Devil On Both Shoulders [Calum Hood]

Chapter 19

I wasn't going to tell him to get out - I wasn't. My liking towards Calum had increased comparing to the way Luke and Michael treated me, I know they care, I just don't want them to. I was also curious to find out why he came, because I doubt it would've been to see if I was okay.

"What do you want?" I asked, staring him down. Usually this way of greeting someone would be taken offensively, but for Calum it was one of his normalities.

"Luke's on his way and when he comes, he's going to tear the whole house up. Give me your gun and I'll keep it at mine." He said.

"What makes you think I'll just give it to you?" I snarled, tightening my grip on the gun. I wasn't about to shoot him - just in case he tried to grasp it from my fingers; in which case I probably would shoot him.

"Because you don't have another option," Calum said. "I know how your first gun feels, it's like your first girlfriend. They can protect you from anything, even though they can't and you know they can't. You can't be protected from everything, Max, not by anyone."
Calum outstretched his hand and I reluctantly placed the gun in.

"You do know that I don't really hate you, don't you?" I told him.

He nodded, and I saw the hints of redness around his waterline. Fucking hell.

"Come get your gun tomorrow, I'm not doing anything so I should be in. If I'm not then I've been arrested." His self doubt had soon deteriorated and Calum was smirking again. He left Luke's house, not bothering to conceal the gun from possible pedestrains walking past.

While waiting for Luke's return, I occupied myself by pulling out tufts of the stuffing in his couch through the vast holes that were dotted around the surface. I rolled them up and made snowmen on the coffee table, I'd made about seven by the time Luke flew through the door.

"I ran into Calum on the way over. Did he come here?" He asked, ignoring the winter wonderland I'd created on his table.

"Yeah, we had sex." I bluffed.

"No you didn't," he said, scrunching up his face.

"I know, but we should've." I admitted.

Luke made a noise between a sigh and a groan, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Where's the gun?"

"Binned it."

"Bullshit," he spat, and I scolded myself for just going with the first rubbish excuse that popped into my mind. Luke started rummaging around in his pockets, and retrieved his little box of fags and near empty lighter.

"Gonna burn down an orphanage?" I asked boredly, heavy eyes fixed on the way he abused the lighter with his fingers - picking and clawing at wherever he could fit his nails under.

He ignored my question, palming the lighter between two coarse hands and lighting the cigarette he had stuck between his lips.

"Your blood must run like tar; and Calum's, he smokes like a chimney." I commented, trying to draw him away from the subject of the gun. But it was going as slow as the way Luke pulled the cigarette away from his lips.

"Of course Calum's does. But it's not the result of smoking."

Luke turned what was left of the house upside down in search of my weapon, but had no success.

"Where is it Max, I'm fucking sick of this." He demanded, progressing closer to my person.

"Why do you want it, why don't you trust me?" I asked him, with the honest intentions of finding out why, and not just to catch hin out.

"You don't know-" He began, but was unfortunately interrupted by the sound of the TV remote falling from the window ledge and clattering onto the ground with a noise almost painful.

The TV switched on.

"I didn't know you could afford cable," I muttered.

I heard the shuffling of Luke folding his arms, and when I casted a glance towards him, his eyes were narrowed at the television screen.

We were both towering over the sofa that lay directly in line with the TV: we had the best seats in the house, but this wasn't a movie that I wanted to see.

"The killer of 13 police officers found dead at a station in Stratford-upon-Avon has been identified as Calum Hood. Neighbours watched in terror as he left the scene with a young girl who investigators think could be Max Lawrence who-"

I was two seconds too late, my thumb trembled as I tried to push down on the off button on the remote, but as I said: too late.

"Max, please tell me you didn't." He looked at me the way a man would when he thinks his roommate killed over a dozen police officers while accompanying his serial killer (let's just say) 'acquaintance'.

I was expecting many things from Luke, questions - definitely questions; I thought he'd be mad at Calum. But I didn't think he'd actually think that I killed them; I could kick myself an ass but killing people was on my priority list just below swimming in shit.

"No!" I cried, mortified. "I was in a police station with a murderer and you think I killed them?"

An uncomfortable silence fell upon us, but Luke appeared deep in thought, so perhaps it was only me who felt weird.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah you're right. I'm sorry."

As Luke pulled me into an apologetic hug, I was quick to notice that he wasn't warm like most men in movies and books, he was ice cold. But it wasn't the type of sticky, disgusting cold you get when you hold a child's hand; it was almost refreshing, in a way.

"Have you got any beers left?" Was the first question that shamelessly left my lips once we'd pulled away.

Luke nodded, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands before padding into the kitchen.

He returned with an entire crate of lager, and we drank, and drank, and drank; curled into eachother with the TV turned to a different channel.

The plan was to get Luke so drunk that he wouldn't remember anything that happened, and it seemed to be working fine. But it was going on my 4th pint of the night that I realised I needed this; my liver was having too much of an easy time whereas my heart was bruised.

I looked up at Luke, his blue eyes replaced with grey, though he seemed happier, more alive than I'd ever seen him. It wasn't him, it was just alcohol inside Luke's body, controlling him.

I was grateful that before I had intoxicated him, he had ceased to ask any questions of why I was even at the station in the first place - maybe it had never crossed his mind.

I abandoned my thoughts as I swallowed down another mouthful, and kept doing so until my memory washed away.

-

Sorry this is so late and wow I'm mean