Status: In progress

Within the Castle

Four

I would not say that it was an absolute dramatic change in events when I realised to myself that I was potentially falling for Luke. But, there was a difference. Without being able to help it, I wondered constantly what Luke thought of me. He certainly could not be as fond of me as I was of him, because my fondness was becoming extreme. Nobody would be able to think of me like that.

Every period spent with him turned just that little bit more difficult. Previously, I had longed for Luke’s touch. I had wished endlessly that our moments together could last longer. All of that. Now, it was doubled in intensity. A couple of times, he caught me staring openly and hopelessly at the skin he didn’t have covered by his suit – his hands, his face. Luke expected I was having micro-sleeps; in actuality, I was dwelling on how warm and soft I’m sure his body would feel. As much as I could, I tried to soak in his radiance with my eyes.

Sometimes the idea dawned on me that I could do what I had done before – forget to tie a shoelace and trip into his arms. Though, I knew I was a terrible actress and I did not want to seem desperate. Even though I definitely was.

The worst situation of all for me was when Luke would so kindly ask if I would come over to his apartment. Since day one, I had wanted to say yes. Always. Always. Always. My heart had been screaming at me - yes yes yes, go. But my brain had always known better – no, the prick might come home and find out. Over time, though, the power was being diverted. I only knew, because it was coming out in my poetry.

I was born two people, my head and my heart,
One had always told me to keep my actions smart.
But slowly and surely, my heart pounded and pounded,
Love is the only controller that should be sounded.
I’ll wait and see who shall take the lead,
But I believe it may become my heart, if you proceed
With your kind talk and sweet persona,
My head won’t be able to ignore your addictive aroma.

And I think that Luke must have understood, because he played on asking me out. Instead of beckoning me to come over once a day, he increased to questioning me twice or even three times. Eventually, I could not stop a yes from slipping off my tongue.

“So, Aurora,” he started, “I’m making some ravioli recipe tonight that I got from a cooking b-“

“Yes,” I almost yelled, cutting him off.

Luke left his mouth partly open and blinked six times, “pardon?”

“Yes,” I stated firmly, “I will come over and have your damn ravioli.”

Luke had to hesitate again, “wait – honestly? You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

I was aggressively replying, “no. I mean, yes. Just- yes. I’m coming over. I’ll do it. I’m there.”

Possibly the widest and whitest grin that I had ever seen split across Luke’s face. A few ecstatic breaths left his mouth and I also exhaled. When we stepped out the lift at our level, Luke seemed, for once, lost a bit for words.

“Well then. Uh- would you like to come straight in, or do you want to leave your own bag in your apartment- or you can come over in a few minutes or half an hour. Up to you.”

There was just one thing I knew I needed to check before going over to his, so I informed him that I’ll be over in a couple of minutes. Whilst pushing open my door, I slammed my eyes shut and harshly clammed my lips together, holding in a breath. Please, please, please, I was begging to anyone that would listen. Don’t let him be here tonight, and don’t let him come home at all until tomorrow.

Not exaggerating, when I dragged up my eyelids and saw my apartment was totally empty, I threw my hands up and victoriously nodded. Somebody somewhere was answering my wishes. Thank you fairy godmother, or God, or Buddha, or whoever.

I wasn’t even nervous when I left my room and took two steps so I was facing Luke’s closed door. My hand only started shaking when I raised it in a fist to knock a few times. Bad scenarios floated through my mind of what could happen with him. He might ask things that I’m not prepared to answer. About me. About what happens in my bedroom. I had to rapidly shake away my thoughts when the door in front of me swung open to reveal a perfect, joyous face. There was no way I could run now.

“What’s up?” he cheered eagerly, stepping backward to allow space for me to walk through.

A clot seemed to have formed in the centre of my throat, making it hard for me to reply back, so I disregarded his question and clumsily jumped into the apartment. Surprisingly, it was very similar to my own. Actually, it was exactly the same layout, except flipped horizontally to mine. For some reason, I had anticipated a royal suite with luxurious furniture, and an extravagantly large kitchen. Really, I believed that was the kind of place that Luke, with all his riches, would be staying. But, that was silly, I soon realised, because none of the apartments in this complex would be like that. They were all plain, bland and small.

