Moving Along | Emma

9 | stupid one who ended it

TW: suicide talk

I approach Luke's ominous figure from behind.   He wears his black jeans with a dark blue jumper on.  On the further side, he has a brick tied to a rope.  I stand next to him and look down into the water. Looking back at us is ourselves.

"Taking a brick on a walk?"  I giggle.

I take the bottle from his hands and I chug enough for about four shots.  When I hand the bottle back, he turns towards me. His eyes are already bloodshot red.

He smiles at me.  "Suicide is a private thing, Em..ma."

I roll my eyes and I sit down at the end of the dock. "Can I at least get to know you before you die? Someone's gotta write the obituary."

Luke hesitates for second before sitting down next to me. Our feet dangle off the edge. I lay back and look at the sky. Luke follows. I fold my hands gently on my stomach. My goodness. Alcohol makes things move, so the clouds and stars are dancing.

I can't help but to think of our first "date".

"Remember when we watched Twilight together after homecoming?"

Luke laughs. "That's not going in the obituary."

"What does your letter say?" I joke.

He doesn't respond. I turn my head and it takes me a couple seconds for my eyes to focus again. He takes the bottle, unscrews it, and pours some into his mouth. Of course, that doesn't go over well and he spills some on his face when he tilts it upright again.

"You can't commit suicide without a letter, Hemmings."

He turns his head to look at me and he sighs. "Dear...shit...who's this going to?"

I smile. "Me."

"Emma." Luke says looking back up.

I look back up as well. His left hand intertwines with my right hand. This hasn't happened in so long.

"Emma." He repeats. "Emma. Dear Princess Emma: I, Sir Luke Hemmings, here by declare myself formally dead to the heathenistic terrain."

I giggle. "Woe is me good Sir!  How did one pass on from such heathenistic terrain?"

"He hath filled himself with liquid unbeknownst to man."

I pause.  "Maybe I'll put in the obituary that you died a virgin."

Luke shrugs to the best of his ability.  "I guess that's another way to commit suicide."

Yeah, social suicide.

"Without a goodbye kiss to your fair maiden?" I ask.

"Fair maiden? She is only known as the whorish prostitute. Perhaps she hath a friend of the male species."

I turn my head once again to make eye contact with him. This time, our heads are inches apart. He looks deep into my eyes.

"Perhaps she does obtain. However, she is a prostitute after all."

Luke slowly closes his eyes and inches forward. It doesn't take me any time longer to push my lips against his. I wrap my leg around his torso tightly. He grabs my ass and pulls me on top of him. His tongue slips into my mouth, causing my emotions to heighten. His dick gets hard between my legs rather quickly. It only causes me to grind slowly against him.

"Fuck." Luke curses.

He sits up and buries his face into my neck. My hands go to his hair and tightly pull it. His hands sneak up my thighs, under my skirt, hooks around my underwear, and feels my wetness.

His fingers tease my entrance. "Miss me?"

I nod urgently, but then I realize he can't see. "Yes."

A finger enters me and I moan gently into Luke's ear.  I can't help but to grind against his finger as it exits and re-enters me repeatedly. 

"Does Chris or Connor or anyone make you this wet?"

I burry my face into his neck now to muffle any noises I make it only gets him harder.

"S-Sometimes."

He slips another finger in, keeping it slow.

"Oh fuck."  I moan.  "No."

I swear when you're drunk, it enhances every feeling.  I close my eyes tightly and feel the pulsing between my legs get bigger

Luke chuckles. "You feel those two fingers?  I want that to be my dick so bad."

His words start to send me into over drive.  I arch my back and try to catch my breath.  My breathing gets shallow and deep.  A rush of electricity builds between my legs, but then the feeling is gone.  My eyes shoot open and I find Luke unzipping his pants.

I pan over at the vodka bottle and I almost see it empty. 

"I want to have sex with you."  He slurs.  "So bad."

I do too.  But something is pulling me otherwise.  I sit up urgently.

I shake my head.  "You're drunk. You wouldn't want this sober."

"That's so not true, baby." He whispers kissing my neck.  "It's all I think about when I'm sober.  I fucking love you way too much."

I love you—that's how you know he's not in his right mind.

"Tell that to me tomorrow." I mumble.

I press all my weight back on him.  I cuddle into his chest, and within a minute, he can't remember what just happened. He's drank so much that he's out in seconds.