Confused || muke (au) (on hold)

Chapter 1, Cold.

-Luke-

Some people can draw, some people can play sports, others cant do both. I cant do either of those things, but I can sleep. Its not so much of a talent then something I enjoy. Because you'll never know what will happen when you wake up. Some days, you might wake up on the floor, with a head splitting hangover. Other days, you might wake up on the couch from hours of watching old movies you found in your cluttered attic. I usually wake up the same way I fall asleep; tired, lonely and just plain sad. Its sorta depressing waking up the same way you fall asleep, because thats not how its supposed to work.

    

   You're supposed to wake up happier, refreshed, maybe even relieved. But as the world would have it I do not. I wake up alone in my cold bed, with cold tiled floor and an empty castle of a house.

   

  My teeth chatter repeatedly from the chill of the house. I jokingly look at my ceiling to see if any icicles have formed from this ridiculous tempature in my room. Nope. Still, just me.

       I sigh, before slipping on an all black sweatshirt and getting out of bed. My feet swing off the side of the bed and make contact with the floor. Almost at once, I recoil in alarm. So. Cold.

      I grit my teeth and put them on the floor again, keeping them there even though my mind screams in protest. When they finally get used to the floors tempature, I head for my door and out into the hallway.

      It looks like it always has, the same pictures of younger me burn through my skin, taunting me. It was a time before my parents were away on buisness trips and my brothers moved out on their own. A bitter, euphoric memory.

       I skipped down the many stairs that led to our kitchen and strolled in, the pitter patter of my footsteps echoing with every step. A note lay on the lone counter, explaining to me why my parents werent home. It was probably along the lines of, "Im behind at work. Make it up to you soon! xoxo." It seems like they were always at work. I've learned to not care, hardly even reading the letters; letting them all sit in the same spot they were placed till they accumulated dust and our maid, Laura, threw them into the trash can.

      I strolled over to our stainless steel fridge and pulled out a greek yogurt cup, ripping it open with my teeth before rummaging through the cutlery cabinet to find a spoon. Finally finding one I sat down at the table and started eating.

      My eyes stared out the window while my mind started thinking about my life. You couldn't say I wasnt popular. Me and my two friends, Ashton and Calum were all extremely well liked and we got invited to everything big. Ashton and Calum went most of the time, and I, occasionally.

       I just hated how the girls threw themselves at me. I guess you could say I was the one they most wanted, partially because I never seemed interested. And it wasnt acting either, I genuinely wasnt.

 

    Aside from that I was your stereotypical troubled rich kid. My parents were hardly around, I took medication and I generally just hated the world. Its not like I had to be charming either, hey, my parents were rich, I didnt have to climb my way up the corporate ladder. My family had their own buisness I would inherit one day. Not that I was exactly super enthusiastic about real estate.

  

   The only thing I truly cared about was music. Whenever I played I felt okay again. Like the Luke in those pictures plastered on the hall walls. It was like a piece of me was tuned in place again, like you would tune a guitar.

       But sometimes music isnt enough. I dont care if I sound like a 13 year old girl, but I crave a deep love. The kind that makes you smile at 3am, the kind that flips the "on" switch in your life, bathing the world in a warm, happy glow. Sadly, I havent found that kind of love yet. But what do I expect? Im a 17 year old boy.

    

   All these thoughts I was thinking shot out of my mind when a knock sounded at the door, bouncing through the empty house like a game of sound tag. I threw away my half eaten cup of yogurt and headed in the direction of the door.

       I opened it wide enough to peek my head through and my eyes widened.

    A boy in tattered black skinny jeans and a black sweatshirt,  almost identical to mine stood in front of me. His eyes were bloodshot, but i could tell they were a lovely green when he didnt look so sleep deprived. His red dyed hair stood up wildly in several directions like he just stuck his finger into an electrical socket. A black eyebrow piercing stood prominently on the end of his eyebrow, shining when the light hit it.

 

    It took a while before I snapped out of it and spoke to the boy.

"Oh, uh..hello? Is everything okay?", I asked timidly.

The boy stared at his van clad and bit his lip nervously before speaking, "No, actually. It isn't."

His voice rang in my ear and I let it wash over me for a second. It was a mixture between sand paper and an angel. Soft, with a rough edge to it. I liked it immediately.

"Oh. Well, who are you?"

"I dont know." He admitted.

I rose an eyebrow. "How do you not know? Surely you must know your own name?"

"I know, i know. Its just, I woke up confused about a week ago, atleast I think it was a week ago-" the boy continued rambling "I cant really tell, but ive been on the streets since then worried and scared and every single house on this block has refused to help me and I just need help, im so confused." he ended, tears welling up in his eyes.

I contemplated the the harm of letting him come in. 1. He could be a mass murderer who actually wants to kill me. or 2, my mind interrupted, He could be a scared teenage kid with a mild case of amnesia. I let him in.