Voodoo Doll lhxai [discontinued]

Chapter Fifteen

"I hate you," Luke whispers. His eyes are swollen, red, full of tears that block his vision. "Why are you so fucking stupid."

He runs his hands over his face and tries to remember how to breath correctly. It's as if the air has been vacuumed from the room.

Luke turns away from the mirror as he lets out a sob, muffled in his hand.

"Why do you let people hurt you." He whimpers. There's something about the words that make him wonder if he's saying it out loud or not. "Stop. . . Stop!"

He takes fistfuls of his hair and looks back into the mirror. Appearance-wise, he looks a lot better than he feels, but his clothes are filthy and he hasn't showered in days.

Classes have become a side thought. They've become something he's only doing because it's something to get him out of his head for a little while.

After he had his talk with Calum, he thought he would feel a bit better; not having something that big on his chest anymore should have helped him. But the exact opposite seemed to have happened. He feels like now that someone else knows his secret he has to work harder to stay better. Before it was just him, and if he failed, he only brought down himself. Now that Calum, and probably Michael, know, if he fails, he is bringing down and hurting more people.

Luke closes his eyes and shuts off the bathroom lights. He can't see, he can't breathe, he is asleep, he is dead. He opens the door and leaves the bathroom.

His room is dim, only the small amount of light slipping through the window shades lighting it. Luke stumbles to his bed, opening his eyes slightly whenever he has to step over a pile of clothes or a shoe or something. The bed is unmade, the sheets hanging half way off the side, blanket kicked to the foot and pillows on the floor. Luke lays down anyway.

There's this feeling in his gut that tells him he needs to do something. Get up out of bed and just do something because right now he is digging himself into a hole larger than himself once again. But he doesn't know what he could possibly do to make himself feel better without damaging him more.

He sighs and rolls over, grabbing the end of the phone charger hanging between the bed and the wall. When he plugs it into his phone he starts to wonder what he is actually doing. It's like his mind is telling his body to do what it wants without actually considering it.

He turns on the phone as soon as it will let him. The numbers burn in his vision, making them appear every time he blinks after he's typed them. He clicks speaker.

For some reason the phone is answered on the third ring.

"Wha-"

"Come over now. . . bring alcohol. And drugs."

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So many filler chapters sorry. I didn't really have a plan for this, just an ending, and I'm just bullshitting my way through everything tbh.

(oh lord *cringe* I just read some of my old authors notes and I feel like I was like I've grown 5 years in the past few months oml I'm sorry you witnessed that)