Over and Over (Lashton)

Outlaws of Love

Everywhere we go, we're looking for the sun

Nowhere to grow old, we're always on the run

You say we'll rot in hell, well I don't think we will

You've branded us enough, outlaws of love.

~Adam Lambert, "Outlaws of Love"

 

Luke’s POV

Things are good, things are great.

Recording’s on track, the concerts are always sold out, Calum’s looking a little brighter, and Ashton’s been doing okay, I think. It seems like almost dying shook him up.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t still want to cut. I still watch him constantly, even though management has made sure that he’s being practically followed at all time. It’s mostly out of habit.

He tells me about therapy, sometimes, late at night in hushed tones while Calum and Michael talk.

She tells me that she’ll never tell anyone what I say, that it’s in her contract. But I can’t help feeling like she’s going to tell everyone and then everyone will hate me.

A tired, pained whisper.

I tell her about all the times they beat me up, every time someone kicked me down when I tried to get up, trying to look my mum straight in the eyes. I relive those memories over and over again after trying for so long to bury it. Seeing that guy who looked like Carver freaked me out, Luke. I’m scared every time I go out.

A fearful admission.

Everybody thinks he’s doing fine. It’s not perfect, as much as I wish it would be. He still wakes up crying silently from nightmares. His fingers still twitch over sharp objects. He still keeps his scars covered up.

But he’s never tried this hard. He’s almost a month clean. I’m hoping he’ll learn to get rid of the bad feelings in other ways. I think the therapy’s helping, in some weird way--he’s coming home a little depressed because he’s reliving all the bad memories, but with each day he’s walking a little lighter.

Someday, it’ll all pay off. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

---

Today, Ashton wakes us all up and yells at us that we need to go to lunch because it’s almost one and we’re all lazy. Calum emits a rather eloquent “Aljksdoqiwrmbljdf” and throws a pillow at him. Michael literally rolls out of bed and lands on top of Calum, who has collapsed there. I join the pile and Ashton goes out to the kitchen.

When we’re all ready, we call a cab and wait on the curb, falling over each other and shivering in the cold. America’s just so frigid. This time of the year it’d be warm in Australia. Beanie and sweater 5SOS is here to stay for a while.

Panda Express isn’t open, so we go to a little sandwich shop nearby. Ashton and I slide into one half of the booth and Calum and Michael into the other.

“Okay, let’s talk,” Calum says, adopting the voice of a ten year old girl. “Give me all the details.”

“No, you tell us,” Michael interjects. “What’s with this girl?”

“Are you dating?” I ask helpfully.

“Are you thinking of dating her?” Ashton asks.

Calum folds his arms. “We’re not dating.”

“You text her constantly,” I argue.

“Lay off,” he says, chin jutting up. “I’m not the one going on midnight dates.”