Alike to my flat, everything was neat and tidy. Nothing hung on the walls. There was nothing on the dining table, and the kitchen counter only had some vegetables laid out, which I assumed were for dinner. The television was turned off, but even the red power light wasn’t glowing, suggesting he did not even have it plugged in at the wall. Our rooms were so comparable that it was like a spot the difference. Somehow, I still felt overwhelmed and anxious as I stood and scanned my sight around the area.

Luke closed his front door and then wandered over to the kitchen, resting his elbows on the bench and looking at me. I noticed his polished black shoes were off and he had left them neatly by the door. Unsure of whether that was an expectation of guests when entering his flat, I bent down and slipped my canvas shoes off too anyway, putting them next to his. Instantly, I felt slightly more at comfort as I could distinguish the warmth of the tiles seeping through my cotton socks and heating the bottom of my feet. Confused, I wondered how his apartment’s flooring could be a higher temperature than mine. Whenever I took off my shoes on my own tiles, I got immediate chills shooting all the way up my legs.

“Are you allergic or fussy about any foods?” Luke asked, breaking into my headspace. He had been quietly watching me as I studied each inch of his room.

“N-no,” I broke past the barrier that had built in my throat, “I eat anything.”

“Cool,” he said, dropping to his knees and flinging open a cupboard door, only to bound back up with a pot in his hand, “that makes things easy.”

While he pirouetted and leaped around his zone, pulling out various utensils and ingredients, I stood, just in front of the door, and watched. My hands had gripped onto each other near my stomach and I was biting the inside of my cheek. Certainly I looked ridiculous, but, I didn’t know what else to do. Soon enough, Luke gazed over and saw me standing bleakly.

“Oh!” he cried, and then jogged to the dining table, holding the back of a chair and pulling it out, “here! Sorry. Make yourself comfortable.”

Relieved, I walked over to him, and slumped down onto the chair, angling my body so I was facing him at the stove. The lump I dismissed from my throat must have swam into my lungs because I was struggling to breath now; my nerves about being there were taking over.

“I’m sorry,” Luke spoke up, “I’ll be honest. I’ve never done this before. Like, have someone over, I mean. And to be real, I’m not the most fantastic cook. But we can run with it.”

Even if he was sounding like a useless fretting boy, he wasn’t acting like it. He twisted and turned with ease, bouncing from the stove to the counter, chopping things and humming a random song and dancing with himself to it and then throwing food into bowls and plopping ravioli squares into bubbling water and spending two whole minutes trying to find where he left the cheese and realising he accidentally put it in the freezer and smiling to himself when something worked out right and laughing at himself if something sizzled loudly or made a weird noise and groaning sarcastically when the heat on the stovetop went off and then he would hold up a butcher’s knife like he was a murderer and grit his teeth at me for only a split second and then chuckle and I would smile and giggle too and then he would forget that he left something burning so he’d gasp and try and save it and Luke was a live comedy show and I loved it.

I loved him.

To his own shock, he successfully filled two bowls with pasta and thick, bright veggies and had them planted with a fork on the dinner table.

“Even if this tastes bad,” he uttered, “it really is an accomplishment that I have gotten it completed.”

I had not eaten a single thing all day, so it was impossible for me to tell if it was disgusting or a food miracle. To me, it was something that had the purpose of lessening my hunger.

“It’s mediocre,” he declared after a few bites. The way his tongue flicked over his lips and sucked up the contents on his fork made me think he was very proud of it. So, I decided to boost his ego.

“It’s better than mediocre, Luke, thank you.”

I guess I should have been cautious about eating in front of someone I really really felt for. But, I just couldn’t make myself digest it slower or classier. I was starving, and the more I ate, the more my gums watered for more. The pasta was getting into my stomach at twice the speed it was getting into Luke’s.

“No problem,” he guzzled, “I really appreciate that you’re eating it, actually. Other females would have stopped at the first bite.”

My brain was wrapped in the food in front of me and I was hardly aware of what I was saying when I mumbled back between bites, “food is good.”

