Hell on Earth-Lashton Fanfic

Chapter 8

Ashtons pov

I threw the door to lukes room open and froze. Luke lay in the bed, pale, thin and unconsious. The bandages round his wrists had been ripped off in bloody tatters and there were crescent shapes dug into his skin. Blood pooled where his hands lay.

There was a man standing over him, a physiotic grin on his face. He vaguely resembled Luke. It wasnt hard to guess who had hurt luke like this.

I began to walk up to him, anger etched on my face. It was hilarious that I was standing up for Luke when id only ever hurt him before. But this man had hurt luke alot. Im guessing he's lukes father. He begins to turn my way.

And then i see. Jack sits in the corner of the room, no expression on his face. He didnt stand up for Luke. I see him look at me. But mr. Hemmings is a bigger threat right now.

He walks towards me, no longer grinning. I feel my insides quaking in fear. A single punch from him could send me flying. I wanted to run for my life and never turn around. But Luke needed me.

"Why did you hurt him? You've got no reason..." I stopped when I saw his expression. I was ready to scram. But then a nurse holding a sheaf of papers walks in.

"Are you relatives of Lucas Hemmings?" she asked, completly oblivious to what was happening. She continues without pausing.

"Im afraid that since no payments have been made yet, we'll have to discharge him...."

Lukes pov

When I wake up, a doctor is pulling out the IV's attached to my skin. I try not to wince. Once he realises Im awake, his face becomes pitiful. I begin to feel extremely nervous. Why is he staring at me like that?

"Im afraid that because your father hasnt made any payments to the hospital yet, we'll have to discharge you." The doctor looks at me sympathicly. Where do I go now? I cant go home, its just going to start all over again.

Not like it ever ended.

When the doctors done, I get out of the bed. My legs are very unsteady and my vision blurs. I try to balance but fail. My head pounds painfully.

I stumble out of the room like a drunk. No one attempts to stop me. Im thankfully dressed in normal clothes and not a hospital gown. I dont have shoes but I can live without.

I reach the reception and walk out of the glass doors. Just like that. I think of places to go. I have nothing, my phone and wallet are in my house. And i dont plan going back there.

I remember the pain, the burning pain that the razor caused me. Blood coursing out through my veins and slowing to sluggish flowing. The carpet turning crimson, the metallic smell that penetrated the air. But I deserved it. I wanted it so badly. Death is a dream compared to my life.

Tears stain my cheeks as I remember, and I run. I dash away from the hospital on fear-energised legs, and find myself lost in the alleys that surround it. I stop, dizzy and pale. My feet are cut from whatever was on the road and blood seeps onto the flagstones.

My eyes glaze over with tears that fall down my face. My choked sobs are quiet but broken. I deserved it. I still do. Im a failure, the messed up kid who deserved everything life threw at him.

Death is the only thing that is promised to us in life. I need to know what