we don't care [muke af]

forty nine

forty nine

February came and went. March came and went. April arrived and nothing felt right for Luke. Michael wasn't feeling much but he was feeling something. He liked coming home to Luke, he liked eating by the television and judging everyone on Say Yes To The Dress. Michael felt like things were beginning to turn normal again.

But, he was so wrong.

Luke laid in bed until about noon, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't know how to fill up his time. He didn't want to look at the screen of his phone, he didn't want to watch movies off of Netflix. He didn't want to open his eyes.

He felt like he was drowning in oxygen, like the blood inside of him was boiling and burning him inside out.

Luke didn't really feel alive and he wasn't sure he was alive.

He can see himself breathing, he can feel himself breathing, but his mind wasn't really there.

On the third Thursday of the month, Luke got up early. He got up at nine and put on sweatpants and a teeshirt. He sprayed himself in cologne and put a beanie over his head, covering his ears.

He walked outside and started to walk towards his parents home. It was about four miles but he needed the fresh air.

There weren't a lot of trees in Missouri and there weren't a lot of hills in Missouri. It was a flat walk filled with Luke smiling at groups of mothers walking their babies or dogs or maybe both.

Luke looked at the dogs instead of the babies.

He arrived at the familiar house a quarter to noon and knocked on the front door. He knew he could go in through the garage or get the key underneath the tool box. Luke didn't want to do either of that, though.

His mother answered, her face going from cheerful to concerned in less than a second. "Luke? How'd you get here?"

"I walked."

She opened the door up wider, letting him in. "Baby, I could have picked you up or something. What's wrong? Are you hungry?"

He kicked off his shoes and put his beanie in his big sweatpants pocket. "Can you make me grilled cheese?" Luke's voice was quiet, no real emotion underneath it.

"Of course. Let's talk, too." Ms. Hemmings turned around, leading him to the kitchen and placing him at the breakfast table.

He sat with his elbows on the hardwood, his head leaning on his hand. "I don't feel okay."

"Explain more." She buttered up the pan just the way Luke liked it—full of calories.

"Michael is alive again. He's smiling and laughing and bringing home food and getting out of bed early. I know he's still hurting, but it's so much less than me. I think I've gotten worse since we lost It."

His mother stayed quiet, letting the sizzling of the pain fill their break in conversation.

"We go to our therapist and he says I'm just in mourning, that I'll get out of it all soon enough. I just don't think I will."

"Does Michael know this?"

"Yeah, he does. He doesn't know what to do either. I feel like we're walking on glass, like he's always worried saying the wrong thing will force me into tears." Luke wiped at his eyes at the feeling in his heart pulled him down. "Mom, I don't think I'm in love with him."

Her spatula dropped from her hands. She quickly picked it up, throwing it into the sink and turning down the stove. Ms. Hemmings didn't say anything as she cleaned the spatula and went back to cooking the grilled cheese.

"That's okay, Luke," she finally said, "It happens."

"Stop saying that!" He said, now full-blown crying. "It doesn't just happen!"

"Yes, it does. That's the way the world works. People die and people break up, I assure you that's normal."

Ms. Hemmings understood why Michael was so afraid of making Luke cry as she listened to the awful sounds coming from her son. Her youngest son was bawling as he rested his head on the table.

"I just want to love him, but I don't feel it. I don't feel anything anymore."

"You need to talk to him about that, Baby," she said, taking the sandwich from the burner. She placed it on a plate and started to refill Luke's water cup.

"How do I even bring that up? 'Ha, by the way, we're kind of over'? That's terrible!" Luke put his head up when the good-smelling meal came closer to his nose. "I don't want to hurt him."

"It's going to hurt him, that's unavoidable. You need to put yourself first, though. You need to get yourself together once again, you need to at least try."

He took a bite of his lunch, his eyes still watering. "I want to be in love."

"Your love will come again, don't keep forcing something that is not there."

Luke continued to cry, forcing out words that didn't make sense. His mother sat across from him, her hands over her mouth as she listening intently. Luke wasn't happy anymore, and it's time his happiness comes first.

For once in his life, he knows what he wants, and it's not Michael anymore.