Luke cracked up laughing and when I paused for a moment to look at him, he just beamed, “you’re so cute.”

Blushing instantly, I looked down. Still, however, I was shovelling the food past my lips. Not long later, my bowl was empty, and even most of the sauce stains had been collected by me and put down my throat. Luke was obviously still going and that made me feel a bit stupid. He was so polite about it.

“Do you want more?” he asked, “There’s some left that I didn’t serve.”

“No, no,” I assured, now that I had stopped eating for a second I could control myself, “that was plenty. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he started talking casually while he was finishing the remainder of his, “I was thinking we should play a get-to-know you game.”

Staring into his bright eyes, all I could do was nod.

“Okay, I will ask a question and I’ll answer it and then you answer it. Easy enough?”

“Easy enough.”

“Full name? Mine’s Luke Robert Hemmings.”

“Aurora Rose Britten.”

Luke smiled softly, “Aurora Rose Britten. What a lovely name.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, thinking, “I do actually like it too. Maybe it’s the one thing I like about myself.”

For a minute, Luke didn’t say anything. It was like he was allowing time for me to comprehend what I had just said. Like he wanted me to realise that I just admitted to liking something of myself.

Then, he nagged, “your turn.”

“Oh,” I was under pressure, “Uh, when’s your birthday? I’m the 21st of October.”

“30th March,” he replied. “Favourite place on Earth?”

“I’m not sure. Probably some beach or a rainforest or somewhere scenic and warm.”

“Mine is anywhere with you,” he smirked and then burst into a laugh. I didn’t laugh back much because I was sad that was a joke and not the truth. And now that he had said it, I knew that that night I would probably end up dreaming that it was real when I go to sleep.

We spent a decent sum of hours switching back and forward, gloating about ourselves and fishing for information about the other. The questions begun as a tingle on the surface, but then they dipped and ripped deeper and deeper.

Luke found out about my family. Not because he specifically asked, but I just blurted it all out. His presence made me feel comfortable enough to say it.

“Mum died four years ago. I was fourteen. We were going on a holiday and took two cars. Mum in the first car, Dad and I following behind. The weather was disgusting. Pouring, lightning, thunder. A fox ducked across the road, and mum only saw it last minute because of the heavy rain. She tried to swerve, but the slippery road didn’t help and before I knew it she had rolled ten times and instantly passed. At her funeral, Dad went to the toilet and never came back. Literally. Haven’t seen him since. No contact at all.”

I was so glad that I did rant because venting about the death of my mother, and then my missing father made him feel great sympathy for me. No, that wasn’t a good thing that Luke was upset. But, he scooted his chair so he was sitting right next to me, only a couple of centimetres away. And he took his enormous hand and rubbed it onto my knee.

God, that felt amazing. Sparks were just flying up my thigh, and it sounds sordid, but I didn’t even feel bad, even if I was speaking of my lacking family. I just felt safe with him.

The questions got a little silly because Luke tried to make the conversation more light-hearted. He never settles on serious topics for very long. Also, he zipped away briefly to get us a drink. When he opened up one of his cabinets in doing so, I was mind blown. Luke owned what was essentially his own winery in there. Rows and rows of glass bottles filled each shelf – probably a couple of thousand dollars worth.

“You’ll like this,” he insisted, picking one bottle from the many and bringing it, with two tall glasses, to the table.

With absolute technique, Luke extracted the cork and tilted the glass and bottle perfectly for the liquid to drool in and not froth.

He didn’t appear to me as the alcoholic type. But maybe he was. Maybe that is why he was always so happy – he was always drunk. But he couldn’t be. Because I know a proper alcoholic, and they rely on cheap, heavy beers, not authentic wines. On top of that, Luke didn’t gulp the drink down in record speed. Professionally, he sipped at it while we continued talking.

“Favourite superhero or character? I would have to say mine is Superman.”

“Sleeping Beauty,” I marvelled.

“Why’s that?”

“You don’t want to get me started, Luke, I’ll never stop.”

Leaning back into his chair he brought his wine to his mouth, proclaiming, “we’ve got all night.”

