paper rings (l.h.)

58

Luke hated himself. Every inch of his existence, he hated.

He hated this facade he put up as he stood just inches from Mary, staring down at her too-pale face and tired, swollen eyes. The wounds that broke his heart to look at, knowing that he should have found her before anyone else. He could have, had he ignored the pleas and screams and begging that were thrown in his direction. He hated himself for wishing that he would have ignored him, and he couldn't give a crap about the news articles hailing him a hero. But still, despite her obvious exhaustion Mary tried her best to smile, to ask about his trip, how long he was staying... he answered each question as truthfully as he could.

But he stood here, pretending that he wasn't craving his vices more than he ever had. He felt it in his blood, wanted to rip his hair out of his skull. He wanted to beg the universe for a way out of this craving, crawl and scream and yell for an answer to getting it to stop. But he wanted to keep his sobriety too, he worked so hard to get here. He went through hell the months leading up to his first outing to the bookstore he used to work after being released from the ward and then rehab, then sober living, and finally...

He didn't remember much of the ward besides how cold it always was. How bright those fluorescent lights were. This hospital, despite how painfully nostalgic that waiting room was, reminded him of that. Of those nights shivering himself to sleep, screaming and crying until his pillow was wet, then turning it onto its back only to do the same in his sleep. Which he did often. He preferred it to being awake most of the time, and would often retreat back to it after those disapproving looks his Mother loved to give him — which his bandmates eventually adopted once his addiction began to affect his work ethic.

He hated that look, too. Almost as much as he hated himself.

Yet, despite it all, she was the most beautiful sight. She was safe, and alive and alert. She forced a smile up at him as his hand found hers, his head moving down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. He prayed she didn't notice the nail marks in his palms from clenching his fists until they were begging for him to stop.

Despite her exhaustion she would try her best to listen, until her eyelids began to flutter closed which left him to watch her sleep, watch her breathe, her heart on the monitor. She'd whisper silent, half-asleep words to him in an attempt to prove to him she was listening. "Mm... just resting my eyes," she would mumble to him through those full lips of hers. Needless to say, Mary's attempts didn't work. And all Luke was thinking about was how he'd sneak out long enough to visit a house halfway across town.

But he wasn't going to do that. He came for Mary, Mary needed him here. And that house is famous for selling - showing his face there would provide information to feed the news outlets around towns. People around here, though they raised him, would give TMZ anything they wanted for a buck or two.

So he'd try to focus on how happy he was to finally be back home. The one place he wanted to be more than anything. With his beautiful girlfriend, safe and sound and dry. He took a deep breath, and distracted himself on the numbers on the monitor above her head.

Her room, big enough to fit two patients had only one bed, a sofa and a few chairs. She didn't notice, at least not right now.

He had tried to meet his Mom on her wing, ask her for a better room himself. Her previous one was small, and stuffy, and the window faced a brick wall and gray roof that blocked much of any sun from coming through. He remembered how much she enjoyed the sunlight, remembered watching her feel the warmth as the sun cast its rays over her bedroom all those summer mornings they spent rotting away in bed together. But seeing his Mom's name plastered on the board showing Surgery In Progress proved that his Mom probably had someone on her table. Was probably shit-talking them while they were under her knife. He felt an icy cold breeze flow across his skin, down his spine, and he knew that he'd avoid her if he wasn't famous. Alas, the nurses talked. And all of a sudden, a wave of younger ones flooded Mary's floor's nurses' station.