A Scar That Looks Just Like You

Something is different.
Something is wrong.

Luke feels the need to escape, to break free; it's like he's being suffocated and contained in a cage of darkness. He tries to flee, but his arms can only extend a few inches above his chest before his hands reach his confinement. Panic sets in, and Luke realizes he's trapped. He can't sit up; he can't see to find a way out. Everything is pitch black and cold, cold enough that he feels it in his bones.

Luke realizes his best chance at survival is to be rescued, so he screams as loud as he can. His voice is raw and his throat is sore. Maybe he's been screaming all along and just not realized it, maybe something caused the soreness before he became trapped; either way, he can't remember. His voice cracks as he pleads for help again. To say he is scared is an understatement, the eighteen year old is terrified.

Adrenaline finally kicks in, in the face of panic, and he begins to claw and push at his confinement. Splinters pierce his hands, but he doesn't feel the pain like he should. Maybe it's fight or flight, maybe it is the adrenaline rushing through his body, but the feeling of pain isn't predominant. He wants, needs, to escape. Finally, the wood gives. However, instead of freedom, he is rewarded with something falling on him. It's cold, and damp and it buries him under suffocating weight.

Luke frantically digs and continues to fight his way free, his will to live growing stronger each time he feels himself making headway toward freedom. He can hear his name being called from a voice he can't quite place to a face; all he knows is the sound is alluring in the best way possible and he needs to get to it.

Luke breaks free of the ground.

~

"Drink." The command is straightforward but unnecessary. Luke wants nothing more than the contents of the container in front of him, even the sight of it makes his mouth water. He craves the crimson liquid like nothing he has ever before.

The blond rips the container away from the boy, grabbing it in a hasty and desperate move. The older male doesn't hesitate to put his hands back to use, this time placing the now free arm around the scared boy's body pulling him closer. His other hand finds a place in the mess of hair that is coated in dirt. He whispers assurances meant more for his own comfort than Luke's, as he braces himself for what is to come.

The liquid is gone, but Luke continues to shamefully lap at the container like a starving dog. It feels like it's the first meal he's had in his lifetime and he desperately craves more.

"Easy," The other soothes. "We'll get you some more."

Luke doesn't listen, he's too busy trying to consume every last drop. He needs it. He craves the way it quinces the hunger that is violently nagging at him. He craves it's savory taste, the way it makes him feel high and buzzed, but more present than he's ever felt all at the same time. It's a blitz he's never experienced before.

He tosses the container aside, finally convinced it's all gone. The other boy watches Luke carefully, as he leans back into him panting. Luke takes the time to catch his breath and examine their surroundings; a graveyard in the dark of night, 'how cliche' he thinks to himself. Then his eyes fall on himself, he is in dress pants and what he assumes to once have been a nice white button shirt. They're both ruined now, stained with dirt and blood, they're even ripped.

The boy breaks away from the other's arms, turning to face him. "Michael, what did you do?" Luke already knows the answer, but that does not stop him from wanting to hear anything but the truth.

Michael doesn't appease Luke's attempt at willful ignorance. He sighs heavily, "There was no choice, Luke."

Luke laughs bitterly. Michael can't help but cringe at the coldness of the sound.