gone ✧*｡ luke a.u.

13: may 27th 2011

LUKE

TUESDAY, MAY 27TH, 2011

Another week passed without Luke speaking to Ellie, and things continued as normal, as though she'd never even existed but for in his mind. Calum got with another girl, who apparently almost bit his dick off while she blowed him (details Luke really did not need to know); Michael broke his TV after getting overly aggressive at a puzzle in one of his Zelda games; Ashton pretended he wasn't hurting over Stacy, and instead dedicated himself to writing new music for the band that he wouldn't let them hear.

In his mind, though, Ellie simply wouldn't leave. She played in his thoughts against his will, like a song stuck in his head. Was it guilt which kept her in his mind? Regret? The strange, daunting feeling of a kept secret?

He kept seeing her across the school, sitting silently with her group at lunchtimes or drawing intricate patterns on her hands and arms with a ballpoint pen, but they didn't say a word to each other. It was like Jack's dinner had never happened. Like they'd never talked.

At home, however, that wasn't at all the case. Ever the role model, Jack had started spending more and more time out of the house, and would often return high or piss-drunk in the earliest hours of the morning. It wasn't necessarily usual for him to spend time at home, but now Luke hardly saw him at all. Sometimes, he would wake up early for pre-school band practice in time to hear Jack stumbling through the front door. 

She tried not to let it show, but Luke knew that his mum was finding it harder and harder to hold it together. Jack's behaviour was impossible to ignore. On Sunday night, Luke overheard her speaking with his father in the kitchen, and the things they said made his mouth feel dry and his chest hollow.

"We need to do something, Liz," Andy insisted, his voice hushed. "This isn't just unhealthy—it's illegal. Soon enough, he's going to find himself on the wrong side of the law."

"We don't know that, Andrew. We don't know what he's doing."

"I think we know well enough. You were that age once, Liz." 

"Andy . . ."

"The moment he gets himself into real trouble, we'll be the ones who have to clean up the mess. Doesn't that concern you?"

"Of course it does." 

"He doesn't even confide in us anymore. I don't know who he's become. If he just reached out to us for help . . ."

Liz was silent.

"Look, Liz. I know you don't like intervening. It's their lives. They're adults. But it doesn't matter how old they get—we'll always be their parents. Until we die and long after that."

"I know," she sighed. "I know. But it's so hard to believe how much things have changed. When he was with Cel . . ."

"I know." Andy's voice was gentle, now. "I know it is. But we have to do something. Coming home like this, every night . . . he's going to start negatively influencing Luke."

"Luke's seventeen, Andy. He's not a child."

"He's not an adult, either. And besides," Andy added, "he's always looked up to Jack. Now he has to watch whatever his brother's become."

Concealed in the hallway, Luke swallowed past the sudden feeling of a knot in his throat.

"I don't know what to do," Liz whispered, and then she was crying, and Andrew was trying to comfort her. Her sobs tore through the kitchen and into the hallway, tangled with helplessness and grief for what had once been. 

To Luke, the sounds were unbearable. There could be nothing worse in the world than hearing your parents cry, and Luke's mother had always been the strongest person he had ever known. Hearing her hurt made him hurt, like a wound straight to the soul.