Running From the Truth- Luke Hemmings

Set the Hook

Morning light flows through the window above the bed in beaming gold waves, kissing my face with warm glowing lips from the sky. I blink a couple times, slowly coming to realize that I am not at home and I am also not alone in this bed. Upon rubbing my eyes, I look around to regain my bearings after countless hours of deep, dreamless sleep. The room is a cool grayish blue color with accents of white in the painted molding and the windowsills. A white night stand sits to my immediate right, and a very much asleep Luke is sprawled to my left. On the far left wall, instead of a closet, is a tall dark wooden wardrobe that gives me some serious Chronicles of Narnia Flashbacks. The door is closed directly across from us, and quiet chatter can be heard through the door. The soft, muffled morning talk reminds me of waking up at my great aunt's cottage when I was little to the smell of oven baked french toast and the sounds of the coffee maker and the morning news. I remember that the best part of those mornings was waiting to get out of bed, just taking in the sights and sounds of a lazy summer morning. So I do just that.

This morning isn't exactly lazy and summery due to the unfamiliarity of the house and the chilling winter winds blowing outside, but I enjoy it anyways. I roll onto my left side to face Luke, wondering how long he'll sleep. I can't make out the voices through the door, but so far I haven't heard any of my sister's shrill warbling laugh or scratchy comedic voice, so Hannah is probably not here. That means that Luke is the person I know the best in this house. Even though I hung out with the guys for a while and they seem great, I'm not sure if I'm ready for going out into the world of polite chatter and awkward morning pleasantries yet. So I close my eyes and wonder how long it will be until Luke opens his.

While drifting in and out of a light, comfortable sleep, I feel a soft hand on my cheek. My eyes shoot open, half expecting to see Hannah there ready to jump on me the second I wake up. Instead, I'm greeted with tea rose pink lips attached to a dreamy, sleep-softened face. The lips stretch into a wide, sweet smile. "Morning."

I return the favor by flashing a rarely seen true smile of my own. "Hey."

"How'd you sleep? Did the cut hurt at all or keep you up?" Luke's forehead does a funny crinkly thing at the end of the sentence. I like it.

"Slept like a baby. Barely noticed my gaping flesh wound. You're a very good gash-patcher."

"That's what they call me, ol' gash-patcher Luke." Sugary morning giggles that taste of sleep and bedsheets fall from each of our mouths. 

"So how did you sleep?" I ask.

"Pretty good. You talk in your sleep though."

"Do not!"

"Do too! You said 'Oh Luke I just looooooove you! You're so handsome and muscular and not at all lanky and strange! Take me now, Luke!'" His voice climbs high for this statement, loosely mimicking the voice of a lady.

"Oh shut up! What did I really say?"

"Not much that made sense really. Just sort of nonsense mumbles and stuff. There was one weird thing though..."

Oh no. I was probably talking about raccoons or something hard to explain. "What?"

"Well, you kept saying stuff like, 'You're sorry... I'm not sorry,' so that was pretty weird. What was the deal with that?"

All of a sudden I feel too warm to be under all of these covers. I know exactly what that was about. My sleep wasn't as dreamless as I thought, I guess. I just remember a sort of safe, happy feeling, but there was something standing in between me and that feeling. I kept trying to get it to move but I didn't know what to tell it. I guess I kept saying that I'm not sorry because of what Luke said earlier. He looked so sad and guilty when he told me he was sorry for getting me into all of this, and all I could think was that I'm not sorry at all. It's totally stupid because I should obviously regret being involved in some guy's murder and whatever kind of spooky shit Luke is up to, and yeah last night might have sucked and it might get worse later today or tomorrow or next week, but right now, laying in bed watching sunlight cascade over a curly mound of golden-blonde hair and staring into eyes deeper than any ocean, I feel better than I have in a long time. I feel comfortable in my little part of life and I feel like there is finally something for me. I don't know how else to describe it. So no, even if it's dumb to even think and even though I'd never in a million years just come out and tell Luke all this, I am not sorry. I mean obviously sorry that guy got stabbed, but I'm not sorry about the rest of it.