in the crowd • luke hemmings

20. holy terrain

luke couldn't feel the cuts that had formed on his knuckles - nor could he feel the blood that had fallen from those cuts and was running through the folds of his fist, splattering to the floor.

he couldn't feel anything; he wasn't even sure if he was still angry.

everything about him had completely shut down, and all he could do was hit what was in front of him.

the more luke thought about whether he was even angry or not, the more angry he realised he still was. it had been years since he'd felt that type of fire in his stomach and nothing was making it go away, nothing.

his fist pounding into the bag was echoing through his ears, rattling around his brain and making his temples ache, making the sweat fall faster, only further blurring his vision.

it was dark, and luke liked it dark - he didn't want to see himself.

he was afraid he wouldn't recognise himself.

the sound of hesitant steps coming down the stairs didn't enter his ears, his entire body to worked up with rage to notice anything else, anything at all - until it called out his name.

"luke."

there it was.

there was that soft, that angelic little voice, the only thing that managed to cut through the abyss luke had surrounded himself with.

shrouded by the harsh white lights that lit the staircase, lola still managed to look ethereal to luke. her baby blue jumper emphasised the warm tones of her skin, and her eyes held an almost painful amount of concern and care for him.

he didn't know how she'd found him.

he didn't know what she was doing there, watching him pummel a bag that was as lifeless as he wished he could've been, as long as it would've granted him immunity to his mother's verbal hooks trying to drag him back to his past.

he didn't know why she didn't look scared, why she was looking straight at him, despite the blood that was covering his hands and the ice in his eyes.

he didn't know why he still hadn't stopped throwing punches at the bag in front of him, and the tiny part of luke's brain that was still functioning on electrical transmissions rather than anger was scared that not even lola's presence could make him stop.

lola was shaking.

she swore she would've been able to hear her knees knocking together had it not been for the relentless sounds of luke's hits landing on the punchbag and his heaving breathing echoing throughout the silent room.

the orange light pouring down from the flickering bulb that hung over the ring illuminated every movement, every flex of a muscle, every fold in luke's skin as he lunged to hit the punchbag handing in front of him.

sweat was heading along his brow line and dropping down his back, falling to the floor alongside the blood that lola had only just noticed was drenching his hands. the sight of it made her throat go dry - what had happened to make his hands bleed so much - and her heart ached for luke.

watching luke fight against nothing was scarier than seeing him in the ring - the only urgency in his hits was coming from whatever had happened to make him so angry he felt the need to shut himself away from everyone who cared about him the most - from her.

lola felt out of her depth and woefully unprepared to deal with a situation she knew nothing about - but she was going to.

she tried again.