I took a deep breath and swallowed, “Her story is ancient. It’s rumoured to go back to the 1300’s. But constantly, it is being re-adapted. Everyone of everyone knows her story. The Princess is casted a spell, falls asleep, the Prince wakes her with a kiss. It’s so beautiful. And there’s more to it than just the Disney version. You know there was a poem written called ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in 1830 and it’s my favourite poem in the world. It just tells the whole story. And now there are productions and ballets dedicated to her. Every girl in the world should desire to be her, the beautiful Princess, and be saved by a charming Prince. It’s tragic, but wonderful. I could probably recite the entire original narrative – my mum read it to me so many times when I was little. Mum was obsessed too. That’s why she called me Aurora Rose.”

Luke was fixated on my words, but his eyebrows furrowed at the last comment, “what has Sleeping Beauty got to do with your name?”

I knew he would ask that. “Her actual name was initially Little Briar Rose. And then somewhere between the language translations and literary adaptations, she became L’Aurore. By the time she was an English film on TV, her name was Aurora.”

He looked so amused and bewildered, “should I have known that?”

“No,” I yakked on, “nobody ever knows she is called that. She’s just Sleeping Beauty. I guess people forget she’s a real person with a real name. A bit like me, ironically. People forget that I exist.”

“I won’t forget that you exist, Princess,” Luke winked, “never.”

It was such an effort saying goodbye to Luke that night and go back to my own place. We had done nothing except for blabber about unimportant stuff and laugh whenever he said something humorous. Midnight came and being the mature one, Luke exclaimed that we should depart so that we aren’t waking up tired as ever the next morning. I went to complain and urge that we stay up for just another hour or so, but he was already standing and heading toward the door. Like a little duckling I sourly trudged along and went back to my apartment.

“I don’t doubt you’ll sleep well, Princess. Make sure it’s not for 100 years, though,” he mused as I slipped away from him, “good night.”

The next day, I realised this may very well be a set thing. Luke might call me Princess forever now on. And I was so very okay with that, but simultaneously, I might cry because is perfect Luke a real thing that’s happening to me? All the occurrences beforehand, of meeting in the lift, the supermarket, sending notes, I could believe them. But now it was all becoming surreal. Surely not. Surely he didn’t ask me over for dinner and I didn’t do anything too embarrassing that turned him off me. No way. Not real.

“Good morning, Princess, what are you up to today?” he perked at the elevator doors.

“University, as usual,” I vowed, keeping as calm as I possibly could when he was speaking like so, “and you?”

“A business meeting this morning and then two clients after lunchtime,” he purred, “but I’m sure my mind will be set on you the whole day and not bank statements.”

I wish he didn’t have a tiny chuckle or a smile every time he said something like that, because it made me comprehend that he was only jeering and really, I was yearning for that to be his real thoughts. If only he could love me like I loved him.

Without warning, the lift jerked savagely as though it had gotten stuck for a mere second. While Luke was fast and stuck out his shirted arm to grip the handrail around the lift’s edge, I stumbled on my feet. It was like when a public bus suddenly breaks at the lights, however, this felt more extreme. For a moment, I swayed back and forward unevenly, giving Luke time to realise I was near to falling. Letting go of his own stable position, he lunged to me, wrapping his arms around my waist, as my frame dove forward, and held me upright. I stayed held in his embrace, my face burrowed to his chest, until the lift went back to normal, steady movement.

“You alright?” he breathed into my scalp.

“Yeah,” I squeaked, “yeah.”

It happened very quick. Luke begun stroking one of his hands up and down my back, not weakening the grip he obtained on me. I wasn’t planning on moving. My feet were in-between his, and I could feel his heart beating on my skin, hitting my cheekbone. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Luke could feel my heart too, but it would be pounding against his ribs or abdomen because I was so short. Or he was so tall.

Up against him, I could smell that same cologne from when he first gave me his jacket, weeks ago. When it filled my nose this time, it gave me tingles. To capture as many feelings of the moment as I could, I shut my eyes and tried to breathe as slowly and deeply as I could. Peaceful. Soothing. Happy.

