Innocence: Lost

Chapter Ten

Luke licked the cherry-flavored lip balm from his lips. He stared down at his feet in the soft grass, swinging back and forth in the swing that was dangling on a tree limb. His house was in his peripheral vision; he felt serene in this safe haven he'd built for himself. There were no thoughts of Ashton's mean words that scarred his ears.

The blonde boy couldn't erase that night from his head, and even though it had only been two nights since it had happened, Luke knew it would never perish from his memory. He would always remember the way that Ashton looked at him. The way that their lips almost touched. The soft stretch of Luke's limbs to touch Ashton's cheek. The proximity of their faces.

Ashton's touch burned Luke, and when he thought about it hard enough, it felt like a dream so vivid: he was still there.

He was usually a golden boy. With beautiful eyes like a peaceful stream that washed over smooth stones and a smile like the cotton that grew by the sea. His happiness was natural in that way. But Ashton's absence, presence even, changed that about Luke. Luke craved the danger that came with Ashton. He craved the electricity that sparked inside of his body. He craved things that he never knew he wanted.

He was gone, and just like that, the happy boy was no more.

The inside of Luke's room was messier than normal. Crumbled papers surrounded his nightstand (all were letters he wanted to give to Ashton). His pillows were slightly damp from all of the salty tears that had stained them in the dark of the night. His clothes were astray, lying all along the soft carpet, and his ballet slippers were thrown in different corners of the room. None of them were matched in a pair.

Luke sighed. He found himself lying on his unmade bed again. His honey colored curls were frizzy, sticking to his face. The California sun poured a new kind of heat among its inhabitants today. Luke was its main victim. Having to suffer the worst hair day of his life.

The bags under his eyes were more prominent and puffy, and his lips were chewed from an anxious tendency.

"I should call Michael," Luke said into the empty air.

His family were out shopping. He had no desire to leave the house.

Michael was probably busy studying (like the good person he was). Michael was a business major. Though, sometimes it confused Luke. Michael really enjoyed studying French. He wanted to teach people the language. Luke though Michael should pick the major that didn't consume so much of his time, and not just for his own selfish reasons. Luke could barely speak English, sometimes, so he admired Michael for pursuing a second language along with a degree. Luke didn't want to disturb his friend.

So, Luke rolled around, playing on his phone that had made its way to his hands. He thumbed through some ballet pictures, judging his poor form from when he wasn't as experienced. Laughing at sweet memories with Michael at the carnivals on the boardwalk. Tearing up at the pictures where he looked happy with his parents. When the life he had now was enough. The time before ballet was stressful, and he wanted to go on adventures.

But, monotony was not perfect for everyone.

He smiled pathetically, staring at the bright screen before locking his phone. He sat the device down on his pillow. It was starting to burn his hand. Luke closed his eyes and pictured himself somewhere far away where there were new people waiting to meet him.

In these far away places, Luke would meet a sweet boy somewhere. Maybe this boy wouldn't yell at him for no particular reason, but every time that Luke tried to imagine this boy, another one clouded his thoughts. A boy, or a man really, with sandy brown hair. A boy with haunting amber eyes.