Bruises • Luke Hemmings a.u

Four.

Chapter four

It's 11am when I wake up. Luke is normally my alarm clock on a morning seems as he always likes to get to work a half hour early, but given the time, he must not have gone to work today.

Changing into black leggings so my legs are no longer bare, the memories of last night suddenly flood my mind.

Luke's hands roaming my legs while he tells me I'm beautiful.

I've wanted him to do something like that for so long. Now it's finally happened, I don't know how to feel about it. How should I feel about it? I wasn't supposed to enjoy it as much as I did. He's my stepdad for Christ's sake. This is a guy who has raised me for the last three years. Sure, we're not related, but he has adopted me. That has to mean something, right? Why doesn't that matter to me?

Luke was so drunk last night, but don't people say alcohol brings out the true you? Does this means he sees me differently? Am I no longer just a kid under his care? Does he see me as the young woman I am, rather than the fourteen year old girl I was when we first met?
So many questions are filling my head, it's starting to give me a headache.

Glancing at the clock, I realise that by the time I have gotten ready, I will have missed half of the school day. Deciding that there is no longer a point in going, I head downstairs to descover that the living room and the kitchen are both empty.

Luke must still be in bed with a hangover. He never has been much of a drinker. I've never seen Luke as drunk as he was last night, not since mums funeral at least. I can't help but wonder if it was something that triggered him into wanting to get that drunk or if it was all just for good fun, but missing a day of work is just not a Luke thing to do.

I start making a full English breakfast, deciding that grease is the best cure for his hangover which he will probably have, no doubt.

Just as I dish out the eggs, Luke walks in, rubbing his eyes. His hair, even though it is messy, is ridiculously sexy, and its irritating that he can look this good so naturally, without any effort.

He's in the clothes he was wearing yesterday, but now they're a crinkled mess, clearly been slept in.

"You look rough," I tell him honestly with a smirk on my lips. Rough, but somehow still hot as ever. How does he do that?

"Shouldn't you be at school?" he asks me through a yawn.

I nod, getting out knifes and forks and placing them next to the huge breakfasts I've made us both. "Yeah, but you didn't wake me up."

Shaking his head in disapproval, he says, "I'm sure you have an alarm clock on that phone of yours."

"You're my alarm clock."

He sighs and sits in front of his plate of food. "I'll let is side, just this once, seems as you've made me food."

"I figured it would make you feel better. How's your head?"

He digs into his breakfast and when I gesture to the empty glass in front of him with the carton of orange juice in my hand, he nods, so I pour him a glass full.

"Suprisingly alright actually," he tells me.

"That will be because I made you take some paracetamol and down a glass of water last night."

"You did?" he asks me with slight surprise.

I nod, and I almost find it humours that for once the rolls are reversed. I got to look after him last night.

"Thank you. You're too good to me," he smiles sweetly, and a flush at my own thoughts, thinking about all the other ways I could be good to him.

I laugh. "I know I am. You deserved a kick in the head seems as I had to clean up all your mess last night while you just watched."