gone ✧*｡ luke a.u.

44: october 18 2011

TRIGGER WARNING: Parts of this chapter may be sensitive to some readers and bring up painful issues or memories of traumatic experiences. Please be aware of this and seek help if necessary. (I love you. You're not alone.)

~:~

ELLIE

SATURDAY, 18TH OCTOBER, 2011

Ellie woke up to the sound of a groan very close to her ear, and a strange, wet-sounding sniffling. Something distinctly damp touched her face and she jerked away from it, eyes flying open only to see a dog's wet, black nose sniffing at her, and a pair of big, dark eyes gazing at her curiously from beside the bed. Behind her, she heard another groan as her back collided with what had to be Luke's chest. One warm, golden arm was looped loosely around her body; it tightened as he shifted, pulling her closer to him.

It took a second for her to understand her surroundings. Luke at her back, stirring as he woke up, stretching and untangling himself from her; the rays of bright sunlight streaming in through the unshuttered window, illuminating what she knew to be Luke's bedroom. A guitar rested against the wall in the corner of the room, opposite shelves crammed full of CDs and music books.

For a second she was confused. She hadn't had any nightmares at all and had woken feeling a blissful sense of peace and warmth that she couldn't remember ever feeling in her life—and then memories of the night before came back to her in a rush. She remembered her reckless, impulsive flight to Luke's house in the dead of the night, the black hollow feeling inside her that she had been trying to escape—but she had never meant to fall asleep. She had always meant to come home.

Suddenly panicked, she pushed herself into a sitting position and looked wildly around the room. The curious dog—who, she presumed, was Benji—had given up staring at her and instead was sniffing around the corners of the room, his tail wagging merrily behind him. The clock on the bedside table told Ellie it was just past ten-thirty in the morning.

Luke let out a long groan. Ellie felt rather than saw him roll over onto his back and stretch, his legs so long they took up most of the bed—and even then they didn't quite fit—as she moved to the edge of the bed and sat with her own legs over the side, her head in her hands. Her waking panic had receded, only to be replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that not even sleep could eradicate fully.

"Ellie?" Luke said. His voice was thick with sleep, warmly affectionate. "You alright?" She didn't reply, and he said, "Come back to bed. I'm cold without you."

"It's almost eleven in the morning, Luke," Ellie said, getting to her feet. Tendrils of dark hair fell into her face; she pushed them impatiently aside. "I should leave."

"What?" Luke pushed himself up to sit. She could hear the confusion in his voice and forced herself not to look at him, lest her resolve weakened. "You don't have to go. Stay, get some more rest. I can make you breakfast. I make a mean omelette."

"I'm not hungry," Ellie said shortly. She walked over to the window and peered out, wondering if she could jump out and be on her way without having to go through Luke's house and run into his parents. But they were on the second floor; without Luke's help, she'd probably break an ankle in the fall, or maybe hit her head and die. She realised with a sense of muted detachment that she would have been prepared to take the risk, if it wasn't for the fact that Luke was watching her like a hawk. She felt Benji lean against her legs and gaze up at her hopefully, and she absently stroked a hand along his head.

"You have to be hungry, it's had to have been ages since you'd have eaten . . ." Luke said, but his voice was a mutter, as if he knew he had no hope of changing her mind. He cleared his throat. "Don't you at least want a shower?"