Make it Stop ⇼ Luke Hemmings

Twenty-Seven.

“Please stop being sad.” I selfishly begged. Luke hadn’t gotten out of bed in two days, since he heard about his grandma’s passing. “I know it sucks.” I whispered, my hand combing through his greasy hair, pushing it out of his face. He paid no attention to me, his eyes were glued to the telly instead. He sighed, the only noise he’s made all day. “I love you.” I attempted to bring him out of his slump with a kiss on the forehead, but that didn’t work. He hadn’t responded to me since, and I could tell he hadn’t talked to Madison either, by the way his phone kept going off. “When’s the last time you ate?” I asked him, not expecting a response. “Your mum said it’s been a bit. I’ll make you something to eat.” But as I stood to make my way to his kitchen, he grabbed my hand, his thumb slowly tracing across my fingers as it he went limp again. “I’ll be right back.” I assured, knowing he did not want to be alone.

I settled on cooking him something quick and easy, soup, and hurried as fast as I could—so I could get back to my sad boy. I was so worried about him, and whether he’d start hurting himself again. He certainly seemed more sad than before.

“Hey, baby.” I cooed, setting the hot soup on Luke’s nightstand and encouraging him to sit up by moving his blanket down and grasping his hand. “Come on.” I whispered. “You have to eat.” Luke shook his head, sitting up at my request, anyways. “Please?” I pleaded, sitting on the edge of his bed with the bowl of soup in my lap. I got a spoonful of soup and tried to feed him, only to have him turn his face. “For me?” I asked. “You really need to eat something.” He opened his mouth the slightest bit, allowing me to feed him soup. This continued at his acridness. After what felt like a century of me feeding him, Luke finally finished the bowl of soup and lied back down.

He wasn’t lying for more than two minutes, when he sprung up and ran to the bathroom, vomiting out everything he had just ate. My response was immediate, as I ran after him, rubbing his back as he puked.

“Luke…” I cooed when he pulled away and I saw tears staining his cheeks. He sniffled, wiping his eyes angrily and fisting his messy hair.

“I…” He began to rasp. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.” He sobbed into his hands.

“Why don’t I run a shower for you?” I suggested, setting a hand on his knee.

“I can’t.” He cried.

“I’ll shower with you.” I attempted to cheer him up, reaching over and flushing the toilet before turning his shower on and pulling Luke to a standing position.

I felt like his mother, the way I undressed him and guided him to the shower, gently helping him step in before undressing myself and joining him. I couldn’t help but listen to my heart break as Luke stared at me with tears in his eyes. His hands shook as he slowly lifted them with the only strength he had left, his eyes begging for me to hold him. I crashed into his body, ignoring the fact that our parts were touching(a few days ago, I’d be uncomfortable, but given the circumstances…), and I just held him. He broke into a full sob against my neck; although, I couldn’t tell much considering we were already drenched in water.

“W-Will you come to the funeral tomorrow with me?” He quietly asked between gasps for air.

“Of course.” I soothed. Although I didn’t really want to go, I knew I needed to do it for him.

***THE NEXT DAY***

I was stood awkwardly with Luke at the wake with a cup of water in my hand as Luke spoke with Jack and Ben. He wasn’t back to normal, but he wasn’t so depressed.