"You came out of nowhere and crashed into me for a brief, beautiful moment. I held onto you for dear life because I knew that once that moment passed, you'd be gone for good."
- Connotativewords | jl | Nomads

**

It is freezing cold.

I crack my eyes open and wait for them to adjust to the darkness. I fell asleep next to Luke and now he isn't next to me when I pat down on the sheets to feel his body.

Where is he?

I turn on my back and lift myself up on the bed with my arms that have numbed from the cold. The thick curtains are closed but there is a sliver of grey light fading in from a gap. The heater in the room must have turned off.

With a silent prayer that the heater isn't broken, I blink my eyes a couple of times and reach for the tiny digital clock on the nightstand.

4:30 am 

My teeth start to chatter with the cold and I drop the clock back onto the nightstand. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, almost kicking Luke who is sitting on the floor with his legs and arms spread out in front of him and his back leaning against the side of the bed.

I jump back with a shriek and lose my balance, dropping back onto the bed clutching at my chest.

I huff with relief but then see that he is shirtless. "What are you doing on the floor baby?" I kneel down next to him slowly, my heart still beating fast in my chest. He doesn't answer me.

"Luke? You must be so cold. Come back to bed." I run my hand up his arm and it comes off wet with his sweat.

He's sweating in this temperature. This can't be good.

"Luke?" I shake him and he lifts his head a little. There are rivulets of sweat dripping down the sides of his face and I can see that his eyes are red even with the little light in the room.

"You're sweating. Are you okay?" I ask him, panic rising in my throat.

He shakes his head and I stand up to switch on a light but his hand tugs me back down. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me onto his lap.

His skin comes into contact with my cold one and I flinch. "Your body is overheating." I murmur. It is extremely warm and I don't know if it's because I'm freezing or if he is coming down with something.

"Shhh." He runs his thumb over my lips. I strain my eyes to focus amid the panic so I can see his face clearly. His blonde hair is wild, standing in different directions on his head and his face is flushed, his pupils dilated.

"What's wrong?" I mouth, afraid to make any noise. He traces my lips as it forms the words and he sighs deeply.

"Everything." He murmurs and I shudder. He moves my right leg so that I'm straddling his lap and our chests press together as he leans against the bed. He lifts his head to look up at me and I take the chance to stroke his face with both my hands.

"Talk to me," I whisper, my breathing increasing slightly.

He looks into my eyes in the dark and after a long while says, "I don't deserve your love." My words from just a couple of hours ago come back to haunt me.

"I love you." I had confessed.

But I do, I love this beautiful man in my arms.

I run my right hand up to his hair and tangle my fingers in the sweaty strands.

"Well, that's too bad then. Because it is yours." I smile in the hopes of calming him down. I can feel his heart beating furiously under my own skin and all I can hope for is that he hasn't taken anything and this is a natural reaction to a panic attack.

"I don't deserve it. I was using you." He says breathily, stroking my hair with one hand and my back with the other.

Using me?

"Please tell me what this is about." I plead, frustrated with the worry that is building up inside me.

"Ana, she ruined me." He says and my breath catches in my throat.

Is he finally going to tell me about her?

He doesn't see my reaction and keeps going. "I used you, I used the conflicting feelings I had towards you, in the beginning, to shield myself from her."

"But then I—I couldn't drag my eyes away from you when you were around or get you out of my head and you had to take the brunt of it." His eyes land back on me for a second and then fleets away again. He leans his head back onto the bed and looks up at the ceiling, my body still straddling his.

"They," he points a finger at his head.

"—wanted you so that they could take you and make you into who I've become as well. Another companion in my own hell. But I wanted you to love me and get me out of it and I hated that I was starting to depend on a girl again. I hated you for it." His voice cracks.

His words resonate through my head making me clutch onto him tighter.

"So I don't deserve your love. I don't deserve you. You need someone who could make you happier. Someone who doesn't use you to get over his own pain or try to pull you into his darkness." I see a tear slip free from the corner of his eye and roll down the side of his face and onto the bed.

I open and close my mouth trying to find the words I want to say to him. "I am happy. In a very long time, I am happy and I am yours," I stroke his stubble grown chin and he lifts his head to look at me again. "I am yours," I repeat and Luke pulls my face closer to him, kissing me tenderly with his teeth grazing my bottom lip.

My previously cold skin starts to get warmer from the heat radiating from his body.

