AFFLICTION- LRH

I Don't Believe You.

Maeves POV:

"I don't see why you wanted to do this when it is literally twenty degrees out."

I watch as Luke slams the car door shut, pulling his leather jacket tighter around his body as we head towards the gun range.

It was just on the outskirts of the town, run down metal garbage cans were our targets, and besides the dirt covered ground, there was really nothing else around.

"I like the cold." he says, opening the gate wide for us to enter.

Walking into the range, I pull my own wool coat tighter. Burke had at least had the decency to grab us clothes after our arrival, though most of the clothes he got for me were all too tight or too loose.

The jacket I wore now hung down to my feet.

"How did you get a gun?" I ask, watching as he pulls out the black metal piece. His eyes wandered vigorously over it, as if this was the only thing he has missed after all the years he has been away.

"Your grandfather gave it to me last night when he dropped by," Luke answers, cocking back the gun and shooting before giving me a warning. I feel my body jump, the goosebumps in my skin rising from the sudden ringing in my ears, "you okay?"

I turn toward him, "yeah, sorry. Guns were never really my thing."

Luke tilts his head to the side in disbelief, "you are one of the leaders of a gang, and they aren't your thing?"

"It used to be worse, believe it or not." I laugh, the memory of Luke making me point a gun right at him on the beach replaying in my mind, "before, I couldn't even hold a gun. Now the only thing that bothers me is the sound."

He stares at me a moment, studying my movements it seems as my face begins to grow hot.

What the fuck was he staring at?

"I taught you how to shoot, didn't I?"

"What?"

Luke drops his arm, the gun wavering in his hand as he continued to stare my way, "I remember it, I think. We were on a beach... and I made you shoot at me."

All I wanted to do was lunge forward and kiss him, wanting to wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close as I whispered to him, "yes, remember me."

Instead, I keep my composure, nodding gently, "Yes, you did. I would not be here right now if it wasn't for that day on the beach."

His eyes looked lost, searching for something he wasn't quite sure was even there. "Why do I remember you shooting a gun at me, but not our entire time together?"

"If it is any indication," I shrug, "the gun was not loaded, you made me shoot blanks at you."

A smirk plays along his lips, his head shaking back and forth before looking down at the ground, "I do remember always thinking how beautiful you are. I don't think there was ever a time my eyes left you. Even when you didn't realize it."

Then, he whispers, "I know I can't remember it all, but for now, the memories are all I can seem to think about."

Then he goes back to his reality, shooting at the garbage cans once more.

Memories are sometimes the scariest part of our lives,

rather holding onto them then remembering to let go.

I fear I won't be letting go until I have no other choice.

And even then, I won't go without a war.