karma → 5sos au

0.7

Bryana didn't reply.

She quickly ended the call and locked her brand new phone. Her old phone was probably still laying in the grass at the Cliffs.

The voice. It was Luke's voice, she thought.

But that's impossible. Of course, that's impossible.

Someone was playing a cruel trick on her. But who could it be?

Who could sound so much like Luke? Who want to scare Bryana, to make her feel bad?

Michael?

Was it Mikey? She hadn't seen him since that day in the hospital. Since the day Michael had come to tell her Luke was dead.

Michael was so angry at her, Bryana remember, so shocked that she hadn't asked about Luke immediately. So outraged when Bryana didn't cry at the horrible news.

Outraged. That's the only way to describe it.

Mike was the only one who knew that she had run away from the Cliffs that night, that she hadn't stayed to rescue Luke.

But I didn't run away, she insisted to herself.

I drove away as quickly as I could to get help. If only I would've brought my damn phone.

She wished she had a chance to explain that to Michael.

That creep. She never had liked him. He was so ugly with that pockmarked face, and that awful lime-green hair.

He was just stupid enough to make the phone call and pretend to be Luke.

But she knew it couldn't be Michael. Michael had such a high-pitched, scratchy voice.

There was no way in hell he could sound so much like Luke.

So exactly like Luke.

She shivered, and realised she was still undressed. She hurried over to her closet, stepping over her clothes, which she had thrown on the floor, and pulled on her warmest flannel nightshirt.

What's going on? Who would play such a stupid, mean joke?

The question repeated in her mind. She just couldn't answer it.

It took hours to fall asleep. And then she slept fitfully, waking up every few hours, thinking her phone was buzzing.

Sunday was spent texting Jess and Ashton and watching endless, boring old movies full of romance and heartache on Netflix.

She thought maybe Ashton would actually call so they could have a real conversation, but he didn't. So she called him after dinner, and they had a nice, short chat.

He's never asked me about Luke, she realised. Of course, he never knew Luke. But he did know I'd been going with someone for a long time.

And he's never really asked about my accident, either.

That's strange.

Maybe he just doesn't like to bring up unpleasant subjects, she thought. A lot of people are like that.

The next day was a blustery, cold day that showed that winter was getting serious. Low, gray clouds hovered overhead as she headed home in the late afternoon after her French lesson with Mr. Taylarson. Even though it was afternoon, it was as dark as night, an eerie, heavy darkness that made it feel like it would start snowing at any minute.

I wish I had the car, she thought, even though Mr. Taylarson lived only a couple blocks from her house. She pulled the fur hood of her coat up, and picked up her pace. The cold made her foot throb, but she forced herself not to limp. Any change in the weather made her foot and ribs and shoulders ache. It was just something she was going to have to live with, she realised.

As she approached Elm Street, the streetlights flickered and came on. The sudden light startled her. It made everything look different. New shadows lifted and played across the sidewalk.

It took Bryana a few seconds to realise what had happened. She stared up at the street lamp above her head, and for a split second, the yellow light reminded her of the truck headlights, the truck headlights that seemed to grow and grow, widen and widen until they were all around her.

With a silent gasp, she looked away quickly, turning her gaze across Elm, one of the busiest streets in Middleton.

Leaning against a bus-stop post across the street, illuminated by a circle of yellow light from a street lamp behind him, she saw a young man staring at her. She could see that he had blond hair, styled into a quiff. He was tall, muscular. He was her boyfriend. Luke.

"Luke?"

He didn't move.

She froze.

She recognised the black leather jacket. He looked great in it, she had to admit. She definitely knew it was him. He had worn the sexy jacket a billion times.

"Luke?"

The traffic light was against her. A steady stream of cars poured down Elm, people on their way home from work.

Aside from the jacket, he seemed all yellow and black, bathed in the light from the street lamp.

He stared at her, unmoving. And she stared back.

It can't be.

It's impossible.

Luke, you're dead.

She knew her eyes were playing tricks on her. It had to be another boy, another boy with black hair, bold, black eyes, and a button-up leather jacket. Another boy who leaned just like Luke.

Who looked just like Luke.

She heard his voice again, the voice on the phone Saturday night. "Hi, it's me. How you doin'?"

The voice from so far away.

The light changed.

He didn't move. He leaned against the narrow yellow post, staring straight ahead at her. She shivered. Not from the cold.

She had to know the truth.

She started across the street. But a city bus ran the red light, roaring through the intersection.

Bryana leaped back to the curb, startled.

When the bus had passed, she looked across the street.

Luke was gone.

(a/n: filler oops, but double update so ayee)