Luke could have been doing the same because, for once, he wasn’t talking. I doubted it though.

Once the doors dinged open, Luke and I detached ourselves from one another, and although I was awkwardly looking down and shuffling out, he was brooding with delight. It seemed like he enjoyed that just as much as me, except somehow I was a love-mess about it and he was all fine and smiles.

“Talk to you later, Princess,” he bit his bottom lip and tootled off to the inner city.

It’s surreal. I squeal. Seal me a deal
TO be with you forever
I’m happy. You’re sappy. Never will be snappy
If you let me into your arms whenever

I had nothing to fear of you
You were more than kind
I should have come over earlier
But I didn’t realise it until now
I’m in love with you. I want you to be mine.

The touch of a radiating sun
But you don’t burn me
Smell of a thick fern
But you don’t prick me
Looks of a million diamonds
But you don’t blind me
Sound of a chirping bird
But you don’t peck me
Taste I wouldn’t know
But please, I want you to show me

I wrote out multiple poems during my lecture at university – barely paying attention to anything the teacher was saying. After the class ended, he called me over, not to express anger for me barely caring what he had to say all lesson, but because he was so interested to see what I had been writing the whole time.

“These are different,” he stated abruptly, after scanning over the pages I’d written all over for the previous hours, “these are a lot brighter than what I normally read from you. Very… ecstatic, a change from your usual. Still fantastic.”

I was dancing on clouds until I got home later that day. He was home and it was all real again now. I had been tugged back into reality and reminded this was my life. No room to be happy. None. He was so angry, he was spluttering fumes as soon as I entered the room. I didn’t know why and didn’t bother to ask. I just submitted to exactly what he asked from me.

Get on the bed.

Shut up.

Stay still.

I became a punching bag even more than a hole to put his dick in. It was like I was being severely punished. I just didn’t even know what I had done wrong. Fists slammed into my hips. Palms of hands were crashed down onto my ass – harder, and more times, than normal. He didn’t even have long fingernails but the depth that he was running his fingers down my spine managed to create scratch indents. Most of my skin was white, in shock from being hit, and then when he started gripping my thighs, I think he pierced some skin, because it turned red.

In my head, I repeated – it’ll be over soon. Soon. It’ll be over soon. Not long. Almost there. Surely.

My thoughts were wrong. Hours and hours went by. Black and blue splotches were appearing on my arms and ribs when he went ahead and put more on. Wincing over and over again led to my eyes getting watery and then big droplets trickled everywhere.

“You deserve pain, bitch.”

I would be getting used to a certain thing he would do, and then he would change it. Like, he was pressing my shoulder against a wall while he did business below. Crazily, it hurt. After a while though I adapted to my shoulder having shocks of ache being pulsed through it, and it felt really normal for that to be happening. But then he would move. He’d swap where he was pressing me, and be clutching onto my throat, or somewhere else, to keep me still. Then, I’d have to try and adapt to that. I would switch my method of breathing and make it shallower through my nose. I’d get good at it. I’d be proud of myself. But he would change again. And I’d have to acclimatise to that. But by the time I did, he’d change.

Even the sunlight had disappeared and it failed to shine through the windows. How could he still have energy when I was purely exhausted? We were having a break, and he had ordered me to stay put on the bed while he went and got himself something to eat. That made me jealous because I was parched and starving. On his return, I’d begun napping without knowing it. That’s not allowed. Here, I was shown a new range of madness from him.

“I said wait for me, slut. You’re going to get it now.”

I considered screaming to Luke. Even though he probably wouldn’t care that I was in pain, because as if anyone in the world could really give two shits about me. There was no time to scream though because the monster hit me too hard and my world went blacker than it was before.

Oh God.

Again.

It was happening again.

Sad. Sad. Sad.

Day

and

Night

I could not get out of bed. The shame was so heavy. My everything was so numb.

Pathetic little girl

The sheet on my body was ice.

Every whimper I made, made me hate myself more.

How could this happen to me another time. I was so flimsy. And cold. And sad. And stupid.

Nothing moved around me. Nothing was alive.

Neither was I.

