Warning: mentions sensitive topics that can be triggering.

LUKE

I never truly understood what it would feel like-- standing in the eye of a hurricane. Your feet braced against the ground as you stand, filling your lungs with oxygen as hell rises around you. Hearing nothing but the hot blood rushing in your ears, and the screech of the wind and debris spinning around you. I always wondered what it would be like to have every cell in your body fall into uncontrollable paralysis, the blood in your veins freezing into stone as you stay motionless, your eyes a hollow void of dark space as the inevitable storm sucks each ounce of energy from your bones.

I understand what it is like now, because this is exactly what it felt like as the words left Carter's lips. They hung out into the empty air like blades, causing the entire earth to stop revolving its usual orbit. My chest deflates, my lungs emptying itself of the oxygen needed for my body to function as my ears start to ring. My head feels light, but I have nothing but bricks to fall back onto.

The moment of unobtrusiveness lasts for less than a second before my muscles jerk, my hands clawing at Michael's body, pulling him protectively into my strong grasp as my body spins around, blue eyes meeting a pair of dark brown ones, fire evident in their eyes. I know exactly who it is, and I want to scream. My lungs burn with acidic flames as I seal my lips shut to suppress any unwanted noises from my tongue. I want to stay strong, stay strong for Michael, but I can tell we are already broken.

The man is a couple inches taller than me, his arm grasping the handle of a shiny black gun. The arm raises the gun so that the barrel faces straight at my forehead. Confusion floods my veins as to why the gun is pointed to my face and not the sweet boy in my arms, but I don't complain. I would much rather it be me than the boy with the kitten ears in my arms.

Light suddenly fills the room. I am unsure of who turned on the switch, but my mind starts to melt when I see how many detectives have surrounded us in the room. They are all dressed in complete black, guns aimed straight at the two of us. I see Ashton stare around at the scene with wide eyes, his fingers twitching by his sides. I have no idea what to do, captured under the stare of so many cold eyes.

"Well, look what we have here." A deep voice laced with ice leaves Draven's lips. I hold Michael to my chest, visibly shaking from so much anger as the man lifts a hand toward the kitten boy's head. I clench my jaw as he fingers the edge of the beanie, sliding it effortlessly off. A smile forms on his dry lips when he sees the unmistakable ears sitting on top of Michael's head. The red hair that was formerly hidden underneath the hat is pressed against his head, making the kitten ears even more noticeable, and the boy melts into my embrace. I glance down at him, and I feel the ribs guarding my heart shatter into a thousand fragments as I watch a glistening tear drip from one of his perfect eyes.

"The culprit himself." Draven finishes off, tilting his head to analyze the boy's features. Michael whimpers softly. I clench my jaw, my eyes cutting away from Draven's gun up to Ashton, who stands behind the row of detectives. He looks terrified, his hands in front of him as though he doesn't know what to do with them. He meets my eyes that are blazing with anger. I look away from his gaze and towards a window that sits in the corner of the den. The door is blocked off by four detectives, all holding rifles in their hands. Their gaze is stony, not one ounce of emotion hidden in the lines of their faces.

I tighten my grip around Michael, feeling his fluffy hair brush against the bottom of my chin. The contact almost makes me start to sob, but I hold back the tears. In a fast blur of motion, I bend my knees and scoop Michael into my arms, cradling him to my chest princess style. The position reminds me of when I carried him to our room on our first night here, when he broke down in front of me and told me about his mother. The memory makes my throat close up. I can't have him have the same fate as her.

I bolt towards the row of detectives. Ashton notices my intentions and sprints forward, getting to the detective blocking the window directly before I do, knocking the man over with a punch to the jaw and a kick to the ribs. The detectives break their stillness to rush to Ashton, grabbing him. It takes five men to hold him back, gripping onto his arms and legs as he thrashes and yells.

I fumble with the locks on the windows, flipping them over. I am just able to push open the window, feeling the welcoming, cold breeze from the freedom outside. I am able to taste the feeling of escape against my tortured skin-- right when four hands grip painfully onto my shoulders and spin me around. The two detectives grab for Michael, and I let out a strangled scream, holding onto the boy as tight as I can.

Michael is crying in my arms, tears streaming endlessly down his face. His eyes are wet and wide, the green irises staring up at the men in pure terror. He makes no sound, other than a few whimpers. I thrash around, trying to get their filthy hands off of my love's arms, trying to get away, trying to escape. My heart throbs in my chest, choked shrieks sounding guttural as they leave my bruised lips. My eyes squeeze shut, tremors traveling up my spine in the one need to get away, to carry my love into the horizon and disappear from this fucked up scene people call humanity.

