thirty one
Sleeping without Luke was weird. It was a little after four in the morning and he still hasn't come knocking on my hotel door. I checked my phone as I began getting into bed, still no messages from him.
I could feel my eyes sinking lower into my brain as the seconds ticked out. I was so close to a deep slumber when a knock on my door rang through the room.
I sat up, breathing slowly and listening to see if I heard it again. It could just be my mind making up things again. Living alone, I'm convinced someone is breaking in at least 80 percent of the time.
Two quick knocks made another appearance as I got out of bed, my toes curling into the plush carpet.
I didn't bother peering through the peep hole as I unlocked the bolts. "Hey," my tired voice said to Luke standing on the other end.
"I'm not in love with you," he says. Luke brushes past me like any other night, "And I'm not high."
I close the door behind him and turn off the kitchen light—something I forgot to do earlier. I find him back in my bed, under the covers that I was just wrapped in. "Okay, Luke."
"Make me hate you."
I crawl into bed, turning off the last light. The room is beyond dark, I'm unable to see my own hand in front of my face. The only sound is his own breathing clashing with mine. "I'm not going to do that," I say with a quiet sigh.
"Make me want to punch you in the face, Michael. I'm not in love with you."
I roll onto my back, not wanting to stare at the blurry, fading silhouette of him any longer. "I'm not going to make you punch me and I assure you I'm not in love with you either." Maybe I was in love with him, but maybe I'm just as lost as him.
"Pay attention to me." Luke's voice becomes quiet, barely above a whisper.
"Just go to sleep," I respond, my voice equally as soft.
"I don't want to be alone," he pauses, hoping for my response to interrupt his heavy thoughts, "Mikey, please."
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I'm not annoyed with him—not even close. To put it short, Luke is something special. He will crave care but never give it back. It feels like a one-way street with him. I love him, I do! But, he loves attention.
Regardless, I roll onto my side and pull myself closer to his radiating soul. "You're not alone." I rest my hand on his hip, his tee-shirt keeping our skin apart.
"I want to be loved," he says, "but I don't want to be in love."
"There's nothing wrong with that. You do you. Do what makes you feel the happiest." I say the words that I've been telling myself since I was 12. He needs strength and I'd like to believe that I'm filled with it.
"I don't think my parents even loved me. I think they cared about me and they enjoyed my company here and there, but I don't think they truly loved me." Through the dark, I can't see anything. But, I figure that Luke's eyes are looking down, he's probably blinking fast. I suspect he's holding back tears, he's always on the verge of tears as he mentions the last two decades of his life. "I was never the favorite child, I don't think I was even tied with my siblings. It wasn't a race, but if it was then I wouldn't be winning."
"I can't relate—being an only child and all."
A soft, quick, low snicker leaves his throat. "Yeah, it's hard to explain."
"No, I think I get what you're saying."
"I don't think I've ever been in love."
I tuck my arms underneath my head, "Do you want to be?"
"I'm not sure. What does it feel like?"
My part my lips into a straight line and begin to think. I think of my parents, my dog, Ashton or Jack. I think of all my ex-partners that I was sure I was in love with, all the hearts I've broken and all the times my own heart was shattered.
"I don't know," I finally say, "it's hard to explain."
"You're a writer."
"I'm lost for words."
Luke stays quiet and as do I. I think and I think but nothing more leaves my lips.
"What do you think of when you're thinking nothing?" He asks.
I shrug even though I don't think he can see me. "I think of all the adventures I haven't been on yet, I think of all the places I haven't seen yet."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I smile, "I'll be thinking nothing in particular and then suddenly I'll imagine myself on a train somewhere in Europe, I'm doodling something stupid in a Moleskin and looking outside to the green space flashing by. I feel lovely, I feel great, I feel okay."
"Do you think love feels like your happiest moment?"
Maybe Luke is high. Luke becomes a writer when he's high, his half-gone mind thinks in paragraph of elegant language, it's all floating across his mind like ink on a canvas. I can almost see it. "Maybe."
"Do you think I'll be in love one day?"
"That's your choice to make."
Luke doesn't say anything else. He soon falls asleep and, for once, I stay awake instead.
What do you think of Michael?
Of Luke?