Waking me from daze was a persistent knocking noise. Through the cloud, I saw, a white note on the carpet, near the wall. Luke.

Never had I imagined that I could be so simply brought alive from the tragic depression, but it happened. Slugging still slightly, I crawled my heavy, sore body from the mattress to the floor and let my eyes read the letter.

Wake up Princess. :) Royalty are never late… xxx

A tear dropped from me and onto the paper, smudging part of his writing. Twisting around on my bruised knees, I crawled over to where my bag was, taking out my notepad and pen.

A princess is never late. Everybody else is simply early.

The quote was from a teen flick movie, and it would be better this time if he wasn’t aware where it came from. Then he could think I created up that saying, and he’d think I’m witty.

True :P
But I want to see your pretty face before work. Xxo

Aches and stings was what I had to handle while getting ready. The cuts and marks around my chest were the worst because every time I breathed I could feel them. Walking was difficult too after the muscles had been pulled in ways they should never be. A headache arose due to all the pain everywhere.

Nevertheless, my goal was to see Luke. Not moan around. Nothing was going to stop me.

Seeing his dazzling eyes and strong body would make it all worth it. I could confirm that as soon as I captured his notorious figure in my vision.

“What’s up?” he asked, once I had locked my door behind me.

“Nothing,” I murmured, checking over my body to make sure every bit of skin was covered. I didn’t need Luke seeing my broken parts.

“Haven’t seen you since when you came over,” he started teasing, “did you need to take a day off to recover from all our talking?”

His elbow dug into my arm, the exact spot where a cut had been, and I snapped the limb away from him instantly.

“Sorry,” he mustered quickly, and his eyes turned to massive wide circle while he looked at where he had only softly nudged me. “Oh my God.”

When I put my eyes there, I saw it too. Thick red blood had begun seeping from my body and emerging through the thin cardigan I’d worn. His gentle touch much have been enough to re-open the wound.

“I’m so sorry,” he spluttered, “here, let me see.”

I didn’t have time to react before he’d carefully taken a hold of my hand in his and pushed up my sleeve. The sight was ghastly. Even for me to look at.

“Aurora,” he choked quietly, “baby.”

There was more than just the little cut. My whole arm was covered in gruesome colours. And because Luke had taken a step closer to me, he could then see the marks that concealed my neck.

“No,” he slurred, “no, no, no, no.”

His fingers trailed up my arm to my neck, where he pushed aside the neckline of my t-shirt to reveal some of my collarbone. That was quite as bad. Luke actually turned white and there was no longer a happy pink tint in his cheek and that made me feel awful.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

I don’t think he knew what else to say. Taking a step back, he glanced down to my feet and up to my face.

“Are you- can you- do you want to- how much pain are you in? Can you walk?”

I gritted my jaws and pursued a smile, “I’m fine.”

“Aurora,” he glowered, “these look bad. Worse than you’ve had on you before. I-I didn’t realise- I’m-it’s- this is bad. Seriously.”

We held stationery for a while and just looked into each other’s eyes. Of course I had no clue what to say because I think Luke actually knew for sure what was happening now. Maybe. It still hadn’t been explicitly said. And he wasn’t sure what to say because, well, what do you say or do when you realise that someone is getting beaten brutally.

The automatic doors for the lift crunched apart and Luke rubbed his hand across his face in distress, “c’mon.”

He went to put a hand around my waist or back or shoulder or somewhere, but he had to just pull away because there was nowhere he could touch that wouldn’t inflict me any pain. In the elevator, we were silent, and Luke glared at me the entire time.

Finally, he spoke and it sounded like he had composed himself, “we’re both going to go about our days normally, okay? And then I’ll sort something out and, when we’re home, we can- we can just sort something out.”

I nodded and there was quiet between us until we got outside and Luke said, “stay safe, Princess.”

While I was scuffing away to uni, I could feel his eyes on my back, watching after me.

All day, I waited and wondered about what Luke was possibly going to do. I didn’t even know if he had ever seen my monster. If he hadn’t, did he actually understand completely what was going on? Maybe he had the wrong idea. He might have thought I was beating myself up. He could’ve thought maybe I was in a gang and went around fighting with them instead of going to university. Nothing had been said aloud. It was like it couldn’t be spoken about – just implied.

