and then we weren't (luke hemmings)

October 14th, 2016

Lena

"Luke!" I called, my voice noticeably hoarse from yelling the strange boy's name dozens of times in a short span of time, trying but failing miserably to gain his attention. "Please, will you just listen to me?"

He spun around, the sudden movement causing me to jump slightly. The thing about Luke was that he was utterly unpredictable; one minute, he was quiet, reserved, like his mind was in an altogether different reality. The next, however, his sad eyes would darken and his jaw would clench as he found himself brimming with anger. Most of the time, he was able to control his reactions. But it was times like these, when he had drank his way into believing the world was out to get him, that his emotions bled through his paper-thin cover ups.

"Listen to you?" he slurred, his words masked by the heaviness of liquor on his tongue. He stepped forward, reaching an arm out to grab mine in an attempt to stabilize himself on the ragged pavement. I jumped slightly and this caught his attention, for he released his grip almost immediately. "It's hard enough to hear my own goddamn thoughts right now. You think I'll be able to hear you?" he gestured lazily to the towering house adjacent to him, referencing the muffled -but still quite evident- vibrations of some nameless song connected to expensive speakers somewhere within the home's walls. It wasn't like him to attend parties, which was concerning enough. But what had shaken me up the most was the fact that he had gotten drunk. He hadn't pulled something like this in years, which was surprising due to the extensive amounts of alcohol that his father had stored in many of the cabinets littering the kitchen in his home. 

But today was different, for he wasn't just buzzed. He was the dizzy, falling-over-nothing, foggy-eyed blackout kind of drunk. I had no idea how much he had consumed, but judging from the four large red Solo cups stacked together in his right hand, all but one emptied, it wasn't hard to tell. 

"You know that's not what I mean. Come home, Luke. You can stay at my house. We can watch Lilo and Stitch, your favorite," I cooed, using a tactic that had worked on him many times before. I had it down to a system; use a baby voice, lure him in with tempting offers like pizza and various Disney movies, and never be mean or lecture him in any way. It looked ridiculous to bystanders, due to the fact that I was a seventeen-year old babying an eighteen-year old, but it always ended up with Luke safe in his bed instead of roaming the streets at midnight completely intoxicated, so I didn't care much about what others thought.

"No. You don't get it, do you? No stupid movie's gonna fix this," he frowned, looking down at himself with a distasteful expression.

"Fix what?" 

"Us." It was a mumble, and it was so quiet that I almost doubted he had even said anything at all. But his eyes told it all. They focused themselves on the cracks in the concrete below us, studying them halfheartedly as his fingered fumbled with the cup in his left hand. 

"There's nothing to fix, Luke. You didn't do anything wrong," I whispered, attempting to swallow the lump forming in my throat as he reached a timid hand out to grab mine softly. "You just need time, I get it." 

He shook his head, his actions continuing as he brought his lips closer to mine. His precious blue iris's searched my dull, mossy ones. He hovered there for a moment, lips only inches apart and both of our hands interlaced with a grasp so tight that it seemed as though he was afraid of letting go. I kept my eyes glued on his, refusing to close them and lean into him completely. Luke's, however, fluttered shut for a brief moment to allow a single tear to slip down his pale cheek. instinctively, I tore one of my hands away from his grasp to wipe it away, but he stopped my actions by doing so himself. I could easily smell the alcohol radiating off of him in waves, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I was much too captivated by the way his thumb gently rubbed the back of my hand, leaving soft trails of unspoken goodbyes in their wake.

The bittersweet moment seemed to last hours; the two of us stood there in a sad silence, the ghosts of faded memories closing in around us as we touched foreheads. There was a thick cloud of evanescence overhanging, for the fear of forgetting this moment clung to us both like sand to wet skin. 

Hesitantly, he leaned to the side, his lips brushing my ear gently as he spoke with solemn truth.

"There's so much to fix, Lena," he paused, swallowing thickly to clear the uneven tone in his voice. "and I don't need time. I hate it. Wanna know why?" 

I stayed silent, knowing that he would continue anyways.

"Because time won't allow  us to be happy. Time took away my fucking mom, Lena. Then it took away Michael, and now it's gonna take away us. That's not fair, is it?" 

"No, baby, it's not." I shook my head and breathed in shakily. Tears crowded the corners of my eye, fighting to escape. I didn't bother to try to stop them.

"So tell me, then," he said through gritted teeth, the familiar anger surging through his veins once more.  "what exactly gives you the impression that I want more fucking time? Because, quite frankly, Lena, I would do just about anything  to get rid of my time in this goddamn, fucked up world. Wouldn't you?" 

a/n: oops i relate to luke a lot 

anyways hope u enjoyed