Chapter Ten.
When I wake, the house is silent. It's 7am, and silence at this time in the morning in this house is usually far from the ordinary.
I usually come downstairs to Luke making me breakfast while he has one of his rock albums blasting through the house. The air usually smells like bacon or pancakes, dependant on how he's feeling that day. The atmosphere is usually playful and exciting, as the ache of my mum's absence is something we both have grown used to, and we have developed our own little routine without her.
But today is different.
There's no music, no lyrics echoing around the house. There is no smell of breakfast.
Something is off I can tell.
After pulling a hoody over my head - avoiding the bruises on my face and my sore lip - and a pair of leggings over my legs, I head downstairs.
My stomach feels uneasy. I'm nervous of having to see Luke. I don't know what our dynamic is now, and I'm worried. I don't know where we go from here, or how I'm supposed to act around him.
Last night I literally had is head between my thighs while I moaned his name, then his pleads of forgiveness when he collapsed to his knees, and today? I don't even know if he wants to see my face, hear my voice, and I know I can't take rejection from him.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I hear his voice, one side of a conversation.
"-and I'm sure we can arrange things further when we get there, and discuss the ins and outs of it properly in person - about four hours I reckon - of course, I'll let you know as soon as I've set off -"
Peeping around the doorframe, I see him pacing the carpet of the living room. He's fully dressed in black jeans and a plain white T-shirt, his black jacket hung over the back of the sofa.
His hair is a mess, his eyes look so tired, and I wonder if he's even slept. He looks like he's had a bad case of the flu.
He reaches one end of the room, then turns around, and I must catch his gaze, because now he's looking at me, watching me attempt to hide while I eavesdrop.
Now caught, I enter the room, only slightly, feeling uneasy, uninvited. My fingers fidget with a loose thread on the sleeve of my hoody, and I'm nervous.
Something is wrong. It's thick in the air.
"- I will - she's up now so we won't be long - okay, we'll be there soon" he finishes, then hangs up the call. Sighing, he looks up from his phone to me, and gives me a faint smile.
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
Releasing another sigh, he pushes his phone into his back pocket then runs his hand through his hair, and his eyes suddenly avoid mine. "Um... I'm going to be really busy over then next few months. Um...-" he frowns, his eyes fixed on the carpeted floor. "I think it would be best for you to stay with your Auntie and Uncle in Scotland for a bit..."
My heart sinks. It feels like I've been punched in the stomach. I try to take a breath, but I can't.
"I've gotten you a suitcase out," he says, nodding towards the case at the other side of the sofa. "If you can go pack some stuff we can get going."
My worst fears. Everything I've dreaded.
"Please..." I say, my voice so quiet I don't even think he can hear me. "Don't."
He wants me gone. His eyes still not meeting mine. He can't even bare the sight of me. He's so disgusted by me, can't even bare to have me around anymore.
His eyebrows furrow and his jaw clenches, indicating he heard me, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't even look at me.
Realising he isn't going to say anything I ask, "for how long?"
He sighs, "Just until I've figured some stuff out," he says flatly.
When he doesn't expand further, I awkwardly grasp the suitcase and run upstairs before I let the tears blurring my sight fall down my cheeks in front of him.
Throwing the case on the ground of my bedroom with a loud thud, I slam my bedroom door, falling backwards onto the stability of the wood as my knees buckle, and I sob while I fall to the ground.
~*~
The windscreen wipers are on the fastest setting as the heavy rain hits against the car like an assault. We've been driving for three and a half hours already, and the dark grey clouds outside match the atmosphere inside the car perfectly.
There's no radio, no talking. Silence, all except for the a obnoxiously loud rain, the sound of the wipers working overtime, and the tires rolling against the wet tar of the road.
The map on Luke's phone directing us displays we will be there in about half an hour, and with every passing mile, every minute that goes by, my heart aches more.
Luke's eyes are on the road ahead. He hasn't spoke to me. Not one word since he told me to go pack. Not even spared a glance my way.
He's so disgusted by me. How could I blame him. He must feel so ashamed. So disgusted by his own actions, all because I have taken advantage of his heart ache. And now he must feel awful all because of me.
"I'm sorry," I say, without even meaning to say it out loud.
