Damage

Chapter 18

"Mia." 

Luke's eyes are made of ice and while they soften just a bit when he turns to me, he still looks more irritated than ever. I try to smile, reassuring both him and myself, but it's forced and it's probably obvious how naïve I am - desperately hoping that what Blaire said isn't true.

"What are you still doing here?" He sounds frustrated and while he looks angrier with Blaire and Ashton, his words send a pang straight to my chest.

 "Mia was just leaving, right Luke?" Blaire smiles almost triumphantly and I look at Luke for some semblance of reassurance. All he does is tighten his jaw and look away.

He is unapologetic, ruthless and completely unfeeling and I'm utterly disgusted with myself.  I must be just another notch on his bedpost and I hate myself for getting into this situation. 

"I didn't think you'd still be here." Luke says flatly and I almost feel bile rising in the back of my throat.  I want to glare at him, yell at him, tell him that his not-even-an-apology means nothing when it's empty.

But that's not the type of person I am. Instead, I stand in the middle of the foyer of this sumptuous penthouse, watching Luke and saying nothing. Angry and hurt tears are burning behind my eyes and behind my throat. It doesn't feel real - that the same person who smiled and who held me while I cried and kissed me could be the same person that's lighting up a cigarette and turning away like we don't even know each other.

"You can go now," Blaire says, raising her eyebrows, acting like I can't take a hint. 

 I'm angry at him but I'm more angry at myself. I'm the most gullible person in the room and everyone knows it. I feel sickened and mortified and ashamed. But most of all, I feel tricked.

I steel up my eyes and try not to think about how Blaire is staring at me, smiling in mock-sympathy as I bend over to pick up my shoes in the middle of the living room.

Tears are threatening to fall while I pick up my sweater and make my way to the door, hoping to get out of here as fast as possible. But before I leave, Luke wraps his hand around my wrist, looking into my eyes with his blue ones and half-heartedly trying to convey a message that I don't care enough to watch for.

His hands are strong, gripping a little too tightly around my frail wrist but I roughly pull away from his hold, brushing past him and walking straight out the door.

 I can hear Blaire laughing mixed with an "Awww," as I let the door close behind me..  A few tears drop down my face while I ride the elevator down to the marble and gold lobby, but I wipe them away, telling myself not to care and be so stupid to think that someone like Luke could possibly want more than just to get into my pants. 

It's windy, the air biting at my cheeks as I walk down the street, looking for subway station nearby.  

I want to burst into tears, and I can feel them choking me, making it almost impossible to breathe. But instead, I bit my lip to keep it in and walk down the stairs to the subway, not allowing myself to cry over someone who doesn't care.

***

By the time I'm back to the dorms, it's nearly midday and I feel exhausted, like my body is trying to get over a cold. Half of me wants to lie in my bed and take a nap for a few hours, but I have class tomorrow and tons of work to complete.  I need to review over my notes from the English lecture and probably write them down again, making sure they're neat and more organized 

My hair falls in front of my face as I browse through my binder, loosening from the ponytail I haphazardly put up earlier.  My fingers trail along the color coded smaller binders, tracing over the subject titles written in precise script.  Both my father and my mother have handwriting that's almost impossible to read, my father's jagged and quickly jotted down letters covering papers upon papers filled with writing and my mother's loopy, half-cursive taking note of what groceries we needed or what time to pick up Jake from school when there was a half-day.