A/N: A companion piece to Running; this one's about Luke. Once again, an angsty, no dialogue, one-shot.
Disclaimer – Seriously?
Crying
He had always been the strong one; rarely cried. When his mom had died he had stepped up and become the second dad of the family. Took care of his sister when his dad couldn't. When his dad died he had taken over the hardware store, turned it into a diner, and made a living for himself. He remembered crying once as he sat behind the counter of the store. There, he had mourned his father's death. Now, he sat in his lonely apartment taking in everything that surrounded him. Of course there were lots of things there, but what he noticed were the pictures. Pictures of them together; sometimes as a couple, sometimes just as friends. They sat on his table, hung on his walls mocking him. Reminding him that he had it all and lost it all so quickly. Reminding him that she had done the unthinkable, but that he had pushed her there. He had ignored her needs and let her slip away. Like sand through his fingers, he had lost control of her without even realizing it until it was too late.
He jumped up and grabbed a beer out of his fridge. Sitting back down on the couch he took a swig from the dark bottle and drowned himself in the amber liquid. He let the self pity, the anger, and the overwhelming sadness take over his body.
He couldn't take the quietness. It smothered him and it crushed him. He got up for the second beer of the night. It wasn't like anybody was around to care if he drank too much. As he stood, he switched on the radio hoping to hear something to take his mind off of her. He plopped back down and listened to the song that played on the radio. It was sad. Why were sad songs playing right now? Why did he constantly have to be reminded of her presence? Why wouldn't she ever leave him completely? Why?
The sadness grew to rage. She had hurt him in the worst way possible. He hadn't deserved that. She had lashed out and hurt him worse than he could ever imagine. She had gone to the man that came between them once before. He loved her; he still did. She didn't love him though. How could she do such a horrible thing to him and still claim to love him? It wasn't possible. The alcohol took command of his actions as he jumped up and threw one of the pictures of them on the floor. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces along with his heart.
He knelt next to the picture and gazed at it. The shards of glass spread out over the floor. The picture broke just like his heart. How symbolic. He thought. The sadness demanded his attention and he resigned himself to it. Slowly he sank down and buried his face in his hands as the tears started to come. Fast and thick, a waterfall. They cascaded down his face and dripped over his hands, finally landing to sink into oblivion on the carpet. There would be no evidence of his tears in the morning.
He had always considered crying to be a sign of weakness. Never let the enemy see how they get to you. It was what he'd been taught to do about bullies, but he had applied it to every aspect of his life. A man should be the strong one, he should lend a shoulder for a woman to cry on, but he should be the one who is always strong. Now, it didn't matter anymore. There was no woman who would want to cry on his shoulder. His father wasn't around anymore to remind him to be strong. The most important person in his life had betrayed him. What did he care if people thought he was weak? After all, there was no one left to care if he was crying.