I blindly lift up my fist and throw it towards the face of anyone who comes near me. It could be anyone, for all I know Ashton could have been one of them, but I hit anyone who attempts to lay a finger on Michael. I am acting insane, like a psychotic patient in a mental institution, but I am too tortured to care. My eyes sting from the amount of salty tears welling up inside of them, and my chest aches. I start to cough, so violently that my entire body shakes, and some cruel human decides to take this to their advantage as they rip the boy from my arms, leaving me so unbearably empty.

My eyes open in shock, watching as the tiny boy with the ears is held in the unwanted hands of one of the many detectives filling the room. Michael looks utterly petrified, his green irises never leaving mine as he is passed from detective to detective, up until he is shoved into the hands of Draven. I cry out, ready to leap to Draven when hands claw out at me, wrapping their dirty fingers marked with gun powder around my body. I am completely restrained from all the men, and I sob like a maniac, tears rolling down my cheeks and turning my skin red. I watch Draven's hand grips around Michael's arm, I watch as his porcelain skin flushes with terror.

"Luke." Michael whispers, his voice frail and trembling.

A heavy weight drops onto my shoulders, weighing down my chest with the mass of a meteor. A dark filter has covered my vision as the realization that perhaps today will not turn alright. I fall still in the detectives arms as I lift my gaze to Michael. He is already looking at me, his eyes welled up with tears. His nose is red, and his perfect lips that I can remember so vividly against mine cracked and sore. His fluffy red hair looks faded in the light, and his pale skin looks sick. The little ears on his head droop slightly, looking like he does when he is tired. The vision of him curled up by my side in bed, his nose pressed against my shoulder as he tangles his small legs up with mine engulfs my vision. I can't handle this. I can't.

I look up to see Draven's eyes trained on me, a knowing smile on his face. He takes time to enjoy the view of Ashton and I restrained against his detectives' strength. He breathes in loudly, and sighs.

"You didn't really think you could win this fight, did you?" Draven asks, his voice laced with superiority. He then tosses Michael carelessly to the nearest detective at hand. I resist screaming, my muscles flexing in my arms as I struggle to keep my mental sanity intact.

"Let's take him to the car." Draven says simply, and the detective drags the kitten boy towards the front door. All the detectives start following him in a thick line, their shoulders rigid. The detectives holding back Ashton and I let go, but we are trapped behind the rows of detectives. I ram against their backs as I try and push past them, try to save the only person I truly care about, who is held in the hands of people who lack a real heart.

The detectives line up to move through the door and Ashton and I are pushed carelessly behind them. I claw at their backs as we slowly move out the door. The men begin to separate into groups to get into the black cars that surround the house. My chest heaves, my eyes raking the yard for a sign for Michael. It's dark out, the night settling in with the slight breeze as my arms lay limp at my sides, nobody to hold on to.

I finally catch sight of bright red hair, and my knees go numb when I see Draven pushing Michael into the back of one of the black cars, making him crawl into a large silver cage. The sweet boy tucks himself into the tiny spot, ducking his head slightly to fit inside. A strand of his red hair gets caught in one of the metal bars and I watch him wince, a hand drawing up to shield his head. A detective slams shut the door, sliding the locks into place. A feeling of disgust drips into my bloodstream. They're treating him like an animal.

Finally, the detective guarding me from sprinting down to the car leaves, disappearing into one of the vehicles. My legs stretch out as I run down the lawn, my eyes trained on Michael's large green irises. A detective slams close the trunk door, cutting off my sight of the boy. The man climbs into the car and the vehicle roars, pulling out onto the road, exhaust releasing into the air. I run as fast as I can, sobs erupting from my throat as I reach the end of the lawn, my feet skidding against the asphalt road. I slip on the road and I crash down, falling in a heap onto the street. I choke on my own tears, my fingers clawing against the rough gravel as I feel blood pool at my fingertips. The ground shakes as I feel the black cars pull in front of me one by one, driving haphazardly down the neighborhood road. Away from me.

I sit like a fallen angel on the road, my eyes screwed shut as I try not to think, try not to think of how Michael's eyes shone in the fluorescent lighting of the den, at how his sweater hung off of his shoulders like thin fabric, revealing his pronounced collarbones. I try not to think about how tiny he looked in the arms of all the huge men, looking like a child who got lost in a busy market. I try not to think about how I let him go. I let him be captured into the arms of the same men who killed his mother. It's my entire fault. I never should have brought him to the campfire tonight. My fault. I shouldn't have been so careless.

It's all.

My.

Fault.

I feel the air shift around me, and I turn my head stiffly to see a pair of bright hazel eyes. They blink sadly at me, staring at my demented form lying crumpled on the ground. I look away from them, not wanting to see the pity inside of them. Ashton sighs, lowering himself on the ground beside me. He looks uncomfortable on the rough asphalt, but I am completely numb. I blink at the red covering my fingers and my knees. I don't remember how they started bleeding, and I can't figure out why I don't feel the pain. I want to feel the pain. I want to feel the sharp stab of pain that reminds me that I'm still breathing, that I am still alive in the faded world of knifes and crushed spirits.

