The fall (pt 2 To The asylum)

Chapter 11

"Soph." Luke says for the third time, and I blink. 

"What? Sorry I, was thinking." 

"Well you've been 'thinking' for quite a while now, just not on this. If you wanna get this done before English, we better pick it up." He says loudly, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "Besides, I've got tons to do myself. All my teachers like to pile on the make-up work." 

"Shhhh!" The librarian snaps from her desk. I roll my eyes. 

"Why are you so cranky?" I say quietly, hyper-aware that the old woman's eyes are on us. 

He just stares at me with tired expression, like I should know, and I sigh. "Oh, right." 

He shrugs, yawning, and picks up my pencil again, focusing on the paper. But I'm not focusing on the paper right now. Harper just looks so exhausted, dark purple circles under his eyes contrasting deeply with his pale skin, the irises of his beautiful blue eyes clouded and lifeless. His movements are small and weak, and he can't say more than two sentences without yawning. 

"Harper, you really need to get some sleep. It's not healthy." I point out, taking the pencil from him and setting it down, forcing him to look at me. 

"I don't need sleep." Harper scoffs, dragging his hand over his face. "Not when there's red bull and wifi and a sleeping you to look at and hold." He pauses. "Not in a creepy way, I mean." 

I laugh softly. "Trust me, sleeping is much better than all of those things combined." 

"Not really." 

"Yes really." 

"Whatever." 

"Shhh!" There she is again. 

"Ok." I say wearily, not in the mood for arguing. "Let's just get this done." 

He huffs, leaning back in his chair, before wincing and sitting back up quickly. His eyes dart from me to the paper, and I furrow my eyebrows. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"Harper, what's wrong." 

He swears softly, shaking his head. "My back. It still hurts from, well, y'know." 

Oh, I know. How could I forget? All he's been wearing the past few days is long sleeve shirts and sweaters. 

I look around the library. It's pretty empty, except for a small group of kids on the other side of the large room. We're pretty hidden in our little quiet corner, and the librarian has gone to the other side to scold the other kids. I've got a little time. 

"Come here." I whisper. 

"What?" 

I scoot my chair closer to him, gesturing for him to do the same. "Come here." 

He raises his eyebrows, but obeys nonetheless, moving to sit closer. 

Taking one last glance behind me, I slip my hands under his shirt, feeling the ragged skin of his back. He flinches at first, but then just grimaces, glancing over at the other side of the room and closing his eyes. 

His skin is hot to the touch, rough and weird feeling, and a little sweaty, or is that blood? Surely not. 

Hesitantly, I push up the fabric of his sweater to the middle of his back, eyes widening instantly. Some of the cuts have already transformed into scars, but most of them are still pretty fresh, quite a few inflamed and red. There's a couple that are bleeding.