His hands grip the steering wheel tighter, and he squirms in his leather seat. He's quiet, and I fear he is going to ignore me, until he says, "You don't have anything to be sorry for," his voice rough and his eyes still on the road ahead.
"I understand you hate me. I do. But please, please turn around. Take me home," I plead. Let may stay with you.
His jaw clenches, and I swear I see him blink back tears.
How could I be so selfish. He's hurting and it's all my fault. Causing him pain is the last thing I ever wanted to do, and now he's a mess, all because of me.
"I don't hate you, Hel-bel."
"You won't even look at me," I blurt out, my voice laced with anger that does not correspond with my current emotions.
"I can't," he says, almost as if exhausted, his voice shaking.
"Why not?"
He lets out a long quivering breath. And then, "Fuck!" He shouts, his right hand turning into a fist and hitting his side window with a thump that startles me.
Grabbing the steering wheel tightly, he swerves off the road, making me grab the leather of my seat for stability from the sharp movement, my fingertips digging harder into the leather when the car comes to an abrupt, break screeching stop.
My body's shakes in fear, scared of what he might do for the first time ever. I know he would never take his anger out on me. But the uncertainty of the situation leaves me uneasy.
"What do you want from me?" He shouts, still staring through the windshield. Finally, he turns to me, his eyes meeting mine, and I notice his cheeks are wet from tears. His eyebrows shaped in despair. "What do you want me to do? What do you expect me to do?" His voice pleading. Begging me for answers I don't have. And my heart breaks.
I don't know how to fix this. And worse still, he doesn't either. The man who always has all the answers, for the first time ever, is just as clueless as I am.
I don't answer. What can I say? How can I expect him to move on from this so easily... or more so, give me what I want, what I am desperate for, for him to give in. Succumb to me.
But he can't. He doesn't look at me like that. He's broken and lonely and came to the first person who game him attention to try and numb his pain. And that just happened to be me.
"Helen, please," he cries, begs even, "don't make this harder than it already is."
~*~
Auntie Claire and Uncle Jack's house is smaller than mine and Luke's, sitting alone atop a hill, overlooking the Scottish country side. It's dark outside now, but just light enough to make out the outlines of the hills in the distance. I bet the view is amazing.
I can't remember how long it has been since I saw them, but their excited faces to see me make me feel guilty that I'm only here because I've been forced to be.
I should have visited. Or at least called more often than just birthdays and christmases. And if the guilt is written all over my face, they either don't notice, or are too polite to mention it.
They're a pretty couple, both with brown hair and soft features to make them look kind, and Uncle Jack sports a well trimmed beard.
Both have just enough meat on their bones to show that they're home cooked meals must be amazing. But I know I'll miss Luke's go to breakfasts and cheat meals consisting of pizza or something from the freezer.
He never has been much of a cook, but it always maintained a healthy reminder of how young he is, still learning to look after himself sometimes.
I'm met with pleasantries of 'how was the drive?' and 'we haven't seen you since you were this big' and 'I can't believe how grown up you are now'.
Auntie Claire shows me the room they've made up for me, with its bare magnolia walls and a bed with fresh bedding that's looks like they've been out and bought it today.
I'm unaware of what Luke has told them, what he has explained for my reason in being here, but I hear them discussing me downstairs, their house being so small I can hear the full conversation through the open bedroom door as I unpack my small selection of things into the tiny wardrobe in the corner.
Discussions of my education and how it has all been arranged to be carried out online until it's arranged I go back home, and how Luke has paid for a personal tutor.
How he will check in with me often and how grateful he is that they have taken me in at such short notice. Which was met with, "Of course, we only wish you would have brought her more often." Which was followed by an apology from Luke.
I don't go downstairs. I don't want to. I'm not ready for small talks and catch ups. And I'm definitely not ready to say goodbye to Luke.
But once I've unpacked everything, and I've messaged Brooke to tell her I won't be in school for a while, there's a light knock on the door frame.
"Can I come in?" Luke says, and he looks uncomfortable, like he's uncertain of what to do. What the right thing is to do in a situation like this.
I nod.
He shuts the door behind him, and then turns to look at me and sighs.
I really wish he would stop signing when he looks at me. Like he's disappointed with me. Like my mere existence exhausts him. But the thought that right now, it probably does, tortures me.
I'm sat on the edge of the bed, and he comes and joins me, sitting beside me, the old matress' springs creek loudly as the bed dips with his weight.
