laconic ↦ luke hemmings {au}

three: free

CHAPTER THREE:

| luke’s pov |

"I couldn't say we were the best of friends, but she was the best daughter anyone could have asked for. She was a closed-off and quite ill-tempered; oh, I remember how she got mad at me from asking her to wear a bow with her dress," the crowd breaks out into muffled yet careful laughter, afraid that Emma's mum might take it the wrong way.

I, while standing at the doorway of the crematory chapel, tried not to break down from how I've totally lost her. It was all my fault– the fact that I could have done something grieves me. I love her; the least I could have done was die in her place.

"But if there was a best friend of hers; that would definitely be Luke Hemmings," her mum continued with tears in her eyes. Her voice was still strong, not cracking at all, but the look on her face wasn't as tough. "She loved that boy; sometimes, I'd think she loved him more than me," she joked, smiling a bit, even through her pain. "But wherever he is, I hope he's alive and well. That was the only thing my daughter worried about, even with all the complications. She rarely thought about herself."

She moves to the topic of Emma's great traits, which hurt less to hear.

I still couldn't take accept how she was gone. It's been lost in the back of my mind because I didn't want to think about it, but there was no turning back anymore. Her dead body– cremated body was there; she was dead.

The mix of emotions was messing with my head, and I couldn't help but back away from the place and just walk. The instructions of Vicky were clear to me– to just stay where I am, but I don't care. This was my chance to escape, wasn't it? While she was faking sympathy at that desolate gathering, I'd do everything I could to be free.

If this had been any other day, I would have probably just tried to kill myself yet again and endured the emotional suffering I got from being forced to do things I'd never want to do with anyone else but Emma. Up to this day, whenever I think about it or am reminded by it, the mental distress is immense, and I have to hurt myself just to focus on something else. It was a 9, if I were to rate it, simply because Emma's death was a 10.

Nothing ever felt so painful before.

The cold air greeted me, and it wouldn't take me long to guess who it was. "Run, Luke," she advised, making me pick up the pace as I struggled with the clothes I was wearing. It wasn't only adding weight on me, but it bothered me from the movement it did.

Nonetheless, I gave it my all, slipping into a narrow corner that led to another street. I just kept running, even if I knew the distance was enough. The pressure and fear I was putting on myself was heavy, but it was giving me the strength to keep going. To finally get away.

Countless cars have honked at me for crossing the street so suddenly, though that still didn't slow me down. I pushed myself to reach other places. One thing I regretted was not stealing any money from Vicky; it was not for food but for me to get out of this city. Anywhere's fine, just as long as I'm away from her.

She was at fault; she was the reason for everything. But not even the police could help me now. They would think of me as some crazed teenager, who was experiencing extreme depression– which was partially true– and blaming it on a kind, mid-sixty year old lady.

If I had gone looking for my mum, what if she was next to die? I couldn't risk anything. I couldn't risk more people to die because of my stupid mistakes.

As the night progressed, it didn't matter where I would end up. My mind was just set on two things.

To be free.

To bring Emma back.