stoical - l.h.

twenty-four

tw: luke has a slight panic attack. it might be hard to go around it, so if you think you will be effected, skim the text where it talks about it <3 ily 

- lauren 

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luke's point of view

I'm going insane. I'm going crazy. Where has my mind gone?

I'm right. She's right. He's right. No, I'm right. I have to tell my mom. No, she can't help me. Not with her judgmental stare and tutting and perfectionism—

Have to tell her. I won't get better. Why is my heart beating so fast? I can't see anything. Am I blind? No, not blind; I just can't get enough oxygen into my lungs. I wish I was swallowing alcohol instead of gulping down huge breaths of air that seems stifling and muggy. They don't seem to get anywhere. My lungs are screaming.

Calm down, Luke. Calm down. This is not the end of the world. Stop crying. This is no big deal. Why are you letting her get to you like this? She's just another idiot you need to overcome.

"No!" I shout aloud. "Not an idiot. Don't call her that. You don't know what you're talking about."

I know it's me that thought the thought, but I cannot fathom how despicable, how intrusive and unwelcome my thoughts are sometimes. She is not an idiot. I'm the idiot. This is my fault.

"I-I'm a fucking freak," I choke out. I sob uncontrollably for a few seconds before I continue pacing around my bedroom frantically. "How could I tell her that? That I think about her during sex? I-I don't even do that! I'm such an idiot!"

I cry and rub at my eyes as hard as possible, until I'm seeing stars even when I take my hands away. For a moment I'm so disoriented I can't move, my vision is blurry and I can't catch my breath for a second too long. When I catch it, I inhale like I haven't breathed for a whole minute, like I've been underwater. The pain in my chest that I'd been feeling grow increasingly worse over the past hour reaches probably its worst, and I clutch at my t-shirt in the chest to get it away from my shirt.

Why is she affecting you like this, Luke? Can you admit it out loud? The thoughts have crossed your mind already. C'mon, say it. It'll make you feel so much better.

"I can't," I say breathlessly. "I can't admit that I'm more of a creep than she already thinks I am. It'll kill me, I'm serious."

Her hair, so soft, so blonde and perfect. Her eyes, bluer and lighter than yours and so beautiful in the sunlight. Her smooth skin, with light freckles only on her nose and acne scars on her cheeks and it's probably so soft. So white, like porcelain—

"My own brain is trying to kill me," I whisper. Sometimes the poetic phrases, about anything, can calm me down. I suppose one of my brain's immediate responses to feeling stress is to try and say calming things in my head, but picturing her beautiful face and hair in my mind right now will do no good for me. I cannot think it because it is so dangerous and I loathe myself for what I've done.

I had the opportunity to talk to her, every day if I wanted. We were in that sort of position with each other. It would be weird for me considering I'm used to fucking and never speaking to girls again, typically, but I would get used to it and I would love it.

I would've loved to be Lavender's shoulder to cry on, every night, every day. She would've called me when she was crying and having a panic attack and I would take care of her. She would come to my house whenever she fought with Calum and I'd let her sleep in my bed, and I'd sleep on the floor if that made her more comfortable. I'd introduce her to my family, I'd show her my cameras and photos and ask if she liked them. I'd show her a completely different side to me than I showed at school.