His hand reaches out, like as if he is about to place it on my knee, but he hesitates, clearly thinking twice about touching me, then retreats his hand.
"It's just for a little while, okay?" He says, his voice quiet, but with a tone that sounds like he's asking for forgiveness.
I don't say anything.
"Helen."
I remain silent. My eyes fixated on the worn down flooring, showing years of wear.
His hand cups my cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear I hadn't noticed I had released, and he angles my face - still sensitive from the damage Calum caused - until my eyes meet his.
Even when he doesn't want to touch me, he still comforts me. Always me first with this man. Always my needs before his.
His eyes are desperate. "Forgive me," he pleads, "I just don't know what else to do," he finishes.
"Don't just leave me here. Don't abandon me," you're all I have, I finish in my head.
His shuts his eyes tightly. "I think... I think some distance will be good. I'm not abandoning you," he says, his eyes reopening, searching mine, "I promise you that. It's not... forever. Just... a few weeks maybe."
~*~
It's mid way through week three of my living at Auntie Claire and Uncle Jacks house when Luke finally calls me. Having not heard from him since the day he dropped me off here.
I've mainly kept to myself. Staying in my small bedroom. Studying hard to keep my mind off of things, off of him.
I come out of my room to enjoy Auntie Claire's cooking every meal time, and enjoy playing board games with them in their small but cozy living room. Sharing stories of mum, and Auntie Claire telling me what it was like to grow up with her, having her as a sister.
Uncle Jack has been taking me out driving in his Ford Fiesta, but when I'm not doing those things, I keep myself busy in my room alone.
I've had many of FaceTime calls with Brooke, who has explained that both Ashton and Calum had been suspended from college for two weeks for aggressive behaviour, but they will be back in college now. All of them without me, probably worrying about me.
I explained that there's been a family emergency here in Scotland, and that I'll be back soon, though I haven't given any dates, I don't even know any myself. And I've kept the details to a minimum. They haven't asked me to expand, and I assume they think it's a sensitive subject.
But it's been three weeks, and I've almost finished with my English Literature essay on Shakespeare when Luke's name appears on my phone screen, the device vibrating obnoxiously loud against the veneer wood of the desk.
The green answer button taunts me. But I ignore it, chucking the phone on my bed and continuing my essay.
When the call finally ends, it begins to ring again.
And again.
And again.
With a loud groan, I leave the small desk pushed up against the window, and chuck myself on the bed, the old matress groaning beneath me.
His name is written in large letters on the screen, while the phone vibrates in my hands.
Taking a deep breath, I press the answer button, putting the phone to my ear.
I don't even know what to say. He hasn't spoken to me for weeks. Ignored all my tests. My begs and pleads to come back and get me. My texted paragraphs apologising for my behaviour. My angry rants aimed towards him. All left on read and ignored.
"Hello," I hear his voice say. "Helen? You there?" He asks when I don't say anything.
Another deep breath. "Hey."
"Hey," he says, his voice almost sounding like he's relieved I've answered. "Honestly I thought you weren't going to answer me."
"I almost didn't," I say under my breath, but he hears me anyway.
"I wouldn't have blamed you."
I don't say anything.
"How are things?"
I take a while to think about my answer.
How are things since my step dead did ungodly things to my body, then abandoned me out of shame?
"Things are okay," I answer. "I passed my driving theory test. First time. Uncle Jack took me. He's been taking me out driving. Says I'm a natural. Says I should book in for my practical test soon," I explain, rambling, a feeble attempt to sound normal, like he hasn't ripped my heart out of my chest and stood on it right in front of me. Like he hasn't made me feel worthless. Abandoned.
"Hel-bel, that's amazing," he gusts on the other end of the line, "I'm so proud of you. I'll have to buy you a car when you pass," he explains, and he sounds almost... giddy. Playful Luke.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well I expect a really expensive one. One that looks cool and goes really fast," I say trying to match his playful tone.
Because even though he's hurt me. Even though he's abandoned me. Hearing his voice makes me giddy. Excites me. Calms me, soothes me, all at the same time. And it's as if the mere sound of his voice patches up the cracks in my heart.
He laughs, and my heart aches. I miss him so much. How can he effect me this much.
"Anything for you," he says.
"Anything?"
