You slammed the door behind you, holding back the burning sensation stinging in the back of your throat. Kicking off your shoes angrily, and slamming the car keys on the little side table by the front door, you immediately stormed up the stairs and collapsed on your bed in a rush of tears. You couldn't handle it. Why were people so mean to you? What did they have against you? You were nothing but nice to everyone, hung out around the right kind of people, and didn't bother anyone. You didn't deserve the rude comments spat at you in the hallways, or the shoves at the soccer field.
Sometimes you thought it was because you were dating Luke, and people were just jealous because you had the hotty of the school who played guitar and sang like a God. I mean, you would be jealous too, you guessed, but it would be innocent. You would never harm someone for who they were dating, that's ridiculous! You laid face down on your bed, arms hanging off either side, feeling nothing but confused and hurt.
"Cuz' I need to find you, is anybody there, who can rescue somebody like me-" without really seeing who it was, you answered your phone and sat up. "Hello?" you mumbled, sniffing and wiping away the tears that left black mascara marks on your hands. "Hi, babe. You got plans today?" you sighed lightly, trying to keep the shakiness out of your breath, Luke was the last person you wanted to talk to. You must have sighed too loud into the phone, because Luke caught on. "Y/N? Hey, are you crying?" You mentally slapped yourself. There was no way in hell you were going to tell Luke about the hatred at school. He had enough on his plate, you weren't going to dump even more to it.
"No, I just," you searched your brain for the right excuse. "I'm just feeling kind of sick." There was a long pause before Luke hummed questioningly. "So does that mean you can't hang out?" Frustration boiled through your blood. You were sick of not having fun due to the fear of being hurt. But the unease overcame the desire to be with Luke. "Yeah, I guess." you said, squeezing your unoccupied hand into a tight fist of anger. "Y/N, you know you can talk to me. Is something going on? I know you too well, there something else on your mind, isn't there?" Damnit Luke. "I'm fine, just don't worry about me, alright? I'm okay, I promise." the words felt like poison on your tongue. Luke was being so sweet, and you were returning it with lies. "Okay," Luke exhaled slowly. "Just call me later, then." you nodded, even though he wouldn't see it and hung up.
You tossed your phone on your bed, groaning. You weren't going to call Luke, but you knew he would, because he cared for you. He knew something was wrong, hell, just looking at you and anybody could tell there was more to it than just a pretty face.
You had to be in your room for an hour, crying and over thinking about everything until a soft knock was heard on your door. "I'm not hungry," you called, expecting it to be your mom. Instead, you were surprised to see Luke, slipping into your bedroom with a snapback pulling back his hair, dressed in black skinny jeans and a black jacket, with a Vans t-shirt underneath. The only thing taking away his punk appearance was the unmistakable blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Luke! What are you doing here?" you coughed, looking away from him and quickly blinking away the tears from your eyes. You felt the bed dip beside you, and an arm surround your waist before you were pulled in his side. "Talk to me," was all he said, looking down at you, with a soft expression. You shook your head. "I don't want you to worry about me." you said, which brought the tears from dripping, to pouring, and before you knew it, you were sobbing, clinging to Luke as if he was your last chance. Which, in your eyes, he really was.
Luke knew not to pester you with questions, so he just held you, rubbing your back and tangling his other hand in your hair. "Y/N, it's my job to worry about you. You can tell me anything, you know that. Don't feel like it's a hassle to worry about you, because I do it whether I realize it or not." His t-shirt sucked up most of the moisture on you face, and you began whimpering out all the things you kept inside your head. From the bruises that covered your shoulder blades, to emotional scars that appeared from the harsh words you heard everyday.
