stockholm syndrome

ch. 8 - thin lines

lukes point of view : thursday, november 27th : 2008

i approach the front door with caution, my palms sweating profusely from the nerves. the last time i had been on this property happened to be the last day before my mum had gotten ill. it was a nice day, for the most part.

*flashback*

i turn the doorknob loosely, until i realize that the front door has been locked.

i mutter a curse, reaching into my bag and pulling out my set of spares, dropping my belongings before me and unlocking the door.

no little sooner did i enter did my father approach me. "lucas robert hemmings." he shook his head as i payed little to no attention to what he was about to say next, fondling around through my bags until i found the keys, placing them into the pocket of my jacket, "what now?"

"you're using again, aren't you?" his icy blue eyes cut like daggers, locking contact with mine.

"using, what?" i ask, completely confused.

"you cannot be sat here and act oblivious to me. you've been using your drugs again and supplying them to your mum, haven't you, lucas?"

"i've been sober for seventeen months, dad. what th- what are you talking about?"

"this is your fault. we sent you to rehab and got you the treatment that you needed because you're a dumbass kid, and you throw yourself away to kill your mum. you're killing her!"

"you have no idea what a fucking tangent you're throwing yourself of right now." i mutter, stomping off my boots by the door before slipping them off, my feet now exposed.

"you're getting in serious trouble for this, kid."

"bull shit i am. i haven't shot up for seventeen months. can you at least acknowledge how far i've come in repairing myself instead of blaming your and mum's shit situation on me? i greatly apologize that i'm the only one who stuck around."

"you don't mean that."

"the hell i don't. sometimes, you make me want to start using again. you really do. some days, i want it. and i want it really fucking, horribly bad, but i don't. because i'm far too occupied being okay for you whenever you want a goddamned excuse." at that moment, i pull my boots back onto my feet, walk to the sofa, grab my bags, and left. i haven't seen the man since.

*end of flashback*

"l-luke. hello. um, come in." my father mumbles, examining me as if he hasn't seen me in years. he hasn't.

i nod impatiently, and enter the house, to see ben and mike enjoying a drink in the dining room.

i wave a hello at ben, and ignore mike's greeting glance. "here to save the day, are we?"

i invite myself to a tour around the home. similar, however, i can't remember much about it.

leading up the stairs quietly, i creak the door to my old bedroom open, which apparently does not appear to have been opened since this time two years back.

i plop myself onto my bed, which i cannot deny that i've missed more than much else here, and let a soft sigh escape my mouth, one that was too longing to hold in.

"hasn't changed a bit, has it?" ben sat beside me, who obviously had followed me here without my knowledge.

"no, not necessarily. how's mum?" i frown. we all know not to talk about her here.