Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟑𝟏

Friday, November 7, 2018
4:00 p.m.
The Raye Residence

I don't want to go over to Luke's, but I feel bad that I said that I'd come over yesterday and ended up just being a mess in his truck and embarrassing myself while probably making him uncomfortable. I don't even know why he wants to see me again.

Since it's a decent day out, I walk to Luke's after school. In a matter of minutes I'm at his door knocking.

Luke answers. He smiles and lets me in.

"Thanks for coming over," Luke says, closing the door behind me.

I shrug and shove my hands in my sweatshirt pockets.

Luke studies me silently for a few seconds, but when I clear my throat, he looks away and asks if I'm hungry.

"No," I reply. "If you are, though, you can eat."

"I'm good, just had a banana." He motions to his room. "Want to go hang out in my room?"

"Sure." I don't actually believe that he ate a banana because it's literally in the middle of the afternoon and he strictly eats during meal times, if he even eats, but I don't ask any follow-up questions. I'm too tired.

Luke and I sit on his bed across from each other. I sit with my legs hanging off the edge of the bed while Luke sits with his legs crossed.

"So how are you?" Luke asks for what seems like the hundredth time.

I roll my eyes. "I'm fine, why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because you keep lying."

I push myself off the bed and stand. "If you asked me to come to be interrogated, I'm leaving."

Luke catches my hand. I'm about to yell at him, assuming he's going to expose my wrists in this moment, but his hand only stays in mine. He looks up at me and begs, "Wait, stay please. I promise I won't interrogate you."

I weigh my options before ultimately deciding to stay. I sigh and sit back down, this time with my legs crossed like Luke's.

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

A small smile tugs at a corner of Luke's lips. "I don't really know."

"Well, why did you call me over here to just stare at each other blankly?"

Luke lets out a breathy laugh. "I don't know, I just wanted you to come over for some reason."

My stomach twists at this. I can't tell if it's a good feeling or not.

"How about we play twenty one questions?" I suggest, sitting back on my hands. "But no deep shit."

"Sounds good to me," Luke agrees. "I'll start: whats your favorite . . . Fish?"

"Fish?" I ask, a short laugh escaping my lips. "That's a stupid question, no offense. Probably Nemo." Luke nods and I hesitate as I think of a question to ask him. "What's your favorite article of clothing?"

"My Yankees baseball cap, for sure."

The questions come and go, a few giggles and laughs emitting from us as we play the childish game. Eventually we go through favorite animals, colors, scents, and many more topics before reaching the last question. It's my turn, so I really think about what I want to ask Luke as he patiently waits for me.

An idea comes to mind.

"What's your favorite food?"

Luke looks down at his hands resting in his lap. He plays with his bracelet uncomfortably. "I thought we agreed to no deep stuff?"

"It's not a deep question," I reply. "I'm just curious to know what your favorite food is, everyone has one. Personally, I like cereal the most."

Luke shifts. "I always thought cereal was kind of gross."

"Shut up," I command, but I'm joking. "How could you not like cereal?"

"It's so gross," Luke explains with a look of disgust on his face. "Milk is also gross, and together the two are just ... ew."

"I'm offended."

Luke smiles, amused, but then his playfulness are slowly drained from his features. His smile inconspicuously points down into a frown.

"What are you thinking about?"

Luke sighs, his hand still playing with the thin bracelet around his boney wrist. "Honestly? Yesterday."

My face heats up at the mention of my breakdown. I'd gladly forget about crying in front of him if I could, but the memory is still fresh in my mind.

Luke senses my reaction and asks, "Can we get into some deep stuff for a second?"

I hesitate. "Okay." I didn't really want to talk about it, but Luke obviously does.

"I don't think you know how much I notice about you," he admits with soft eyes. "You're always the one picking me up after I fall apart and you're always saying that you're fine, but recently I feel like you're really not fine."

I swallow hard, my eyes lowering to my feet to avoid his gaze.

"Do you feel comfortable with showing me your wrists?"

"Luke- "

"I just want to see if you're okay," Luke pleads.

I stumble over my words. "I ... I don't want to."

Luke reaches out and takes my hand. I keep it limp in his grip.

"Can I feel them over your sleeve?" He asks.

I nod.

Luke's thumb rubs over my wrist first. I feel his touch from under my jacket sleeve. His thumb moves and he runs his index finger over my forearm. I feel the pad of his finer run over some more scars. Some are bigger, some are smaller, some are long and jagged, some are short, some you can't feel, and some are obvious. His eyebrows knit together in concentration as he continues to feel around my arm and wrist. When his thumb makes contact with my newest injury, I accidentally jerk my arm away slightly.

Luke looks up at me. His eyes are sad.

I hate myself for making him sad. I hate myself for taking away his smile. I hate myself for him starving himself, even if it's not my fault. It still makes me hate myself.

"When did you last hurt yourself?" He asks quietly, not wanting to know the answer.

I inhale shakily. "Last night."

Luke nods and sets my hand back in my lap. He stares at the wall for a while.

"Why didn't you text or call me?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

Luke's eyes trail to mine. "Call me next time, please."

I nod. "Okay."