The Bet || l.h.

- 35 -

Luke's POV:

What happened... 

The wind blows my hair across my face, but I can't find it in me to care. All I see are my mistakes, glaring up at me with accusation.

How could you do this? You finally got the girl, the only one you've ever really cared about, only to let her slip through your fingers?

If only I'd been honest with her. She didn't let me explain, to have the chance to tell her how much I love her. 

God, if only I wasn't such an idiot, she'd be in my arms right now... She wouldn't be regretting every second she ever spent with me, hating me for what I did.

I thought things were getting better. But then I had to go and do what I do best - ruin everything.

The crumpled bag of drugs in my pocket bumps against my side as my feet follow a familiar path, more aware of where I'm going than my head. I've been here too many times for it to not be ingrained in my memory.

Silence greets me as I come to a stop in front of a slab of stone jutting up from the earth.

Grace Hemmings

1999-2009

My legs give out beneath me as I slump to the ground in front of her grave, my vision swimming with tears. Even after five years, it still hurts. I don't think it'll ever stop hurting.

Some things even time can't heal, like the wounds I give to everyone around me.

My family, always worried that what I saw the night my sister died in my arms will always haunt me. My friends, never believing I will ever get over my addiction to drugs that make all of my pain disappear. 

Emmy, the one girl I ever truly loved, who can't even look at me because she doesn't recognize the person staring back at her.

And it's all my fault.

If only I'd never agreed to that stupid bet.

If only I had told her the truth.

If only I hadn't been foolish enough to fall for her.

If only I wasn't such a screw up.

"I'm so sorry, Grace," I croak, my voice getting stuck in my throat. A tear slips down my cheek, mingling with the grass that's grown over her grave.

Suddenly I'm thirteen again, watching them lower the casket into the earth. It was the worst kind of pain knowing that I could have prevented this, if only I had reacted faster. She wouldn't have bleed out in my arms, trying to soothe me while she lay dying. I wouldn't have had to bury the only person who believed in me no matter what.

"I really made a mess of everything," I continue, imagining her sitting on the tombstone, swinging her legs back and forth as she listened.

"Tell how to fix it," I beg, staring at her name as if it holds any answers. "I don't know how to fix it."

But of course no one answers.

Everyone's left me. There's no one to answer.

My car struggles to turn on as I turn the key harder in the ignition. Frustrated, I punch the steering wheel. Why can't anything ever work?