The Unfathomable Four.

Chapter 2

Love.

"She's morphine, queen of my vaccine, my love, my love, love, love..."
- Alt-J, Breezeblocks

Luke didn't know what love meant, but he knew what it could get him. He knew what he could achieve through its use. To him it was a word of magic, power, used for the wrong reasons. It was like saying "open sesame". Love came out, legs came open.

"I Love you."

Guilt wasn't familiar to him either. The girls got the attention they wanted... needed, and he got to walk away satisfied. Nobody gets hurt, right?

Wrong.

Being here was wrong. This room was wrong. This situation was wrong. He was wrong.

A silent figure in the corner, barely there. Luke hadn't quite grasped it yet. What had actually happened. He'd figured the simplicities. The basics. He knew it was tragic. He knew it was inescapable. But most of all her knew it was wrong. Each wrong senario stood out to him and he pinpointed them with ease. His black suit seemed to constrict around his body with each wrong he discovered.

Here a wrong...

There a wrong...

Everywhere a wrong, wrong.

As Luke drank in the agonising grief around him, he tried fervently to try and comprehend what Love really was.

It wasn't just a word, nor was it just an emotion. It was what people lived and breathed. Love wasn't something you used to get what you wanted, it was a state of being. You either Love someone or you don't. There's no middle ground. There's no faking it. There's no falling in and out.

It's knowing you're not alone...

Cliché.

Cliché.

CLICHÉ!

He didn't know what Love was. He felt no Love for the body laying in the mahogany coffin at the front of the room. He felt loss and guilt, but not Love. He didn't know whether or not this made him a bad person. He didn't think so, but he was bias. But he was also naive to think that everyone saw Love as he saw it. His naivety had cost a life. A sweet life, a kind life, a life just as naive. Naive to think a nineteen year old was really in Love.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of the manipulation. The blatant lie. The exploitation. Was that was Love was? A bundle of meaningless nights wrapped and tied with a string of falsity? No. That was just him. That was his perversion. So what was Love?

It was a segue. A segue from one emotional state to another, all depending on each individual's role. He led people down the wrong emotional path, transitioning them from Love to heartache, heartache to anger, anger to resentment, resentment to regret, regret to acceptance. That was the cycle he had grown accustomed to.

Love to heartache, heartache to grief, grief to depression, depression to self-harm, self-harm to suicide.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was all wrong...

Wrong...

Wrong...

Wrong...

The nagging voice faded from his head as he stared blankly into the room full of black clad figures wandering aimlessly. This is what Love had done. This is what Love meant. This is what Love was.

Wrong.

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