Uncontrollable (Punk Luke Hemmings)

Chapter 23

The water in the drain swirls pink with blood. More red than I had even thought, more than made sense. I had underestimated Luke's rage. But not anymore- I can't ignore it as I'm watching the evidence of it wash off of me. I didn't even know how that much of it had gotten on me, but there's no ignoring it now.

The steam swirls around me, blocking out the thoughts I can't deal with. I stand there, under the pounding water of the shower head, wishing it would wash away what I'd just seen, wash away what I knew was in Luke but didn't want to face. The escapable darkness he didn't seem capable of controlling yet. Luke's eyes as he drives his fist into AJ's slack face worm their way into my mind. But I can't reconcile this dark Luke with the one who sleeps next to me, burying his face in my hair. Right now, it's the Luke with dark eyes and a dark laugh that kicks people when they're down that's winning. My eyes screw shut, trying to escape it. But I can't.

***

I don't escape it at night either- the dark Luke laughs in my dreams, standing menacingly there, towering over me, laughing as he stalks closer. His arms reach out for me, closing around my wrists, pulling me back into a vice like grip-

I wake up with a start. I stare out the window, watching the moonlight pour in the window, gradually peaking through to sunlight.

The dream bothers me- I'm not afraid of Luke. I have absolutely no doubt that Luke would never hurt me physically intentionally. Even with everything else, I know he wouldn't try and hurt me. So why did this dream smother me?

A quick glance at the clock shows it's 5:30 am. The Australian sun is already glowing through the window, ruining any hope I harbored of going back to sleep. Not that I really want to go back to that dream.

I swing my legs out of bed, not even caring that the bare floor is cold and unforgiving beneath my feet. I throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, slipping on shoes as I go. The clock hadn't even hit 6:00 by the time I'm walking down the stairs, ready to leave for the day.

I stop short at the sight on my couch- my dad is asleep, sprawled over the expensive leather, empty bottle on the ground next to him, still in his suit. I didn't even know he was home from his trip, let alone drunk and passed out downstairs. His chest wheezes gently, fingers twitching along with whatever's happening in his dreams. I stare at him for a long moment before I feel something inside me harden.

Where was he when I was falling apart? Where was he when AJ touched me? Where was he when I was sitting against the front door, shaking too hard to move? I ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that tells me every single one of those things ties back to Luke.

But I shove the thoughts of Luke away. I just stare at the man who has never been there for me, but has dragged me around the world. I grab the bottle he abandoned and chuck it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass raining down onto the shiny hardwood floor doesn't even stir him. I throw a blanket from the back of the couch over him and then walk out the door without a backward glance.

My car is parked on the curb, patiently waiting for me, just like Ashton promised me. I should be ashamed of the way I totally and completely broke down in front of Ash yesterday, but I really can't bring myself to care as I hop into my car.

Feeling particularly not caring, I dial a familiar number as I casually start driving.

"Andy, I swear to god, you better have a fan-fucking-tastic reason for calling me at 6:15 in the motherfucking morning." Rose's voice is gruff, tired, and filled with violence.

Feeling like I'm not quite anchored down to my body, I respond flippantly. "I'll be at your house in half an hour. Be ready. I'll bring food."

I only hear halfhearted grumbles on the other end before hanging up.