Sad [Lashton AU]

Chapter 3

Dedication: iCheeseYou because you always know how to cheer me up (:

I'm telling you guys now, I will be grumpy for the next three weeks. I'm doing this stupid twenty-one day sugar detox, where I (obviously) can't eat sugar. So, basically all I can eat is meat, vegetables, cheese, and nuts.

My attitude often shows in my writing, so the story may sound angry for a few weeks. Or, it may not. Maybe I'll get used to the diet. I just wanted you guys to know, in case my writing does sound angry, when I don't mean for it to.

"What are you up to?" I ask, peering at Luke. I'm standing on my tip toes on my bed, and my eyes barely reach above Luke's bed, so I can barely see him.

"Nothing," he says, closing the notebook he was writing in.

"What's in the notebook?"

"Nothing!" He clears his throat. "Nothing. Don't look in it."

I huff and hop off of my bed. "Fine. Don't tell me."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Great."

I narrow my eyes at him, then stick my tongue out at him and open the door.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Downstairs. Why?"

"Um, well..." he clears his throat and sheepishly looks down. "You know, I couldn't bring anything with me, so I don't really have anything to wear, and I was just wondering if I'm allowed to go shopping." It's now that I notice he's only in his boxers. "Yesterday I wore the same clothes I was wearing when I got here, and I'd rather not do that again."

"How do you have the notebook?" From what I could tell of my brief glance at it, he was writing in a page towards the end of it, meaning he had already written a lot in it, or he picked a weird place to start.

"When Mrs. Lenolia said I couldn't keep it, I threatened to bite her hand. When she reached for it, I almost did. She said that once I was situated she'd want to read it, and when that time came, last night, I told her I threw it away. Please don't tell her I still have it."

And who can say no to those big blue eyes? So, I sigh and agree, and watch him slide the notebook between the mattress and the bottom of the bed.

He climbs down the stairs, then, when he realizes that he's still only in his boxers, he blushes and asks, "Do you have anything I can wear?"

"My clothes will probably be small on you, but yeah."

He follows me to my drawers, where I take out a pair of black skinny jeans and a random shirt.

"Um," he pipes up, "it's kind of cold outside. Can I have either a long sleeved shirt or a jacket?"

I eye him suspiciously, and his eyes widen.

"Oh, gosh! I don't cut or anything. That's not why I want long sleeves, if that's what you're thinking." He turns his pale arms over so I can see his wrists.

I nod when I don't see any cuts or scars, and hand him a long sleeved shirt.

I turn away from him as he changes, and when he says it's okay for me to look at him and I do, I can't help but laugh.

My pants cut off right above his ankles, and he's frowning and picking at the holes in the shirt.

"These pants are so short," he whines. "And why would a long sleeved shirt have holes?!"

I roll my eyes and sigh. "I cut holes in my shirts. I just like them like that. Take these." I hand him a pair of matte black Dr. Martens.

He scrunches his nose and looks at them, then at me.