Proxy [l.h]

15. Sudden Relapses and... Jane?

*GIF THAT ACCURATELY REPRESENTS THIS CHAPTER*

Hi guys! This chapter's big! Please don't forget to vote or comment if you liked it :) I've also divided this chapter into two parts and the second one will be up soon.

Dedicated to everyone who's still reading <3

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«DAY 9 cont.»      

Lissa

Luke is sitting shirtless on his bed. His shoulders are moving up and down, his breathing ragged. To add to that, with drops of blood still trickling from his nose and his face a bright red mess, he is the image of a colossal disaster. It reminds me of the first time I met him, when he'd just gotten in a fight with Michael. He's clenching a small plastic bottle in his right hand, and quickly puts it in his pocket when I open the door. Then, with beady eyes, he watches me walk towards him.

"What is that?" I ask, pointing to the strange bottle. "In your pocket."

Luke's eyes shift away from mine. "Pills from my therapist, a long time ago. Haven't been taking them."

Pills? Why does he needs pills?  

I blink, puzzled, but move another step forward until I'm right in front of him.

"You can't help me, you know," Luke blurts, his gaze cold now that I'm near him. He's leaned forward just a little, sitting on the edge of the bed so that we're around the same height.

I don't answer him. Instead, I'm watching his face, and with hesitant fingers, I reach towards him. Luke flinches, but doesn't move away. Taking his chin in my hand and tilting it, I can see the deep bruise decorating his jawline and the blood caked in his hair, painting a much more gruesome image in close view. A purplish bruise splotched over the bridge of his nose, blue eyes cast down and away from me, Luke reaches up and pushes my hand away. His palm is warm.

"Don't, Lissa," he grits through his teeth- a warning.

"Let me help," I offer softly, reaching up again.

"I said you can't fucking help me!" Luke snaps in a sudden outburst, his gaze tearing through me. Surprised, I draw my hand back, and silence fills the room.

His lips trembling, Luke opens his mouth open then closed again, not knowing what to do with himself. He drags his hands over and over down his flushed face. Then I'm speechless as tears start to stream from his eyes and through his fingers.

He almost looks like his drunken father from moments ago, his eyes red and teary, his face contorted in pain. "I don't need anyone else. I d-don't need you. I don't..." he hiccups, his words starting to blur together and sound like nonsense. "You...or my father, or my mother, or even Calum and Michael and Ashton...I don't even like playing music anymore-why am I still here? What kind of a life am I living if I have nothing to live for? If I have nothing-"

At the mention of music, my eyes are drawn towards the abandoned guitar by Luke's bed, half-hidden under the sheets and forgotten. Everything I thought I knew about Luke until the moment in the elevator is all gone. The times that I felt that he'd warmed up to me were gone. Luke was incredibly fragile - and in some sad way, I understood him. I hear him hum to the songs playing from his earphones, tap his fingers on his thighs as if he's playing his guitar, and I see him on stage and know  that he loves what he does. But he never signed up for this life, the fame that came with it. The fame that led to Ben, Jane, a hostile father, and no friends, and the fame that turned him into... this.