Ultraviolence // muke

chapter four

" they say wake up and smell the roses, but life smells more like anger issues and insecurities if anything "

-

I was so confused as I woke up somewhere that wasn't my own bed. It was bigger than my own, but also seemed to be a hell of a lot warmer than my own blankets. It was softer than my own aswell, and I never wanted to leave though I knew I'd have to.

I kept my eyes closed as I tried thinking about where I was. I didn't have any real friends, just maybe one or two people I talk to during class but ignore outside. I didn't have any nearby family members, since most of them left when I first started 'going crazy'. The only person I could think was of was Luke since he was the only one that talked to me.

Of all people in the world, was I in Luke's bed?

I forced an eye open, shifting slightly on top of the large mattresss. After sitting up and rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I looked around the room. It was actually neat, folded clothes at the bottom of the bed and shoes lined in a neat row inside of his closet.

But where the hell was Luke?

I threw the thick blanket off of me, standing up slowly. I looked around the room once more after sliding my shoes on, lacing them up quickly.

Did he leave me alone? Did he just bring me up here and let me sleep by myself? Did people actually do that nowadays?

I made my way to the living room, where I actually remember falling asleep, and then I stopped. I felt my mouth go drier than it already was, and my heart both sped up and ached inside my heavy chest.

On a couch two thirds his size, Luke was laying down asleep. He had a couch pillow under his head and his arms wrapped around himself, soft snores escaping his lips. He didn't have a blanket covering him, just a black hoodie draped over his curled up body.
I could have easily fit on the couch, why didn't Luke just leave me there?

I swallowed back the growing lump and I turned to the door, my thoughts running a million miles per hour. It was so close, not even two meters from where I was standing, but it felt like it was about seven thousand miles away.

I could leave without him knowing. He wouldn't be surprised by it. I could tell him I didn't want to wake him, that my mum needed me home, that my friends want to hang out. There's so many things I could say to him that could excuse me leaving at eight in the morning.

But I couldn't bring myself to walk towards the door.

I heard the couch creak gently, and I turned to look at Luke, who was shifting slightly in his spot. I shook my head, immediately marching towards his room.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I yanked his blanket off of his bed and then went back to the sleeping adult, tossing it across his body. I stared at his covered body, but I couldn't stand to see it so piled up and creased. It looked careless and lazy, and I hated it.

I peeled it back off, taking his hoodie off of him and setting it on the couch. Gently, much softer this time, I laid the blanket over him, making sure it fully covered his body.

He hummed, his slightly bushy eyebrows furrowing together as I sucked in a breath. Luke lifted his head, pulling the blanket down slightly to itch his shoulder. "Mikey?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I wanted to leave. I didn't want him to think I was going to be this nice kid to him. I wasn't nice, I wasn't kind. I was the fucking devil reincarnated into a teenage boy.

I don't throw blankets over people's sleeping bodies, I throw fucking knives at them and hope to hit the bullseye that was painted in their skin.

What the hell am I doing?

Before I could leave, he was gently grabbing my wrist, curling his long fingers around it and making my hands grow clammy. "What time is it?" He yawned and I looked at the click again.

"Its eight in the morning." I answered him and he nodded as he sat up, keeping his blanket around him.

"Do you want coffee?" He asked and I wanted to throw him into his own glass coffee table.

Stop being so fucking nice to me.

"No, it's fine." I shook my head and he was dozing off. "Why did you put me in your room?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself.

"Hmm?" He asked and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. "Put you in my-Oh, oh yeah. I did do that." He laughed at his own forgetfulness and I bit the inside of my cheek.

Stop being so fucking cute.

"You fell asleep on the couch last night afer we came in and I know it's not very comfortable so I put you in my room. You're very light actually, and it wasn't too hars to carry you to my bedroom. I mean... I have a spare room too but it's all dirty and ugly so I couldn't put you in there. It wouldn't be right." He explained and gave me and sleepy smile.

"You slept on your uncomfortable couch?" I tried wrapping my head around this, but it came up blank.

I was genuinely unsure if he had a selfish bone inside of his body.

"Well I wasn't going to lay in the bed with you because that's kinda weird. You're a teenager and I'm an adult. We're not dating either, so I left you to sleep alone. Besides, you can't sleep in the same bed as people who didn't say you can sleep besides them, it's logic." He yawned as he stretched his arms above his head.

He was a saint. That's it. That's all there is to it. There's no question about it.

He's a fucking saint that doesn't realize I'm the most toxic person he's ever met, and probably will ever meet.

I could tear him to shreds. I could kill him in more ways than just one. Yet he's here giving me his bed and making me chocolate milkshakes like I too was a saint. I wasn't. Didn't he understand that?

"Mikey? Say something." Luke told me and I  took a deep breath, angry at both him and myself. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like-Like you wanna kill me." Luke pointed out, and his hand gently held my clenched fist. I didn't even know they were balled up until he tried soothing them, holding my fist gently and rubbing my knuckles softly.

I unclenched my fists and then let out a shakey breath as his warm hands played with my fingers. "I... I don't want to hurt you..." I mumbled, pressing my palm against my eye as I rubbed it slightly. "And... thank you."

"You're welcome." He laughed lightly, and I could just feel him smiling. He was a predictable person, easy to read and easy to understand.

I didn't know why I was getting caught up with him, or why I was wasting my time with someone who irritated me to no end. All he did was ramble, stutter, and blush like a child. He's like a giant child and I hate kids more than anything in the world.

But as I thought of him, I found myself wandering-was it even his fault? Did he irritate me, or did I force myself to think he's irritating? Did I genuinely not like him, or was I making myself believe that?

I didn't know and that scared me.