Perfectly Wrong || Luke Hemmings

21

Tyler is still deeply upset about what happened at the bar, but goes to bed without much argument. I change my clothes quickly get a little schoolwork down at the table while I wait for my brother to fall asleep on the couch. Luke is most definitely still awake, just waiting to yell at me when there's no one around to hear it. I can practically feel him fuming through the walls.

Raking a hand through my hair as I finish up on my math homework, I clear my stuff off the table and put it in my bag. Wincing in anticipation, I open Luke's door and slip inside. He's pacing back and forth, pausing slightly when he sees me enter.

"You can't really expect me to just do nothing, can you?" he says, his eyes warring between looking angry and pleading. "It's torture enough to sit here and wait for you to break up with him. It's even worse to know that he's hurting you and you're just sitting there and letting him!"

"Did you write the new song you guys played tonight?" I ask, dying to know the answer. Tears gather in my eyes and I try to blink them away. I remember Luke crying on stage as they sang that song, trying to cover it up with a smile because no one could know that it hurt at all.

Tears shine in his blue eyes, a look of pure agony crossing his face. I wish I could reach out and take away his pain, but I can't. "Yes," he whispers, turning his head away from me.

"I'm sorry, this is all my fault," I say, choking on a sob.

He glances toward me suddenly, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, crying into his chest while he holds me. "Hey, don't blame yourself," he mutters into my hair. "I'd rather suffer than never meet you. Nothing in my life seems to go right... until you. You make me think that everyone gets a happy ending."

"You never did tell me about your dad," I say softly. "Ashton told me about why you... why you got involved with everything you did, but he never went into detail."

Luke stiffens, inhaling sharply. Gently, he tugs me over to his bed, taking a seat. He drops my gaze to stare at the duvet beneath us, beginning slowly. "My dad... he isn't a good person. Everything was perfect until I turned ten. My parents loved each other, my two brothers and sister and I got along. But that summer... Everything fell apart." Drawing a shaky breath, he hesitates. I squeeze his hand reassuringly and he flashes me a small smile. "We were driving back from our grandparents when my mom ran an orange light and a tractor trailer T-boned us." His blue eyes glaze over as he's transported back to a different time, a different place. "My mom was fine, as were my brothers. My dad's leg was screwed up and they told him it would never heal right. I was in a coma for a month. And my sister..."

He chokes back a sob and I put my arms around him, wishing that there was some way to ease his pain. "My dad blamed my mom for the death of my sister and for ruining his leg. He was always a bit of a drinker, but it got worse after the accident. He always seemed to be drunk." Luke bites his lip, turning his head away from me. "He beat us all the time and it went on for nearly a year before my brother stepped in and told Mom that he needed to go."

He clears his throat, looking me directly in the eye. "And my girlfriend... I've only actually dated one girl, and that was when I was sixteen. She... She meant a lot to me."

"Meant?" I repeat softly.

"She died," he says, hanging his head. "Committed suicide."

"I'm so sorry." I try to soothe him by running my thumb back and forth over his knuckles, feeling like my heart is breaking in two.

"After that, I just... I fell apart." Luke looks away in shame, his jaw clenched tightly. "I started drinking and smoking and playing with girls' hearts. I wanted nothing permanent, only something to dull the pain. My friends didn't know what to do, so they simply stayed. But I guess I've messed that up too. They don't like me very much."

I shift on the bed to wrap my arms around him tightly, holding him close. I can feel his tears falling on my neck, but he makes no noise, his shoulders staying perfectly still. "They like you," I start, searching for something to make him feel better. "They've always liked you, Luke. You should hear the way they talk about you; they're your brothers."

Now he sobs freely into my shoulder, clutching me tightly. I remember the broken boy sitting in the hallway, smoking to take the edge off of the pain warring inside of him. After you spend years trying not to feel, it's not easy to stop.