Firecracker

-26-✔️

"I KNOW THAT THIS IS PROBABLY THE LAST THING THAT you want to deal with," Michael grabbed my hand to stop me before I could walk up the driveway, "But.. my mom and dad want to have dinner with you again"

I looked up at him and gave his hand a small squeeze, "Are you telling me this or asking me?"

The corner of his mouth lifted into a side smile, "More like telling you. I just want to make it feel like you have a choice" he shrugged.

I shook my head at him, smiling as I did so before pulling my hand out of his.

"Don't wait up for me, okay?" I told him as I backed away, and he shrugged his hands into his pockets, nodding his head.

"He's really vulnerable, I think," He told me before I reached Luke's porch steps, "So don't kiss him or anything" he joked. I let out a laugh at that and rolled my eyes, turning and walking up the steps to the front door.

I watched as Michael got into his car and drove off as I knocked on Luke's front door, awaiting for it to open.

"Miley?"

"Hi there, Liz," I greeted Luke's mother with a smile as she opened the door, and she immediately pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly before letting go.

"When did you get out of the hospital?" She asked me, welcoming me into her house and shutting the door behind me.

"Yesterday, actually," I breathed, feeling a slight pain from the deepness of my breath. It still hurt a bit whenever I took certain breaths, but I was managing just fine, "I heard about what Luke had been going through, and I knew that this was the first place that I needed to be" I told her, and she nodded her head, telling me that I could go right up.

I made my way up the staircase, noticing the amount of pictures that Luke, being the photographer that he was, had taken over the years, of scenery and of people.

I noticed, as I reached the last step, that one picture of Luke and Lydia, while she was Julia of course, was still hanging. Hanging crookedly, the frame cracked and the glass with small shatters in it as well. No doubt that he had probably thrown it.

When I got to Luke's door, I found myself becoming more and more nervous, even though I should't be. But Luke was different then me, yet we were the same as well. We both lost someone that day. We were both betrayed. We both loved her.

But he was the one who saw her do it to herself.

He saw that bullet go through her head. And, as Michael had told me, he had held her. Had been in her blood.

I knocked lightly on the door, and when I heard the distinct grumble of a 'go away', I turned the knob and opened the door anyway.

"Whoever it is, get the f*ck out" he mumbled. He was at his desk, turned away from me. And even though he thinks he might've clicked fast enough, I saw what he had been looking at.

Pictures of Lydia.

I stepped inside and closed the door, leaning against it before deciding to stand up straight and survey his room.

It looked the same, though there was evidence that he had trashed it in a rage of some sort, anger, betrayal or sadness, but it had been cleaned up poorly.