Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

In my sixteen years I have only seen Luke cry three times.

When I’d woken up in the hospital and sort of lost it seeing my face for the first time.

When he woke up in the hospital after the car accident and Mom told him that Eileen was gone and Calum was in questionable condition.

And when he came out to me and told me he was gay.

I’d heard him cry in his room at night after Eileen’s funeral, but never, not once had I ever seen him so destroyed as he was when I told him that it was Michael’s sister he’d killed.

I knew he carried guilt about the accident. However not knowing the second driver allowed a sort of detachment. He could convince himself they were a bad person, in the wrong some way. But knowing it was Michael’s sister, someone’s daughter, someone’s mother, he broke.

Dropping to the ground, amidst the pile of broken glass from the picture he’d chucked at the wall in his anger, he buried his face in his hands.

“You were drunk.” I informed him.

“N-no I wasn’t.” he whispered, his head shooting up, his eyes wide and bloodshot, “Don’t say that. No I wasn’t.”

I knew Luke didn’t remember much about the accident, if anything about that night. But realizing that he had no idea just how at fault he was for everything, made my heart sink.

“You were drunk.” I repeated, softer, “You ran a red light.”

“N-no I didn’t!” he cried, shaking his head, seemingly unaffected by the scarlet stain soaking through the knee of his jeans.

“Luke you’re sitting in glass.” I sighed, “Stand up.”

“Spencer I didn’t.” he pleaded, “I didn’t right? I-I wasn’t…I wouldn’t…I…”

“Luke stop.” I muttered, “Just stop. You messed up okay? There isn’t anything you can do…”

“I messed up?” he shouted suddenly, causing me to jump, “Messing up is getting in a fender bender when taking your Daddy’s Porche out for a joy ride? I killed people! Oh God. I killed people.”

I didn’t recognize the look in Luke’s eyes as the realization of the severity of his actions washed over him. It was like deep down the thought had crossed his mind that perhaps there was more to the accident then anyone had dared to tell him, but never did he actually think it was true. It was like every moment he had forgotten that night, came rushing back in vivid color, smacking him harshly in the face, shaking him about roughly by the front of the shirt shouting, ‘look what you did!’

It was like he was reliving that night all over again.

“Why am I not in jail?” he demanded, “Why…why am I not dead?”

“Luke.” I whispered, regretting even having brought it up.

“Why am I here and they’re not?” he mumbled, “I deserve to be dead! I should have die…”

“Luke stop.” I interrupted, trying hard not to cry, “It was an acci…”

“I was drunk and I drove!” he shouted, rising to his feet and towering over me, “I knew. I knew I was wrong and I…oh God. What have I done?”

Suddenly the door from the living room swung open and Calum entered the kitchen, his eyes widening at the sight of Luke. His hair wild from the numerous times he’d tugged it and ran his fingertips through it, his skin an alarmingly sickly shade of gray, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his face blotchy and wet with tears, his knee bleeding profusely, his legs shaking.

Looking like me might vomit or collapse or possibly both at once, Luke looked down at the nub where Calum’s elbow had once been, at the empty hair which was once occupied by his forearm, wrist, hand and fingers, all of which were long gone. Shaking his head wildly, his eyes wide, he opened his mouth to speak however closed it again, along with his eyes.

“What did you do to him?” Calum demanded.

“I-I told him the truth.” I whispered.

“Why would you do that?” he demanded.

“Because he deserves to know!” I cried.

“Stop it.” Luke whispered, “Both of you… stop it this is all my fault.”

“Luke,” Calum sighed, “You were dru…”

“That’s not an excuse.” I interrupted.

Choking on a sob, Luke broke down and sunk to the floor.

“That’s enough.” Calum cried, his own eyes filling with tears as he dropped to his knees infront of Luke, “You’ve said enough.”

Pulling Luke against his side with his good arm, Calum rubbed his back slowly as Luke cried into his neck. Despite their close proximity there was nothing even vaguely intimate about the gesture. There was no romance, or lust, or desire, there was simply love.

As Luke fell, spiraling downward, his sobs increasing in his intensity, and his hands trembling so ferociously I feared there was something medically wrong, Calum was there, not as his boyfriend, but as the kid he’d known since kindergarten.

The boy he’d had his first sleep over with, the boy use to sell boy scout popcorn at Grandpa’s store with. The boy who knew, what Luke had done, who had to wake up every morning and look down at a body, deformed essentially at Luke’s own hand. The boy who could’ve told Luke the truth at any time but refrained.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, wiping away the tear running down the end of my nose.

“Spencer, just go okay?” Calum sighed, “Please.”

Nodding I backed out of the room, not even realizing fully that I was crying in earnest until I crashed into Michael who as standing behind me.

“Are you okay?” he questioned automatically.

“No.” I admitted, “I hurt him. He didn’t know what he did Michael and I….I broke him.”

Chewing his bottom lip as if he wanted to say something, but not knowing what was needed nor appropriate, he stepped forward and pulled me against him. His arms wrapped around me tightly holding me in place, one arm pulling me impossibly closer, one hand gently pressing my head against his chest.

“You did the right thing Spence.” He said gently, “Not the easy thing, but the right thing.”

“I don’t know.” I mumbled.

“Trust me.” Michael sighed, “You did. Now come on, let’s get you out of here.”