totally okay |lrh|

0.9

Luke's POV,,

Bruises. Bruises everywhere. Black and purple and blue, colors so deep and dark they seem to draw all the pigment from what little patches of her skin remained unharmed. Bruises that snake from her wrist to her forearm and elbow, along her shoulders and down her back, across her collarbone. I see her shaking fingers and then, suddenly, it all comes together. An answer so obvious I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner. Unreasonably heavy make up. Long sleeved shirt in near 100 degree weather. Bruises that were never really explained. The fear of an overprotective father.

"Indie," I say slowly, not wanting it to be true, but unable to think of any other explanation, "did your dad give those to you?"

She takes a shuddering breath; I can almost hear the air rattling aroung her chest as she inhales. Her mouth opens like shes about to speak, but then, quite abruptly, starts to sob. Her shoulders shake as she draws her knees to her chest and burries her face in her hands. The sound of her crying echoes around the room, but not loudly. Its quiet somehow, like shes sitting behind me, whispering secrets in my ear; soft, heartbreaking sobbing. But the quietness of the sound doesn't dampen the blade-like pain that presses on my heart when I hear her crying like that. No one, especially bubbly, kind, cheerful Indie should ever have a reason to cry that way— or for that reason.

Silently, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her still-trembling body closer to mine. She doesn't relinquish her curled up position, but she does bury her head in my chest, right below my collarbone. Her hands clench so tightly aroung the fabric of my shirt that I can feel her fingers shaking.

No words come. I don't know what to say and she probably doesn't want to talk. I just let her cry softly into my shirt, her breathing still not constant. I can see the bruises on her back clearly now; one of them is massive, stretching from shoulder to shoulder. The invisible blade presses harder against my heart. I wish that somehow I could make the bruises disappear forever, just by holding her like this. But she continues to cry, and the bruises remain, no matter how hard I wish them away.

---

I dont know how long she cries, I'm not watching the clock at all, only her. Suddenly Indie sits up and looks at me with the feeling of alarm noticeably bright in her wattery, red-rimmed eyes. Her makeup has smeared and washed away, revealing the shadow like bruise beneath her eye.

"T-t-there's an-nother class i-in h-hear at f-f-five," she stutters, hiccuping with each world, hardly able to speak clearly. "I t-told M-Madame G-G-Garcia t-t-that I'd b-be g-gone by t-t-then."

"I'll drive you home," I say.

Indie frowns, hiccuping again. "I c-can d-drive myself." She goes to wipe a few stray tears from her splotchy cheeks, but her fingers are still shaking so badly that she isn't able to actually find the tears.

Slowly, gently, I pull her hand away from her face, intertwining my fingers with hers. With my other hand, I brush away the tears she had tried to get rid of.

"Let me drive you," I say again.

She takes another one of those painful sounding, rattling breaths. Her fingers tighten around mine, a timid, scared sort of pressure.

"Okay," she whispers.

Indie's POV,,

Luke helps me stand up. I feel so stupid, mortified beyond belief that I've gone to pieces like this in front of him. I'm grateful for his help, and if I'm being completely honest, I shouldn't be driving while I'm in this state. I don't even think I have the strength to press the gas pedal.

I tighten my fingers around Luke's as we walk toward the studio door, needing the pressure of his hand around mine to keep my legs steady. His grip is strong, much stronger than mine, but somehow gentle at the same time. It's a steadying force, like the rudder of a ship.