Prepare yourself for this chapter ;)

It's beginning to grow dark out when I decide to talk to Luka. 

I'm done being confused. I need to get down to business. 

I need to end whatever's happening. Anything that might get in the way of finding my mother.

The stairs creak under my sock covered feet as I climb higher and higher. The sound of something switching or flicking repeats on a loop from Luka's room, the sound nameless and odd. 

Never the less, I follow that odd click and reach his door. 

The thick smell of marijuana wafts from under the door and I groan, hoping he's not too far gone to speak to me. 

I knock ever so softly on the door. 

"Luka?" I call out, my voice almost a whisper. 

No response. 

I try the knob and find it locked. 

Crap. 

"Luka, come on, let me in." I say slightly louder. 

"Get away, gringita." His gruff croak comes through, and annoyance bubbles in me. 

Stay calm, Katya. You need to have this conversation. 

"Let me in, Luka, before I break this damn door down." I say, not angrily, but threatening enough that I hope he takes me seriously. "I need to talk to you." 

"All anyone does is talk-" He starts to ramble and I sigh, brushing a loose hair behind my ear. 

As he continues to ramble, I slip the bobby pin from my hair and bend down, peering into the complex twists and nooks of the lock. My mother taught me to pick locks very young. 

"It's a skill that you may not have to use, but if you do, you'll want it in your mind." She used to say. 

I stick the bobby pin in, feeling around for that one spot, and twist, and repeat this step until I hear the wonderful pop of the lock opening. 

Bingo. 

I stand up and slip the door open, and am assaulted by the smell of marijuana. 

"Jesus, Luka. Crack a window or something." I groan, and look around the room, trying to find him. 

His room in Roman's house is simple like mine, but with a few, very Luka-like objects: the bowl of cigarette butts on the coffee table, a notebook of scrawling, and the boy himself, sitting with his back against the opposite side of the bed, curled into an almost fetal like position. 

A cloud of smoke swirls around his head as he exhales giving a tiny, almost silent cough. 

"I thought I told you to go away, gringita." He hissed, hearing me behind him but not bothering to turn around to me. 

"Well, you've known me long enough to know that I don't like being told what to do." I snap, moving towards him and breathing through my mouth. 

I cross around the bed, and see Luka, his face stone cold, almost tinted in purple from the fading light through the closed window. His hear is scattered insanely, strands curling over his eyes and almost colliding with his long lashes. 

I turn around for a moment, heading to the dresser in the corner. I open a random drawer, and find an old t-shirt, and throw it at him. 

"Put it on." I say, sans emotion. 

He doesn't even turn to look at me when he takes the shirt, and chucks it over his head across the room. 

Such a child. 

Whatever. 

I take a deep breath through my mouth, and exhale slowly as I go to sit at his side, facing him. 

He just stares straight ahead like a guard in front of a palace. 

"Are you going to continue pouting?" I ask, like a parent to a child. 

He doesn't move. 

"Okay, at least try to listen." I sigh. 

I inhale, and prepare for what I'm about to say. 

My nerves are biting at my veins, and my muscles at my skin, and prickles scatter themselves across my body. 

"Do you have a cigarette?" I ask, my voice breathy. 

He doesn't answer, only reaches his hand to the side and throws a carton of cigarettes at me, and a lighter. 

"Thank you." 

I quickly place one in my mouth and begin to suck in the smoke. 

I've smoked more in the past few weeks than in my entire lifetime. 

The sparks in my skin die down, and my head begins to clear. 

"Luka, I need to focus on finding my mother. I know that you want to help me, and I can't understand why, or how, or whatever." I'm rambling, words flying out of my mouth faster than my mind can register. 

"But this, you, us." I stutter. "Is a major distraction for me."

His jaw tightens slightly. He's listening. 

"I don't even understand my feelings for you, or your's for me, but I can't have that in my mind right now. My mother needs to be all I think about and my time to find her is running out. And I can't waste it on some confusing feeling." My words spew out, and he remains stationary.

I pause, waiting for some sort of reaction from him. 

He moves his arm upwards, taking another drag of his drug, and holds it in for what seems like years. I am holding my breath along with him. 

He exhales, the smoke cloud above him thick like milk. 

I wait. 

I watch. 

I tremble. 

I speak. 

"So whatever either of us feels, we need to push it down. I need to pay more attention to kidnappers than kisses, or mobs over men." I say, suddenly growing overly alliterative. 

He hasn't moved, hasn't reacted. 

And fury begins to appear behind my eyes. 

"Luka." I snap, trying to get a response out of him. 

"Luka." 

Nothing. 

"Vincenzo." And he flinches, his free hand flying out to grab my throat slightly, not choking me, but as if he's trying to stop that word from escaping my mouth. 

I freeze, scared to move. To breath. To want.

I shudder, and his hand drops from my throat to my lap. 

"I can't." He croaks finally, and the sound of his voice is thick and husky, a tone that sends a thousand shivers down my spine. 

"Why?" I whisper softly. 

He still hasn't looked at me, he just continues to stare blankly out the darkening window. 

"As long as I can see you, can hear you, can touch you..." He trails off, as his fingers begin to trace patterns on my inner thigh. 

I resist the urge to move away, for fear that his trance could break. 

He's not in this moment, it doesn't seem. 

He's in a dream land, a drug hazed reality. 

"I can't control my thoughts." He groans, and his jaw clips harshly 

I'm struggling to focus on anything but his hand on my thigh, or the husk in his voice. 

I clear my throat, as if doing so could clear my mind. 

"Well you're going to have to." I say, attempting to sound strong and determined, but the sounds only escape as a breathy wind. 

I need to leave before I do something I'll regret. Or not regret at all. I don't know which is worse. 

I begin to push myself up, making it to my knees when he suddenly moves, turning to me and planting his hand behind my neck, cupping it and slightly digging into the bottom of my hair. 

His eyes are rimmed in red and almost black, and boring into mine. 

Our breaths mingle. 

"Luka, this isn't going to help me." I whisper, but my gaze is trailing towards his lips, cut and look so soft. 

"You don't know that." He whispers, and it's the last thing I hear before he kisses me. 

And my resolve flies out of the window. 

His lips are soft against mine, caressing and almost caste in nature. But then he changes, his teeth gripping onto my bottom lip, and dragging my body closer to his. He tastes of smoke and salt and euphoria. 

He's a drug and I'm addicted. 

His hands are around my waist and pulling me impossibly closer to his blazing body. His skin is on fire and I'm water, cooling him. 

His lips leave mind, and delve towards the exposed skin of my neck, and a small moan escapes my lips. 

My head is blank, blank, blank. 

And I open my eyes slightly, wanting to see him, to make sure that I'm not dreaming, and as soon as they open, so does my clarity, allowing a wave of sobriety to wash in like the tide. 

"Stop." I rasp and he immediately pulls back, looking at me with confusion and dazed images in his eyes. 

"This never happens again." I whisper, shaking my head and standing up. "I need to find my mom, and this is just a delay. So please, if you can't learn to deal with whatever you feel, stay away from me." 

I wait until I'm out of the door to sob. 

Ugh, I miss being able to update every day. I'm going to try to update more often, and to give you loves longer updates. I hope you enjoyed!