Pregnant and Alone

Week 21

Luke sighed, closing his apartment door. Running a hand through his messy blonde locks, he trudged into his disastrous home. Food wrappers were everywhere, empty water bottles scattered about and dirty clothes littered the floor. Normally, Luke would freak out and be cleaning every single inch till it sparkled but now, he doesn't seem to care.

He held his rather large bump, his hand protectively laying on top of his baby girls. Luke yawned, kicking off his dirty converse as he walked. Shuffling into his bedroom, Luke was tempted to just drop dead onto his bed but he hadn't showered in so long. He stripped off his bakery shirt, dropping it into the towering pile of dirty clothes in his closet. He grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants and one of the many sweatshirts he had that were Michael's.

He flinched. A week and the name still made him feel as broken as he was months and years ago. He felt tears slip, quickly wiping them away. He didn't even know if he had any tears left to shed. Every night, hours of sleep he could enjoy were spent on crying over his broken soul. He shook his head, trying to clear his head of the fog. He made his way to the bathroom he also needed to clean.

He needed to clean the bathroom of his broken pieces. The blood and the broken glass. Pieces of his heart. He wanted to wash it all away in his sorrows. He wanted to wash his hurting heart with a blade. Earlier that week, as he sat on the seat of the toilet, holding the blade with shaky hands, he swear he heard the sounds of his mother's cries. He could hear Calum's shouts and see his father's worried eyes.

Yet, he did it anyways. He cut into his thigh, deep enough to make him hiss in pain. The dark red liquid seeping past the sliced skin and down his pale thigh. 34. Thirty-four cuts into his flesh, all pouring blood down his leg and onto the floor. Slowly falling to his knees, sobbing, he really wanted someone to come back to him. His mother, father, Calum or Michael. He needed someone. He lay in his own blood, staring up at the ceiling while his mind replayed all the events with those people who left.

Luke opened the bathroom door, gasping when his eyes laid on the dark figure in the corner of the bathroom. His heart beat picked up, him slowly stepping back, his mind telling him that this was his end.

"How many..." The figure asked, the voice monotone. Luke could recognize that voice anywhere,

"Y-you mean m-my-"
"Tell me, how many."

Luke gulped, taking a shaky breath. "Th-thirty four."
He swore he heard Michael gasp. "Oh god. I've made a mess."
Luke shook his head, walking towards the now Galaxy on Michael's head. "It's my mess." Michael looked up at the pregnant boy, his heart breaking when seeing the dark circles under his dull blue eyes. "I was the cause of the mess you made."

Michael stood to his feet, gently taking Luke's delicate hand into his, running his fingers over Luke's knuckles. "I broke a promise to myself. I broke you. I broke a delicate flower who is bearing two little buds who will bloom in a couple of months. I'm sorry."

Tears slipped down Michael's red cheeks, his eyes speaking more for him than his mouth could at the moment. Luke could see the same broken expression he holds in his own eyes. Luke led a crying Michael to his room, helping him into his bed. Michael's cries softened to small whimpers, looking up at Luke with bloodshot eyes. Luke smiled, kissing his forehead, getting up to go shower but Michael held onto his hand.

"I haven't been able to sleep without you. Please, stay."

Luke gave in, slowly slipping into his bed, hesitantly allowing Michael to place his arm around his waist, under his baby girls. Luke sighed.

This is how it should always be.

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Dear babies,

He came back.

Love, Daddy