Cleo Hart: Intelligence by Default

Shards

I stirred from my sleep, my eyes feeling hollow from tears and tiredness. I exhaled, pushing my head further into the soft, warm spot I had found. Suddenly, my eyes snapped open. I was in Luke's room, lay on his chest. Gradually, the events of the day before dawned on me. I must have fallen asleep in the bathroom, and been brought here. Slowly, I lifted my head from his chest, and my shoulder from underneath his arm. I groaned, then gagged. He slept soundly, his face looking more innocent when it wasn't painted by his frown. I allowed myself to watch him, thoughts turning over in my head. Part of me hated him, and part of me didn't. I just didn't know which part was right. I shook my head and propped myself up on his stomach, half-heartedly trying to reach over him for the gun, but it had been moved from last night. I groaned slightly in frustration, freezing when I heard him chuckle quietly.

"Can't we just go back to sleep?" He murmured, half opening an eye. His fingers brushed over my hand, trying to work out why there was weight on his stomach. I sat up, edging off the bed.
Luke opened both eyes fully, and watched my movements carefully.
"Are you okay?"

I stared at him manically, feeling for the doorknob behind me. Finding it, I twisted, and backed out of the room.
Slight relief appeared when I closed the door behind me. Followed by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

I picked up a plate from beside the sink, and stared at it. There was a slight crack going through the middle, showing me a blurry, broken reflection. Nothing made any sense. I felt like I was dreaming. I had been kidnapped, and forced to work for an agency, and I was now living with my parents' murderer.
I snapped, throwing the plate to the floor. Twenty minutes later every plate and cup and mirror was smashed, the shards scattered over the carpets. I stood, breathless and panicky, my eyes moving over every shape. Luke had emerged after the first plate, and stood in his doorway the entire time, not moving to stop me, just observing, and every so often dodging plate debris heading his way.

I looked at him, and he looked back at me, and we said nothing. I wondered what he thought of me. He went into his room for a minute, returning with a t-shirt on.

"You should clean that up."

He moved past me, brushing against my arm, and walked out of the door, looking back after a second.
"Call me if you need me."