But who was there to blame for that? Me, mainly. I had never told Luke. I easily could have said, “I’m being abused,” because I know that I am. But I haven’t said it. Everything’s still under wraps. I guess not saying it openly made it not quite completely so real. My life when he was holding me in my room could be a different life to when I walked around the library or sat in lectures. Even if some of the emotions carried from one life and remained in the other. Like the loathe I had for myself. That was present in both.

Sitting and directing all focus toward my assignments was the impossible task. Luke was too intently on my mind to even contemplate doing anything else. I rewound and replayed how he called me baby, and then I went back further to days ago when he called me sweetheart. It really did things to me. I loved it.

On the walk home to the apartments, I was travelling at a much quicker than usual speed because I knew that once I got back, I’d be able to be in his company again. Except I actually skimmed through the streets too nippily. The time on the clock in the building’s foyer was 5:00pm exactly when I arrived, meaning Luke would only just then be beginning his walk home. For all I knew, the devil could be upstairs and waiting for me, so I lingered on the ground floor and impatiently awaited Luke.

At 5:15, he came into the building. Miniscule little beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead, informing me that he rushed to get there. Through the smile on his face, which emerged when he saw me, he panted faintly.

“Hello, Princess,” he coughed out, letting his open palm come out and hover near my back without touching.

As he wandered to the lift, I kept by his side and saw how he swallowed heavily a few times. An idea crept up to me that if I took a step back by accident then I’d get to have his hand make contact with my back. I realised that was very strange of me to be so desperate for that. No words were spoken until we stepped into the elevator.

Luke immediately swivelled to face my body and have straight eye contact with me. He took a deep breath and I could see his lungs stretching up his chest.

“I wanted you to tell me,” he was talking quite slow and sombre, “My aim was that you would get the courage to speak up to me about it and come to me and tell me that it’s bad. And I mean, not just hinting it in a poem. I mean actually come to me and just say ‘someone is hitting me, help.’ But, Aurora, I can’t wait forever until you say something. Not when he’s covering you in bash marks like this.”

So there it was. The big explanation. Only now I was being immersed in a mood of stupidity. Luke has probably known for ages. Of course he has, he’s so intelligent. But I’ve just been pretending that he’s unaware.

“I don’t want you to die,” Luke stated so gently that he was almost just mouthing the words.

If it weren’t for how stunned I was at everything occurring, I am reasonably certain I would have cried.

Luke sighed and rambled on, passing over his dreary remark, “you’re such a wonderful girl, you know? You’re talented and really adorable and you’re different, and I really adore you. It makes me confused as to why anyone would hurt you. And I want to help you. But you need to want to get away from whoever this guy is because at the end of the day, it’s you that makes the final decision and you’re going to be saving yourself.”

I barely fathomed what he was elucidating. No way would I ever be able to save myself. Luke made no sense to me. He needed to save me. And obviously I wanted to get away. I’d been wanting out for so long.

Before Luke could say any more to me, the elevator did exactly what it had done the day before – stopped making progress upward and juddered callously in the one spot. Not wasting a second and knowing my clumsy self would be likely to fall, Luke jumped and swung one arm around my hips, sucking my figure into his sturdy frame. Once I was practically leaning against him, he released some of the tension he had around me, probably remembering that I was bruised to the heavens.

“This lift…” he laughed.

The jolting soon stopped and we weren’t swaying on our toes anymore. But, we also couldn’t feel the elevator taking us upward. The doors were still securely shut, and the panel of buttons with numbers for every floor weren’t lit up or flashing. Bravely, Luke took a step forward and pressed his long finger into the number of floor where we were headed.

No movement.

Clearing his throat, he then pressed at the button, which should have opened the doors for us.

Nothing.

This old style elevator did not have an emergency button. There was no dial phone that could be rung in the instance of a break down. And the walls of the lift were so thick that any sounds from inside would never be heard on the outer.

“Well,” Luke announced, looking back at me, “seems like we are stuck.”