The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

21.00

     "I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE else to go," Luke says. His voice cracks and his breathing is erratic, like he can't get enough oxygen into his lungs. I finally stop standing there motionlessly like an idiot and spring to life; pulling Luke inside and shutting the door. "I'm sorry," He says, turning his back to me and covering his face. I'm scared and I don't know what to do but I have to think of something because he won't stop shaking and hyperventilating. I have to help him somehow.

     "Hey," I whisper as gently as I can, circling around so that I'm in front of him again. "Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong." I try to avoid looking at the injuries on his face as I extend my arm, pulling a paper towel off of the stand. My back is turned to him as I fold and wet it, grabbing a pack of frozen peas while I'm at it. I ignore the fact that my mother might make them in the near future, and hope that she doesn't notice the empty spot in the freezer as I return to Luke.

     "Everything I do is wrong," He argues, pinching the bridge of his nose. I shake my head at him, frowning. Luke pulls his hands away from his face, dropping them at his side so I can get through. I step forward and raise my arm, pressing the peas against his right eye. I know that if I keep my arm in this position, it'll start to cramp. But I don't want to ask him to bend down, so I have to deal with it.

     I use my other hand to dab at the cut on his forehead, wiping away at the blood. "I couldn't have just won the fucking game," He says bitterly, gritting his teeth. I can't tell if it's out of anger, or because I'm hurting him. In case it's the latter, I soften my stroke against the cut. "You shouldn't help me, I don't deserve it. I'm just a fuck up," Luke whispers, gently pulling my hands away from his face. "I had it coming and I deserved what I got, just like always." He isn't looking at me anymore, but across the room instead. Luke looks so hurt and I can’t stand it, the fact that his father has the ability to change him completely from one day to the next.

     "Luke, you don't deserve to be hurt by anyone," I insist, shaking his arms gently to get him to look at me. "You're a good person."

     "Thought I was an asshat," He mumbles, a small, sad smile spreading along his lips. When I respond with an ‘only sometimes’, his smile deepens.

     “Let’s go to my room, okay? I don’t want my Mom to come down if she hears us. Take this,” I press the bag of peas against his hand and point towards the staircase leading up to my bedroom. He starts walking towards the stairs and I exhale heavily, grabbing another paper towel for his lip. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea how to help him, what to do, or even what to say. But I had to try.

     After wetting the new paper towel and throwing out the old one, I follow Luke upstairs. We tiptoe past my parent’s bedroom --the room my Dad will never step foot in again --before slipping into mine. Blindly, I feel around for the light switch. When I flip it on, I see Luke already sprawled out on my bed, hands covering his face. I shut the door and sit beside him.

     “Can you uncover your face, please?” I ask softly, not wanting to push him and make him more upset than he already was.

     “No,” He mumbles, turning his back to me. It doesn’t take him very long to make himself comfortable on my bed; pulling into a fetus position so that he can cuddle himself. I ignore his denial and slide over to the other side, gently pulling at his hands.

     “Luke, I’m trying to help you,” I insist, sighing as I continue to tug at his hands. “Do you maybe want to eat something?” I offer, knowing that sometimes food therapy can be the very best kind. My mother hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a few days, but there was always something to scrounge around for.

      “I already told you not to. I just want to lie down,” His words are muffled, and the slightest bit difficult to hear, but I still understand him.