There's a pause. "Anything."
"Then come get me," I say too eagerly.
Another pause. "Helen, I... it's not that simple, I-"
"Why can't it be?"
Silence.
"I miss you," I say quietly. Hesitant for his reply. But I have to say it.
It's all I've thought about these past three weeks. I miss him with every fibre of my being. My chest hurts. My life has stopped. I feel like I can't breathe without him.
"I miss you too. More than you think."
"But you don't want me around anymore," I say, as a matter of fact. So evident by his actions.
He has literally taken me to an entirely different country so he doesn't have to see me. Have to look at me. So he doesn't have to be taunted by my mother every time he looks at my face, or be disgusted every time he is reminded by what we did, the intimacy we shared together.
There's a long pause on the other end of the line. And finally he says, "I think the problem is I want you around too much."
I gasp at his words. I can't help it. Just a small gasp, but loud enough for him to know he has taken me by surprise.
These last three weeks have been torturous, my head thinking and over over, thinking all scenarios that all end in me never seeing him again.
I don't know if I could live a life that he's not apart of. Because after every bad event, every bad day, every tear, he's been there, he's been right there with me. Every time my heart has been shattered, he's been there to pick up the pieces.
He's my perfect coping mechanism, all wrapped up in forbidden and defined muscles and perfect blue eyes.
"Luke, I feel like I can't breathe without you," I admit.
I hear him sigh. A long sigh. An exhausted sigh. And it hurts because I don't know how to fix this.
"I just don't know what to do, Helen," his voice cracks. "I don't know what to do."
"I don't think running away... or should I say moving your problems to another country, will fix things, Luke."
He laughs once. "You might be right on that one, Hel-Bel," his throat clicks, "but I hope you don't see yourself as a problem. Non of this has been your fault. It's all me. I'm.... I... I've been seeing a therapist. Three times a week. Trying to sort out my fucked up head. She's really expensive but she's made me open up about things I didn't think I ever would. Things I didn't think I could ever admit to myself. I think it's been helping me think more clearly," he says.
I'm taken aback my his admission. His openness with me. And it pains me that he's been suffering all alone in his big empty house.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, Luke. I'm always here... even if not physically."
"No, I know and... and thank you for that, Hel-Bel. I've just needed time. I just need to think straight."
"And how are your thoughts now? Would you say they're straight or zigzagged?" I ask, teasing him slightly to try and lighten up the mood. And I'm rewarded with a small chuckle.
"Wobbly," he says. "Which I guess is better than zigzagged."
I laugh. "To thinking wobbly."
He laughs once. "Thank you, Helen. For reacting like this. For still giving me the time of day. I just want to say something. I just want to say that I hope you don't think of me differently. I fucked up and did a fucked up thing and I just want you to feel normal around me. I've had a lot of time to think things through, and..." he pauses, as if tying to gather his thoughts. "And I just want you to feel safe around me."
It's agonising to hear him speak like this. Like as if he thinks he has committed a sexual offence. Like as if I wasn't fantasising about him doing exactly what he did to me millions of times over before it happened.
Our intimacy to him was disgusting, vile, sickening. And to me it was everything.
"I always feel safe around you. Nothing is going to change that," I say. "I promise."
I hear him let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank God," he says. "I don't know what I would do if I'd completely ruined your view of me."
"I don't think that will ever be possible, Luke."
There's a long pause on the line. So long I have to check to ensure he's still there. And just when I'm about to ask about his presence I hear,
"Tomorrow," his voice uneven.
"Sorry?" I say, unsure if the call cut out, only hearing part of a sentence.
"Tomorrow," he repeats. His voice seeming more certain, "I'll come get you tomorrow," he clarifies. "If you're alright with that."
My heart skips a beat at his words, and the excitement of going home fills me. The excitement of seeing his face again. Everyday. Even if it is different to before. Even if there are stronger boundaries. Living life by his side will be enough for me.
It has to be.
"Helen? You still there?"
"I'm here," I say, almost to eagerly. "Yes. Tomorrow. I'll pack my things. Though, can you come after 5 o'clock, Auntie Claire makes a mean lasagna, and she cooks way better than you."
He chuckles. "Tomorrow after five."
I tease him some more about his cooking, before we both end the call.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow I will see him again. And I will be back home. Because wherever he is, is home to me.