placid ↦ luke hemmings {au}

eight: bruised

CHAPTER EIGHT:

 

| emma’s pov |

“He thinks he’s better, just because...” I couldn’t hear anything anymore as I drowned out all the sound. I was sitting on my house’s garden, my bare feet on the grass. 

Two days have passed since I was at the beach with Luke, and I felt like it’s only been a few hours. I tried to pass it off as a joke, but I knew he wasn’t one to make something comical of a serious topic. Whatever the topic was, that is.

What is he hiding? I wanted to know so badly. I was worried about him; he was too barricaded. He was too detached from everyone, including myself. There was always something in between us, a thin but strong wall. 

A tap on my head caused me to look up. Speaking of Luke, there he was. His hair was all over the place, and his shirt’s neckline was low, like it was grabbed onto. 

I motioned him to sit beside me, patting the grass on my side. He gave me a closemouthed smile and nodded, settling himself next to me.

“Hey,” he greeted, with a small wave. 

That’s when I saw it. A bruise on his arm.

“Where did you get that?” I took his right hand, to extend his arm. The bruise was fairly large, around thumb-sized. “Did you fall? Did some-“

He retracted it from me, putting it on the other side of his body, so I couldn’t reach for it. “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he replied in a tranquil pitch, as if he was convincing me.

I couldn’t buy it. He appears out of nowhere, looking like a mess and then tells me he’s fine? I would be a pinhead to believe that. “Stop that. Where did that come from?”

“I told you already. It’s nothing you should get worked up about,” he dissuaded me from thinking of anything rash. Maybe he knew I was right. 

“Luke, you know I can listen to any of your problems. Tell me what’s wrong,” I urged, placing my hand on his shoulder. 

He flinched away. “No, don’t say that. You wouldn’t understand. You’ll never understand.” He surprises me; I didn’t expect him to have such a backlash.

The sudden realization hits him when I stay quiet. He said something he shouldn’t have.  He pinches the bridge of his nose in between his forefinger and thumb, letting out a much needed groan. 

“I-I’m going,” he finally says, standing up and leaving me, dejected.