Cliche || Luke Pearce

one - ms. mars

Note: the chapter will start in third person then ease into second person (aka you/yours/your pov)

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"Time heals all wounds."

Whoever said that first was a foul liar. A cliched saying that was only derived from their own damn experience with pain.

All wounds. If that was the case... If time really healed all wounds, why was he running out of it? Why did time seem to escape him faster than anything.

In the three years he had left, Luke would have never guessed that she'd leave him first. The girl that was always dressed in red, with that beautiful clip in her hair. The perfect attorney, the perfect friend.

He'd kill to hold her in his arms again.

Countless sleepless nights haunted him. A day wouldn't go by without him thinking it was his fault. If he had the courage to tell her how he felt in person... if he didn't shut her out that night.

Maybe she'd still be by his side.

The detective gazed down at the gadget he was tinkering with. His hands hovered over it, holding tweezers and a screwdriver in each.

No thoughts ran through his head, it was simply empty. His eyes only seemed to focus on the the air between him and the world. The lack of motivation put his brain out of commission, the mushy pile of guts in his head felt like tv static. Fuzzy and numb, unable to progress without some sort of simulation.

He would've been there for hours if a chime from the shop's door opening rings. Luke's eyes eventually refocus as they turn up to the customer.

 A weak smile forms on his face as a poor attempt to greet them.

A girl, looking to be in her early twenties walks in, but turns the corner before Luke can say anything as if to avoid confrontation or forced greetings.

Something about the avoidance put Luke off but he quickly brushed it the action to the side, hardly wanting to be bothered with fake interaction.

As much as he wanted to disregard the girl's presence, the sound of her heels traversing the wooden floors was hard to ignore. The clip-clop of seemingly rushed steps, made him turn his head once more. It was one thing for her to avoid interaction, it was another to hurry around an old antique store at the speed she was going.

The girl was in some sort of panic.

It could've been his own instinct, but her actions struck him as odd.

He leaned back in his chair with a raised eyebrow, peeking at what the girl was up to.

A deep breath circulates through him before he stands up and makes his way over to the girl. In a calm tone, he asks. "Do you need any help?"

The girl's shoulders perk up and her head twists quickly in his direction. She's on edge, her odd behavior wasn't just an obscure guess on Luke's end. Her worry was written all over her young face, she grips the edges of her briefcase until her knuckles turn white.

"I'm alright," she pipes, turning her head to look at the shelf once again.

Luke's instinct causes him to ask again, "Are you sure?" He notices her eyes travel out the window, he follows her gaze to catch the view of a gruff-looking man.

A very stereotypical-looking security guard, his eyes covered with sunglasses, but his head turned from side to side as if he was looking for something. His outfit and actions screamed 'suspicious'.

She nods again, clearly too fixated on her agitation to seek proper help. 

"Mm," Luke doesn't push any further, turning around to return to the counter, "Just let me know if you have any questions," he tells, acting as if he didn't notice the man outside, "I do repairs as well."