Annie heard him by the front door, fumbling with the keys. He was drunk again, she already knew, except this time was different. The clumsiness wasn’t from the alcohol, his hands were trembling. 

“Luke? What happened?” She asked gently as she widened the door. At least he had made it home. He was home. Her hand extended to help lead him in, but at that moment the keys slipped from his fingers and landed on the staircase with a clang that made them both flinch. 

“Fuck.” He slurred as he retrieved them, and then quieter: “Fuck.”

Carefully avoiding Annie’s guiding arm and worried eyes, he pulled himself through the door using its frame to steady himself. He clumsily slumped onto the ground and fiddled with the laces of his shoes unsuccessfully.

“Let me help you.” Annie said, carefully reaching toward him. The movement, slow as it was, sent him pulling away so violently that the couch shifted against the force of his body. His face distorted into a silent protest of pain. He had run the corner of the couch into his back – into the cuts – but still he sat there unmoving, the pained expression disappearing as quickly as it arrived… leaving something else behind.

He wouldn’t have flinched like this. Not even after what happened. 

“What happened?” She asked again, worry seeping into her tone. He sloppily shook his head in a plea for her to leave it be. 

“I’m gon-na go t- bed.” He said quietly, parking himself right there at the foot of the couch, letting himself wilt to the floor. He didn't close his eyes though, he stared past her at the sideways carpet. Silently, tears pooled against his eyelashes. They didn’t fall.

Annie waited a moment before lowering herself on the carpet to face him, watching his eyes focus on her and blink away the tears. He looked so fucking tired.

“Do you want to sleep in your bed?” She asked.

“Yes.” He said, so softly he barely moved his lips.

“Can I help with your shoes?”

“Yes.” This time, he didn’t move as she pulled at the laces and gently tugged the shoes off. 

“Can you stand?”

“Mmh.” He muttered as he attempted to push himself up, faltering and slow. Swaying, he used the couch, and then the table, and then the wall to steady himself. Annie followed behind, ready to catch him if he faltered. He hesitantly dragged himself up the stairs. The top was a few steps away, he held onto both the wall and the railing to steady him from the nauseating spinning that only existed in his head. He was so close until his foot got caught on the step and sent him – impossibly – tripping upward, bracing himself against his knee that knocked into the stair with an alarming crack. Annie’s hands were on him. It was just Annie. It was just Annie, but the grip was tight and assertive and somehow that hurt more than the welt growing on his knee or the cuts along his shoulder blades. Suddenly, he felt so unbelievably sick. He gagged once, and barely had time to lift his shirt over his mouth before the vomit came. 

The next thing he knew, he was shirtless, leaning his cheek against the rim of the toilet seat. In an instant, he was so aware of everything, even of the air against his skin. Behind him, he heard water running and voices whispering. Female voices. He allowed himself to look over.

Annie and her mother stood over the sink, wetting a washcloth. He didn’t remember getting up the stairs or when Nora got there. He did remember throwing up, which sent ripples of fear through his body like electricity. 

“Luke. It’s okay sweetheart, we’re going to clean you up, okay?” Nora said sweetly as she reached over with the damp cloth. “Here, drink some water.”

Annie came over with a paper cup and Lukas didn’t have the energy to shoo them away, he just pulled back weakly, which didn’t stop Nora as she dabbed at his mouth and held out the water cup. He hugged his knees to his chest, lips refusing to part, limbs visibly shaking. His eyes darted back and forth. 

“Mom? Mom, I think he needs some space.” Annie softly pulled her back.

Luke’s mind was reeling. The event from the bar that day; the break-in earlier that year; his vomiting and the punishments that come with it; the video clips from the police station; it all whirled around in his brain. He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted to die. He wanted to forget it all but instead it just came rushing back.

“I’ll give you some space, okay? I’ll give you a few minutes, but you’re not sleeping in the bathroom, alright? I’m going to help you to bed when you’re ready.” 

She turned to leave, but Luke’s arm moved before he could tell it to and he caught her wrist. When she looked, his eyes said something that he’d never let slip past his lips.Despite everything, he didn’t want to be alone. So Annie stayed, despite him stubbornly insisting that he could do it on his own. But his shaking limbs and intoxicated body offered little support as he found his way back to the guest room. 

Annie slept there too, on the soft carpet along with her blanket and pillow. He was knocked out almost as soon as he hit the bed, but still, she worried. She tried not to watch him, tried not to notice how even sleeping his brows furrowed and his lips turned down ever so slightly. 

***

It was almost 4am when Annie heard it. The thrashing, the weak whining seeping into the air. In an instant she was on her feet, shaking him and shaking him until he opened his eyes with the shallow gasp.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just a nightmare.” She tried to sound calming but instead she sounded just as panicked as him. He stopped struggling and stared at her through the dark. He stared as the moonlight out the window created shadows across her face.

“It’s not.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a nightmare.” 

He felt it come over him, like the trickle of honey. Everything coming together to tell him he’s stuck, that he’s only ever been stuck. 

The video played behind his eyes: Cal telling him to loosen up or he’d use the knife; sticking his fingers down his throat until he tensed and gagged; making him beg not to cut him – not there, at least; the relentless pounding reaching every part of him, and then deeper.

He thought it had all blurred into nothingness. That each time could count as a repeat and the effects would be only of one time, not of 5 years of time. That he could keep going as if those years didn’t exist, as if it was merely a blip in time. But it wasn’t, and finally he was ready to accept it as it was. Accept who he was. 

He won’t slip up again.

~~~

There, I did it.