Luke's POV
Words.
All they really are is a jumbled mess meant to confuse us all.
Everything that I had tried to put across never came out right. Why?
Words.
In the end, all people hear are words, but I hear feelings.
It's all about the tone.
The little croak at the end of a cry, the rasp behind a scream, the laugh behind a scoff.
Emotion.
Hannah was broken. But I couldn't fix her.
I didn't know if he could, but he broke me, so how can I let him mend my sister?
After I saw him, the world shattered around me.
I guess part of me already knew, but that doesn't mean that I wanted to.
Honestly, I just wanted to run. Get away from him, the lies, the emotion.
The words.
So I did.
I ran away from my sister the moment that she needed me, I needed her too.
I really did.
But she had him.
I didn't really fully understand it; why she continued to be with him when she had me, her perfectly fine and dependable older brother.
Maybe she needed life, and I never gave that to her.
Maybe she needed air, I suffocated her with my concern, I knew this, but I only ever had good intentions and I would never hurt her.
Maybe she just needed him.
So I ran.
I caught the next flight to Melbourne for touring because I was a pathetic, scared, little screw up.
Now, I sat in the airport here in this unfamiliar city, with my hands tangled in my hair.
Nothing was as it should be, but maybe they never were.
Success was all that I was after for so long, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of being loved.
In fact, success only worsens loneliness when you have no one to share it with.
It weighs you down, and suddenly, you aren't at the top any more.
I shoved off the chair in the airport, bursting through the doors of the car park to the car I rented when I first got here.
My knuckles were pale around the steering wheel.
They reminded me of her.
The way she would pale before she stopped breathing properly or before her muscles stopped working or before she had an anxiety attack.
I stared out the windshield, catching a glimpse of a woman singing in her car.
She reminded me of her.
How she would sing and dance along to cheesy alternative music on long car rides to the beach with me, smiling in all of her brilliance.
I shook the thought, looking away from her and to an ice cram stand along the side of the road.
It reminded me of her.
Her favorite flavor was cookie dough, which fit her well. She was a child at heart, liking the rebellious feeling eating dough raw gave her.
My phone rang. I heard my mother voice, "Luke, sh-she's dead."
And then I was hit, too hard.
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I'm sorry.
Really I don't know what I have done. This is a mess. I'm sorry.
VOTE AND COMMENT.
-Skylar
