The Dollmaker's Son | lrh ✔️

Five

When Corey and I got home, he ditched his candy bag almost immediately, leaving it in my room for the next morning. He said that he was so tired that he didn't want any yet.

He went to his own room and I stayed in mine, playing quiet music as I replayed the events of what happened a couple of minutes prior.

I thought about Luke. And his stitched lips, and his blue eyes, and the way his father basically told him to shut up through a simple gesture. Shivers ran down my spine and all of the hairs on my neck stood on end; I was suddenly unnerved.

I wanted to talk to him, but I knew I couldn't, not unless I knew sign language from a window away.

Peering out of the crack in my blinds, my shoulders slumped once I saw that the lights were off in Luke's room, yet his window was wide open.

Again, disappointment coursed through my veins as I sighed, took a step back- and felt something firm touch my shoulder.

I screamed, louder than I have ever screamed before, only to be muffled by a frantic hand clamping over my mouth.

I kicked and thrashed and yelled and even bit the person until I heard a low groan, a hiss of pain, and they collapsed back onto the bed.

I scrambled to turn the light on, tripping and stumbling over Corey's candy bag. It's contents spilled all over the floor as the person clutched their stomach, writhing in pain.

Once the room lit up, I couldn't help but feel a strong relief as my eyes landed on the boy himself; hurt, groaning, wincing and uncomfortable on my mattress, Luke Hemmings shot me a glare that made my heart skip multiple beats.

"Jesus," I said, hand on my chest to steady my breathing. "You scared the fuck out of me!"

As always, I got no reply back, but the glare was replaced by a slight look of apology. I wanted to ask him how the hell he got into my room, but then I remembered the open window, so I didn't.

"What the hell are you doing here?" was my question instead, but Luke wasn't even paying any attention to me at that point.

I watched as he stood up from the bed, slowly, the stitches on his lips pulling as he strained himself not to groan in pain. It wasn't until that very moment that I noticed the bruises on his arms, the cuts on his sides, and the marks on his neck.

I took a step back as he bent over Corey's bag. Then, without a single word, Luke scooped up every single piece of colourful, homemade hard-boiled candy, gathering them in his hands with every slight bit of caution. He looked nervous.

I looked at him, slightly bewildered. "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep my voice low.

I had no idea how to explain to Corey the next morning that our neighbour had taken his sweets. He probably wouldn't have minded, but still, it wasn't something I wanted to say.

Luke just shook his head, walking over to the bin in the room before throwing in and discarding every single wrapped sugar disc inside. I stayed silent.

He then made his way over to my desk, pulling out a piece of scrap paper and a pencil from his pocket. He spent a few seconds scribbling something down, before crumpling up the note, walking back to me, and placing it gently in my hand.

I was about to unwrap it. I made the gesture to, but he stopped me. He shook his head again.

"What?" I whispered. Luke gestured to the window.

Then he made a sign with his palm facing me, telling me wordlessly to wait.

I nodded, though at the time, I had zero idea what he actually wanted from me.

Luke gave me a small hug, his forehead resting against mine as if he didn't want to pull away. Then he walked away, pulled my blinds back up, opened my window, and began to climb out.

As soon as I heard the soft thud of his feet hitting the ground, I knew it was okay for me to open the paper.

Excitement began to flood through my fingertips as I unravelled it, but it was replaced by a cold feeling soon after as my eyes fell upon the words scribbled in lead.

Don't eat the candy.