psychotic // l.h.

8 - bath

I am not making them fall in love because that is disgusting, this is not fucking romance, this is horror. This is not supposed to be romantic.

She had Stockholm disease.

Sorry if this kind of thing makes you feel all light and fluffy and you think this is a healthy relationship but that is not going to happen, find another fic if that's what you want to read.

I'm sorry for the filler chapter but I really have no energy.

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I felt numb. Numbness spread through my body, my mind and I thought my heart stopped beating. I felt him kneel next to me and his arms wrapped around me, clutching me to his chest before lifting me off the ground and walking up stairs. He was muttering “I’m so sorry” over and over again into my hair.

 

“You're going to be just fine, think of calm music and english breakfast tea.” He muttered into my hair, while smoothing out the knots and kinks. He voice was gravelly and cracking from the amount of crying that had happened. I hadn’t cried, I wasn’t letting myself cry.

 

“Baby, you need a bath. I’ll get you a nice bath.” He said before quickly jumping up and running down the hallway as I lay slumped in the duvet on our bed. That’s right it was our bed now, not just Luke’s. I heard the bath running from down the hall and footsteps rushing back to the bedroom.

 

“Honey? The bath’s ready.” He said, moving to lie next to me on our bed. I stood up quickly once I felt him wrapping his arms around me. I moved quickly down the hall and locked bathroom door behind me, I wasn’t taking any risks. My heart jolt when I saw a window and I rushed over to tug at it, but stopped tugging once I realized it was bolted down. I turned and took a good look at the bath. It was covered in white bubbles, spilling over the edge slightly and smelled like lilacs. The water wasn’t running but I could feel the heat radiating off the tub and damn, it felt fantastic.

 

I realized I got about a half hour of Luke free time and quickly stripped, hoping in the tub and hiding under all the bubbles.

 

I thought about drowning myself, it would be easy. I could be over with this, but he kept me here. Not just in this house, he kept me from dying. He made it hard to breath but I couldn’t without him.

 

So I didn’t drown myself, I sat up in the tub and leaned my head against the rail. He had set aside shampoo for me and even though my hair really needed conditioner, I would have to make do.

 

The bath might have been long but it felt like it lasted two seconds and when my skin became too much like raisins for my liking, I step out of the tub and grabbed the towel he had set down for me on the sink. I shake my hair out with the towel before wrapping it around my waist. I hear the door creak slightly and my head swing around to look at it.

 

“Honey? You done in there? I brought you one of my t-shirts and a hair of boxers if you want to change into them. I’ll try to pick up some clothing for you late this week, but this is all that I could find and I hope it-”

 

“It’s fine.” I replied, cutting off Luke’s rambles and opening the door a crack to look at him. His eyes flew to my collar bones, my shoulders, my skin before flicking back up to mine and holding the bundle of clothing for me. He nodded before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to retreat back to the bedroom. The clothing was warm and the boxers were soft, yet oddly covered in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I chuckled lightly while observing the drawing of Leonard then, sliding them up my legs and dropping the towel pulling the shirt over my head. It was plain black and smelled like soap that your grandmother would use and Luke.

 

I shook my hair with the towel once more and I bundled up my old clothing and  before turning to the mirror, shrugging at my reflection and walking out of the bathroom.

 

“Luke, where’s your laundry ro-” I asked, walking into our room before stopping in my tracks.

 

Luke was curled up on the bed, lying on his side and staring blankly at the  wall. He looked like he had been crying but had stopped a while ago. His cheeks were red and but the rest of his face was pale and drained from colour. His hair was sticking to his forehead and flopping in all different directions.

 

“You hate me.” he said, lips barely moving as he still stared at the wall. I didn’t move forward but continued to watch, frozen in place and scared to move any closer, no matter how much my instincts told me to comfort him.

 

“I hit you and you hate me.”

 

He took a shaky breath before rolling over to the other side and burying his face into the pillow case.

 

“You hit me and I didn’t feel anything.” I responded truthfully. I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t hate him, I didn’t love him. I felt like a blank slate.

 

“That’s even worse than hating me.”

 

“Well, it’s the truth.”  I reply quietly, shifting my feet uncomfortably as I waited for him to answer.

 

“The truth sucks. The truth is that I’m horrible and you’re wonderful and I hit you and you felt nothing and now I can’t even look at you because I caused the red mark on your jaw.”

 

I touched the side of my face he hit and felt a stinging pain, stifling a wince and quickly retracting my hand.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He whimpered. I didn’t answer. I got onto my side of the bed and lay there quietly next to him, not daring to move at all. I could hear him breathing and I could feel him beside me. And I stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, not sleeping until I felt the bed shift and Luke move to sit on the floor.

I heard the familiar sound of crayons scraping the wall and fell asleep to the sound of him drawing me, over and over again.