Uncontrollable (Punk Luke Hemmings)

Chapter 12

The breeze is cool, brisk and everywhere, stirring my hair. The ricks dig into my back. I don't know how long I sit there, slumped against the wall in an alleyway behind a club, fighting back tears that I despise. But eventually, I make it up.

Still in a daze, I make my way back into the club. I keep my eyes straight, ignoring everyone around me. My brain is cloudy and I'm not entirely with it, but I manage to make the mandatory goodbyes. Calum, Michael, and Ashton are absorbed in a conversation with Rose's band, so it's easy to pop my head in, congratulate Rose, and beg my leave with a headache. It's not a lie-I wish I could tear my brain out.

It's easy to fool the boys. Almost all the boys, at least. Chase, the bassist, is watching me curiously. Rose's eyes, so astute, follow me, narrowed into slits. But she doesn't move when I turn and leave. She probably already has an idea of what happened.

I leave the club, sucking in the clear air greedily, just trying to clear my head. It's sluggish, filled with thoughts of Luke. Luke's anger. Luke's eyes. Luke's teeth, digging into my neck. Luke leaving me, like he always seems to do. I hate what he does to me.

The moon is clear and full, shining strongly through the parking lot. My car is waiting for me at the end of the lot, next to a low wall separating it from the street, black and sleek, but my hands are shaking so badly I drop the keys.

I just stand there, staring at the keys on the ground, a tiny, seemingly insignificant thing. But it's the match thrown into the gasoline, and suddenly I'm losing it.

A low and primal scream erupts from my throat in frustration. My fist lashes out, hitting the wall next to my car. "Fuck you!" I yell, not entirely sure who it's at. Maybe Luke. Maybe my dad. Maybe me. I see the blood from my split knuckle. I can tell, in a dim part of my mind, how dumb it was to punch a brick wall, but it doesn't matter. In another stupid act, I hit the wall again. I'm probably still screaming. I don't even notice.

I do notice, however, when a strong hand reaches out and grabs mine, stopping it from attacking the wall again. I whip around, trying to hit whoever it was too, but their other hand grabs that arm too.

"You really need to learn how to control your anger better." A deep voices admonishes, not releasing my arms. I look up, not expecting to see a pair of dark green eyes.

"Chase?" I sputter out, utterly confused.

He rolls his eyes, letting go of my arms. "Andy?" He mimics.

I'm about to retort when a flash of pain goes through my hands. I look down, almost surprised to see them covered in blood. "Ow." I say in surprise.

Chase sighs, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "C'mon. I'll take you home."

I don't object, letting him gently pull me towards a big truck parked a few spaces down.

Not even bothering to wonder about the car choice, I climb awkwardly in to the cab, which is just as covered in CDs as Rose's jeep was. Chase gets in considerably more gracefully.

He starts it without a word, and to my delight, it's Mayday Parade that's playing.

He doesn't say anything, except to ask for the occasional direction. It's quiet except for my voice telling him to go left or right. The pain in my hands is a steady throb, finally sharpening my focus, allowing me to be embarrassed for my actions. Chase, a boy I barely even know, just saw me at my worst, completely losing it over some dumb guy. I take deep breaths, trying to control my breathing as he pulls into my driveway. He exits the truck with me.

At my questioning glance, he gestures to my hands. "You're gonna need help cleaning those." The stinging intensifies.

"Fair enough." I mutter, unlocking the door. The house shines, sparkling clean despite the mess it was earlier. Apparently the cleaning team came.