Damage

Chapter 22

chapter 22 is here! i've decided to make chapters longer, also. it means updates that are a little slower but i feel like it's more worth it :~)

let me know what you think and make sure to let me know on my tumblr as well! i love answering your questions and hearing your theories and talking about damage. i hope you like this chapter! x

iwriteabout5sos.tumblr.com

***

“I wanted to see you. I need to see you.” 

I shift back and forth on the balls of my feet, debating what to do. The strong part of me wants to close the door in his face (quietly though, as to not wake anyone up). The weak part of me wants to open the door and let him in (despite all of the obvious reasons as to why I shouldn’t).

A million questions are running through my mind and the majority of them are ones I already know the answer to and just want to ask to stall for time.

 “It’s 2 AM.”

 He looks away and lamely mutters and “I know,” the dim light of the dorm hallways illuminating the stubble on his chin. Blaire was probably right about him and I want to hate him for the way he shows up unannounced at my door, just when I was beginning to find some semblance of peace with the events of last weekend. 

 But still, I can’t hate him. I’ve seen the side of him that dropped everything to pick me up when I was falling apart outside Michael’s apartment. But I also know of the side of him that uses people up like matches. 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Does ‘knowing of’ count as seeing, though?

“No, it’s fine.”

I find myself opening my mouth before I can do anything about it and leading him to the bathroom down the hall, my forehead washed in worry and a heavy silence clouding us both.

He leans against the double sink that’s attached to the white tile wall of the communal bathroom between the dorms on this section of the floor. The lights in here are brighter and harsher than the ones outside my dorm that are only illuminated for safety purposes. 

With visibility increased I can see everything – his slightly glossed over eyes, the flushed look on his face, the reopened cuts on his knuckles, the cut by the side of his lip, the darkened and bruised skin underneath his eye.

This whole situation feels unnervingly routine - we’ve been here before and we’re back again. Neither of us have talked about the last time and we probably won’t talk about this time either. It makes me so upset, but I hold my tongue and wet another paper towel underneath the cool running water of the faucet.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask, quietly, dabbing the cut along his bottom lip.

 His jaw clenches. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

I pull away the wet paper towel and clench it in my hand, trying not to be upset but failing. “Luke,” I take a deep breath before speaking again. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to help you and not tell me anything. I shouldn’t even –“ 

I’m interrupted by the sound of the door clicking open and a sleepy red-headed girl in pajamas and bright green flip flops.

She looks up at Luke and then at me, probably both shocked by his appearance and the fact that Luke Hemmings “Rich and Famous Badboy” (the title makes me want to roll my eyes) is in this dorm bathroom in the middle of the night.