He stood in the quiet kitchen, the clatter of Charmaine's weary footsteps fading into the muffled sounds of the apartment building. The fluorescent light above cast a harsh glow on the chipped countertop, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Luke ran a hand through his hair again, the familiar gesture now devoid of its usual carefree swagger. It felt heavier, somehow.
Breaking hearts of girls who live in the same building as us. Her words echoed, then morphing into the face of a tear-streaked Maya, slamming the apartment door. His eyes drifted to the small, barely noticeable scuff mark on the linoleum where Chris had stumbled after Luke had given him that warning shove - a shove that had ended with a bloody nose. Chris wasn't even interested in Maya. He'd just been trying to talk to her.
A fresh wave of shame washed over him. He'd told Charmaine it wasn't illegal, and it wasn't. But "decency"? He hadn't thought about that. He'd only thought about the thrill, the chase, the fleeting high of someone new looking at him with adoration. It had become a habit, almost a reflex, a way to fill an emptiness he didn't quite understand. Maybe it was the constant hum of worry about Mom, or the quiet desperation in Charmaine's eyes, or the ghostly echo of their father's absence. Being "the charming Luke" who could get any girl, who was always in control of the situation, felt like a shield against the things he couldn't control.
He slumped onto a kitchen chair, pulling his phone from his pocket. Instead of scrolling through texts from various girls, or checking social media, he stared at the lock screen. It was a photo of him, Charmaine, and their Mom from two summers ago, before everything got really bad. Mom was laughing, her face glowing, her arm wrapped around both of them. She looked so vibrant, so full of life. Now, she was mostly confined to her bed, the laughter replaced by strained coughs, her energy slowly draining away, leeching into the very fabric of their lives.
He thought of Charmaine, working two jobs, sacrificing her own youth and dreams to keep them afloat. Every penny counted. Every complaint could be a disaster. He was supposed to be helping, not adding to her burden. But the thought of stopping, of just being Luke without the constant validation, felt surprisingly daunting. What would he do with all that restless energy? Who would he be if he wasn't the guy everyone wanted?
He leaned his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. It wasn't just about stopping. It was about figuring out why he'd started in the first place, and then learning how to be different. The task felt heavier than any textbook, more complicated than any equation. He knew he owed it to them, to Charmaine, to Mom. But how do you unlearn years of ingrained behaviour? How do you change the person you've become, when that person felt like the only way to cope? He just didn't know where to start.