Disconnected | Luke Hemmings

chapter twelve

"Honestly, Luke, do you ever do your laundry?"

"I'll get around to it," Luke muttered absentmindedly. He was sitting on his bed fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt and I was taking the liberty of folding up the shirts and jeans that were scattered around his floor. Honestly, as much as he tried to deny it, Luke was almost as messy as Michael. I stacked his clothes into a neat pile and made a point of placing the stack directly in front of his closet doors.

"There. I don't mind folding your clothes, Lucas Hemmings, but you're going to have to put them away."

"Fair enough," he replied. He stopped picking at the thread and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes in the process. I frowned; he looked troubled. But I knew that he would get around to talking about whatever was on his mind if he really wanted to. He always did. Then again, it had been a few days since his fight with Calum that I had overheard, and he hadn't mentioned it yet, so maybe he just didn't want to. I knew that he wouldn't want me to feel bad about putting him in the middle of a crossroads of sorts. So instead of prodding for information, I climbed onto the bed to sit next to him. Hesitantly, I leaned my head against his shoulder and didn't say a word. We were comfortable with silence, after all, but I knew that eventually it would force him into filling it with whatever words he didn't want to say. Already, I felt a lump forming in my throat and I could feel my heart beating quite distinctly and quickly in my chest. Calm down, don't panic, I told myself. Everything is going to be fine.

Except I had known for a while now that "fine" was pretty far off from what things were going to be.

"Danielle," Luke said out of nowhere in a small voice, lacing his fingers through mine. "I have to tell you something." He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

I looked up at him, studied the endless blue of his eyes and the way his hair was tousled and the glint of his lip ring in the dim light. I looked at the hard set of his jaw and the way his lips pulled down a little at the corners. I scanned every inch of his face, and I knew what he was going to say.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" I choked out. My voice sounded so quiet and strangled that it didn't even seem like my own anymore.

He nodded slowly, staring at the wall across from him rather than at me. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm leaving. We're leaving. I'm so sorry." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I looked up at the ceiling, as if the answers could be found there, and closed my eyes. In the end, it didn't matter that I was already aware he'd have to go. It still hurt just the same. I felt tears prick at my eyes and I heaved a trembling sigh. I felt Luke's fingers tighten around my own and I looked over at him again as the first few tears tumbled down my cheeks. This time, he was looking back at me, but he didn't wipe away my tears or say anything else. Instead, he pressed his lips to mine with an intensity that knocked me backward into the pillows.

I could taste something on his tongue that seemed a lot like urgency, and that flavor was confirmed as he wasted no time in tugging at my t-shirt, asking for permission. I bit down on his bottom lip and a low moan came from the back of his throat. Smirking to myself, I pulled back to lift my shirt up over my head and toss it to the floor before attaching my lips to his again. Luke trailed kisses across my jaw and then down to my neck. He bit down—hard—and I groaned breathlessly, not caring if he heard. I wanted him to hear it. I wanted him to know that I wanted him, that I would always crave him. Luke's lips moved to my collar bone, traveled between my breasts, and all the way down my stomach before he paused and made his way back up again.