Between You & Me || Luke & Jai Brooks

Chapter LVI - Luke's POV

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: Luke, please. We need to talk.

To: princess 💖👅💦
From: Luke
Message: I don't think there's much to say.

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: Honestly Luke we can't just keep avoiding each other forever.
Message: I need to see you 😞

To: princess 💖👅💦
From: Luke
Message: I need to see you too but not in the same way.

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: Idc anymore I can't keep doing this 😩 I miss you too much and we have to sort it out

To: princess 💖👅💦
From: Luke
Message: I don't think I'm ready to see you rn
Message: tbh I'm a mess

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: I'm so sorry Luke I wish I could just take everything back but too much has happened and I don't know what to do 😭 I'm hurting too babe but there's so much going on in my head I don't think I can handle it alone anymore

To: princess 💖👅💦
From: Luke
Message: we have to try babe please I can't live without you I thought I knew what I was doing before but I can't handle it without you. I'm a mess i don't know what to do with my life every day is my own personal hell life without you isn't life, I'm already dead, please realise i need you please come back baby I can't do it anymore I need you in my life 😞

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: Luke, I don't know anymore. So much has changed I honestly don't think we could ever be the same again. I just want to try and patch things up.

To: princess 💖👅💦
From: Luke
Message: baby please I'll do anything 😭 we've got through problems before we can do it again I swear it'll be different!

To: Luke
From: Meghan
Message: I don't feel the way I used to anymore.
Message: Can we please just talk about it in person?
Message: Luke
Message: Please Lukey
Message: I'm so sorry

*Lukes pov*
I'm so sorry.

Yeah, right. What a fucking lie.

I breathe out a cloud of shisha smoke, closing my eyes and leaning back against the hotel bed. The tears are still flowing, hot down my cheeks.

What a fucking lie.

If you were sorry, I wouldn't be alone, smoking shisha in a hotel. If you were sorry, you'd be lying by my side. If you were sorry, you wouldn't be dating my fucking brother.

The pipe drops from my grip as my hand shakes suddenly, and it seems to fall forever before hitting the damp white sheets. My eyes follow it the whole time, watching it land with a quiet thud. The tear droplets used to be obvious, but now they've blended into a solid patch, a few shades darker than before.

What a fucking lie.

I can't handle it alone, and that's the truth. I don't know what to do. My life is a mess, I'm living in a hotel room that's 10 minutes away from my own house. Just to avoid her.

I grab the pipe and shove it into my mouth, inhaling deeply as the images begin to surface. My life is a constant battle of forcing back memories with drugs recently. I can't remember how it feels to be sober. Still, the pictures are there. Night or day, day or night, it doesn't even matter anymore. I don't remember the last time I properly slept. I'm drifting, always in a state of semi comatose. Nothing is real, apart from her, and the pain. When I think about how much pain I'm in, it rips through me and it's as if everything inside me is grinding together, being twisted and pulled, forced through a space much too small, like toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube.

At first, I couldn't handle it. I'd scream out loud, at first into my pillow and then when it became too much and too often, just out loud into my room. But I learnt how to deal with it, and that was a while ago. I'd have thought that surely any contact or thoughts of her would have made it worse but it's just different.

No physical pain. Only mental.

It's amazing how much the human brain can store subconsciously. Scientists say that the human brain has a storage space of between 10 and 100 terabytes. In the latter case, that means I can store approximately 200 million photos of her.

I don't know which is worse. Two kinds of torture. The pain in my stomach or the pain of seeing her in my mind, pictures of her like a slideshow. Sometimes I wake up and I know that I've dreamt of her because I'm still crying when I wake up and my pillow is soaked through, or sometimes my pants. Because those images usually hurt the most. Knowing that that picture in my head of her slender leg, or her arched back held up by my hands, could be what Jai's seeing right now. Knowing that even though she's miles away, she can still cause me the kind of pleasure that makes me wake up to sweat-stained sheets and wet underwear. Knowing that honestly, those pictures may be the last I see of her body.

And fuck, it hurts.