember the day that he left, as we all gathered at the airport and how he told us he’d text and call everyday as his eyes glistened with tears. We waited. A week passed and we all realized how little those words meant.  

I turn back around and I raise the glass to my lips. All I want to do right now is get really, really drunk.

Unfortunately, I hear footsteps behind me it’s not long before I am interrupted.

"That's seats taken." I say before he has a chance to sit down.

He chuckled. "Then I'm afraid this person will have to find another seat." His thick accent laced voice expressed.

I sighed. "Why are you here?"  I questioned. I'd been pondering the thought ever since he walked in. He had always hated it here, as a child, and as a teenager.

"I don't get a 'hello?' Or a 'how are you?' "

"I'm sure there's many other nice people here if you’re looking for a nothing but nice chat, Lucifer."

"You know, you're the last person I'd expect to see here. The Aretha I know would be out somewhere catching butterflies. And don’t call me that."

"The Aretha you knew." I correct him. “And don’t tell me what to do.”

"It’s only been a few years."

"You're mistaken if you think four is a few. But of course, your non-existent call and texts to us have kept you up to date, obviously."

"I'm not the one here trying to find my answers at the bottom of a shot glass." He says, and my eyes meet his for the first time again, and the four year time gap hasn't seemed to have changed the way they affect me in any way.

Although his words are calm and cool, his eyes search mine, in frantic worry. Why is Aretha Rein, of all people, drowning her misery in alcohol? He doesn’t deserve an answer. Part of me, is relieved to see him again and to know that he still cares about the people he left behind (and I hate that I do), but part of me is burning with rage at the fact that he dare give a damn after so much time.

Before I can come up with an answer, the same girl who had previously walked in with asks him to dance, her eyes sparkling for adoration for Luke. She seems nice, but his eyes, however don’t share the same look.

And before he can turn to me and present me with an excuse,

I am already gone.