Angel [L.H. short story]

shattered

I hesitate but knock against the cold wood of Luke's front door.

It opens slowly but reveals Luke, looking even more sad than earlier.

"What are you doing here?" he asks but doesn't seem shocked.

"I wanted to know if you're okay?" I ask.

"Yeah...you?"

"I'm worried." I reply.

"About?"

"You," I admit but my voice cracks and it comes out as a whisper.

There is a long silence, but it isn't awkward.

A cool breeze rushes by and I rub my arms for warmth.

"Would you like to come in?" he asks and I nod.

We enter his home and it smells like cookies. He leads me up to his room and I look around. White walls, no bed, just a mattress that lays on the ground. A white dresser, on top are three white picture frames.

"Who are these people?" I ask quietly, pointing to the pictures in the frames.

"Me, my mom and dad." he says pointing to the first one. "My brother and I." he points to the next picture. "And that's my sister and I." he whispers.

"And, where are they?" I hesitate to ask.

He stares down at his feet and shakes his head slowly. His eyes squeeze shut and I take a step closer.

He sits down on his mattress and I sit next to him.

I put my hand on his thigh and he looks into my eyes.

"My parents are always gone, whether they're at work, or the bar." he explains, rolling his eyes. "My brother died in a car accident three years ago." he says softly.

"And you sister?" I ask quietly and his head drops. He stares at my hand on his leg and a wet drop of water falls onto the top of my hand. He takes his hand and rubs his tear off of my skin.

My heart aches and I want to comfort him, hug him, kiss him.

"She died, Friday after school." he chokes out and his voice cracks.

More tears fall from his face and land on my hand, however, he doesn't bother to wipe them away.

"Did she..." I trail off, not wanting to ask.

"Yes, she killed herself." he answers. "I always ran off the bus, so I'd get home before she could do anything to herself..." he trails off. "But Friday...But Friday, I was too late." his voice cracks and he let's out a sob.

Warm tears fall down my face as my heart beats faster and faster for the pain I imagine he is feeling.

I slowly lift my hand from his thigh and lift his head up. His watery eyes meet mine and he blinks to make the tears fall. I take his hand in mine and intertwine our fingers.

"This shirt..." he trails off, talking about the shirt he wears everyday. "it was my brother's," he says. "It covers my scars." he whispers and lifts up the ends of his sleeves to reveal cuts along his wrists.

Tears continue to fall down our cheeks. I squeeze his hand slightly and he leans his forehead against mine.

"I'm sorry for showing up." I whisper.

"Don't apologize. If you didn't show up, I don't know what I would have done to myself by now." he whispers and this time I let out a sob and pull him into a tight hug. He hugs back and I don't want him to ever let go.

"Please stay." he whispers.

"Of coarse." I reply and we drift to sleep.