I don't hear myself sobbing until Ashton wraps a muscular arm around my shoulders. He pulls me close to him, and I press my face against his shoulder. He smells likes peppermint. Michael always smelled like flowers.

"I'm sorry, Luke." Ashton says. I hazily blink. His words echo through my empty skull, grasping for any connection they can find to provide some feeling, but I am frozen. Michael is gone, and so am I.

Ashton holds me together as we sit in silence, two figures sitting like statues in the center of an abandoned road, our eyes glazed over with the tortures of humanity. My heart feels like it has burst, squeezed to the point that it has given up. My mind torments me, flipping through a slideshow of memories that I can still feel in my bloody fingertips. Michael's glittery laugh fills my ears and the sound of his voice provides a never ending soundtrack for me to listen to in a silent world.

I want my mind to shut off. I want an off switch, that I can flip and fall into a dark coma that allows my brain to sit in fulfilling silence, free of the chains that it has hooked me up to, leaving me with only my thoughts to send me into anguish. I hate my thoughts. I hate the memories. I hate how I have no control of them, my eyes stinging as I watch the scenes in my life that had once made me so happy.

I hate how frail I am. I hate seeing the blood cover my skin and I hate feeling my bones ache. I hate feeling at the mercy of someone stronger, and I hate feeling peeled away from my possessions. I want to feel in control again. I want to feel in control of myself.

"Luke." A voice says. My head shoots up, my eyes straining to see through the dark light of the night. My heartbeat quickens until I realize it isn't Michael's voice, but Ashton's.

I make a sort of choked noise in my throat as a response.

"We need to get you inside." Ashton tells me. I feel his eyes trained on me. "You're cold."

I'm not. I may be, but I don't feel cold. I feel empty, as though that it is any better. I want to feel cold, I want to feel the warmth be drained from my blood, but I don't feel anything. Ashton's hands pull me to my feet, his hands gripping my arms. I stand uneasily on my feet, surprised that my muscles still work. I start to drift slightly, and Ashton wraps his arms around my waist to steady me as he helps me walk up the lawn with uneasy steps. Each step I take brings me further away from wherever Michael is being taken, and I want to scream.

Ashton pauses at the front door, still open from having sprinted out of it before, behind the wall of detectives. He helps me climb the small steps into the house, and I finally feel the heat from inside warm my skin that is tinted blue. I stand like a ghost inside the home, waiting to break, waiting for my brain to melt, waiting for something. Ashton closes the door and tries to get me to sit down on the couch, but my bones are locked into place. Ashton sighs and sits down himself, burying his hands into his curls, bowing his head in defeat.

He's gone. He's gone. My brain struggles to wrap itself around the word, weaving around the curves of the letters and analyzing the anguish encrypted into its arches. My chest starts to shake, and so do my hands, tremors flying up my arms and legs until I am uncontrollably shuddering. My cracked lips part and my eyes fill with hurt, my eyebrows furrowing as I stare at a fixation point on the blank wall in front of me. Choked cries release from where it was hidden in my lungs, sounds that not even I can comprehend leaving my swollen tongue. The sound a lot like cries, but no tears leave my eyes as I drown in my own thoughts.

The door suddenly bangs open, and my head turns toward, my eyes wild. I see a large black suitcase be dragged inside beside a pair of black converse and skinny jeans. The suitcase drops on the floor as a sigh leaves the person. My eyes trail up the familiar body until they rest on his face, and I feel my body begin to pulse.

"Hey guys! That was a long drive; I didn't realize I would get here so late." Calum says, a smile covering his face. The blonde streaks in his hair stand out vividly, too bright for my sore eyes. He closes the door happily, exhaling before grinning at me, opening his arms. "So, where's Michael?"

I stare at him, unable to process my thoughts of why the hell he decided to show up tonight of all nights, and knives pierce my already bruised skin when I hear the kitten boy's name. I am about to try and get my tongue to speak when a figure moves in the doorway of the bedroom hall, and I see the unmistakable form of Carter.

It was him. I can see it in the features of his face as he stares at all of us, not sure if he is welcome into the room anymore. I push myself off the wall, ignoring Calum's confused expression and Ashton's conflicted one as I step slowly towards Carter.

He looks like he wants to say something, but the fury in my face stops him as I stand, a form shaken with anger, in front of him.

"You son of a bitch." The words drip from my lips, right before I lift a fist and ram it against the side of his face.

---

A/N carter was actually gonna be a good guy but then I was like nah

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