He pulls away from the kiss and strokes my flushed cheek. "I also hated you for how strong and stubborn you were. But I—I'm sorry." He shakes his head his voice so quiet I barely hear it.

The boy who sings for millions of people in one night. The boy who is the soundtrack to teenage rebellion now unable to find his voice. How was he reduced to this?

My heart breaks inside my chest and shatters all over our laps and I find it hard to stay upright so I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him into my chest, laying my head on top of his.

He hugs me closer and shudders run through us both as if we are joined at the bones. "I'm so sorry," Luke whispers as I rock us back and forth.

"It's okay. I love you. I love you." I repeat the three words, hoping that he believes that if anyone, he is the most deserving of it. I don't care if somewhere in there he still hates me even though I know it in my heart that he doesn't.

"I had a panic attack." He sniffles.

I shut my eyes and sigh. "I know baby. You're okay now."

It is the evening before Christmas, families all over the world are getting together to celebrate. This right here today, was my family and all though God isn't someone I have always turned to, I ask him now to help me this time. Help me help this man realize that he is worth my love and every other kind of love anyone could ever give him.

---

When the hazy morning light starts to drift in through the curtains we finally pull apart. Neither of us burning or freezing anymore, but warm.

I get off of Luke's lap and flinch a little, my numb legs coming back to life from being in the same position for a long time.

He stands up and looks around the room like he doesn't know what to do next. "You should get some sleep," I suggest but he shakes his head looking at the time on the digital clock.

6:10 am

"It's Christmas Eve." He croaks out with a small smile.

I nod. "It is."

"Change into something warmer." He says, pointing at my underwear and his t-shirt and walking into the bathroom. The abrupt changes in his mood are the strangest but I know I can bear it.

I hear the shower turn on so I zip open my suitcase and rummage through it, looking for a clean pair of jeans and a cosy sweater I can wear. I throw them onto the bed and proceed to dig through the pile of t-shirts looking for the one I want and my hand hits something solid. I peek in and see the stack of Heath's letters to me.

I close my eyes for a second and ignore the tug at my chest, pulling out the t-shirt I want. The feel of the letters when my hand hit them still lingers on my skin, bothering me. Biting down on the inside of my chin I wonder if I should finally give in.

I'm not ready. Maybe I am... I have been putting it off for so long.

I debate with myself for awhile but then pull the stack out, straining my ears to hear if Luke is okay. He is still in the shower and humming lightly under the water. I untie the string around the letters and sift through them, my heart jumping back into my throat. I feel heady when I read through Heath's block letters labelling every one of the envelopes.

I stop on the third one that says "One day." I lay the rest back in my suitcase and put my finger under the lip of the envelope, tearing along the line.

My hands slightly shake when I pull the folded piece of paper out. It is a paper torn from one of those diaries he always used to have with him where he wrote down things and sketched on when he got bored or inspired.

I rub at my eyes and take a deep breath before I start reading. I can do this.

"Sierra,

I hope for a lot of things. I hope you wake up one day and it doesn't hurt anymore. I hope you wake up one day and you smile at the warmth you feel on your skin. I hope you wake up one day feeling motivated and optimistic. I hope you wake up one day because you have something planned, something that brings you a great deal of joy. I hope you wake up one day and make breakfast for yourself. I hope you wake up one day and open all the shutters and not instantly close them back again because you absolutely despise the brightness of the sun. I hope you wake up one day and feel content. I hope you wake up one day and do not feel like a complete and utter failure. I hope you wake up one day and know that there is hope for you. I hope you wake up one day and look in the mirror and not wish that you could be someone else."

I close my eyes and look up from the letter, making eye contact with myself in the mirror in front of me. My vision blurs as his words settle in my head.

"—I hope you look in that mirror and don't feel like scrubbing your skin raw in the hopes of shedding it. I hope you wake up one day and just want to live, not exist but live. I hope you wake up one day and tell yourself that you are all you need because that is nothing short of the truth. I hope you wake up one day and make yourself smile. I hope you wake up one day because you want to go on, and not because you have to.

I love you, always.

H. L."

I read the letter over and over five times, etching his words into my memory. I trace the indents where his pen had pressed into the paper, feeling it under my skin. A slow smile spreads on my face as I run my finger over his initials.

I shut my eyes and hope he hears me, wherever he is now. I promise. I promise I will wake up because I want to go on and not because I have too.