Clean ⇔ Cashton ✓

I Kinda Like It When I Make You Cry

CALUM

Luke doesn't speak for the entire ride home.

I know better than to interfere when Luke is angry, which he most certainly is, so I resign to staring out the window and replaying the look on Ashton's face as the car pulled away over and over again. There were a thousand different emotions in his big hazel eyes, and I could count each and every one of them as though they were displayed right in front of me like ink on paper. Hurt, definitely one of them. Concern, anger, shock, et cetera. The biggest emotion was definitely concern, although I sure hope Luke isn't angry enough to make his worry worthwhile.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, this is the first time that I've actually felt a bit of anger at Luke. I'm frustrated at how he reacts to things that I do if I don't have his permission doing them. It makes me feel like I'm a string puppet and he's constructing every move I make. I don't know if it's because Ashton was involved or if it's because I feel like a professional boxer has punched me straight up in the face, but this time, I wasn't on Luke's side.

I would have much rather stayed with Ashton at the restaurant and listen to music with him in his old, beat up car and relish in his carefree laugh, but that's not how my life works. I'm with Luke, and that's just how it is. It's how it's always been.

When we get home, Luke continues his silent treatment, stalking inside and hanging his coat on the rack by the door. I follow him silently, not knowing what to say or how to bring up the situation that just happened, but Luke doesn't seem to want to talk about it. It actually scares me a little, the utter calmness of his movements, the gentle expression he wears. I can tell he's angry, simply because I've known him for so long, but he's hiding it. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why.

Normally Luke gives me a solid beating if something happens, and then that's that. Situation handled, conflict over. But this time he's holding off, and it sets me on edge. I'm waiting for his hands to shove me against the wall and knock my teeth out, but it doesn't seem to come. It's very unlike him.

Luke starts to make dinner. He sets out two plates and expertly begins preparing, turning on the stove and setting up a skillet. He watches me out of the corner of his eye as he does, furrowing his eyebrows just the tiniest bit at how I'm still just standing there, waiting for him to blow.

"Sit down, babe," Luke says, so I do. He continues cooking, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up as to not get anything dirty. The watch clasped on his left wrist glints under the flourescent lighting of the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"

I'm not sure what the right thing to say is. "Sick."

Luke chuckles, grabbing a spoon from the cabinet and using it to mix something in a bowl. "I sort of got that already."

"Um," I say, and try to think of what he might want to hear. "I feel a bit feverish. I have a runny nose, and-- everything sort of aches."

Luke's smile has faded. "The flu, huh?" I stay quiet, figuring he doesn't mean this as an actual question. He doesn't turn around, but I can see the muscles in his arm tighten through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his knuckles turn white on the grip he has on the spoon.

"Listen up, babe," Luke begins, and my heart sinks into my stomach, making my head spin. Something in the cadence of his voice has changed, as though he's trying not to turn around and knock me out cold. "I'm shocked that you had the audacity to do what you did today. Leaving with some co worker and going to the hospital? Without bothering to even call me and tell me what you were doing?"

I don't bother telling him that he wouldn't have let me go even if I did all the stuff. He probably just would have scolded me through the phone and disregarded his plans to pick me up early. But I stay silent.