Sweaters || Malum

Chapter 5

Saturday morning I woke up and I thought back to last night's actions. I glanced at the notes on my nightstand and I immediately began crying. I sat up from the comforts of my bed and shakily grabbed them. In anger and confusion and hurt, I ripped them up. I threw the pieces on the ground and got up.

I grabbed my phone and smiled at my wallpaper. It was a picture of Luke and I, my favourite one to be exact. I was sort of smiling and I had a black cap on and Luke had a beanie on and he was crossing his eyes and pouting. Then I frowned remembering how mad he was at me.

I open up my phone and recognize the fact I have 22 texts. I furrow my eyebrows and open them up. 19 of them were from Luke and 3 from an unknown number.

Luke's texts were all apologies.

I had no right to be mad at you, Cal

If you like him it's fine

I'm sorry

It won't happen again?

Calum? You okay?

Dude, I'm sorry. :(

Michael and I just don't get along and I don't want to intrude on any form of relationship you could have with him so I'm sorry about that.

I mean, if you like him that's cool

You know?

I'm sorry

I shouldn't have acted like I did

It was immature

Calum?

Are you mad at me?

I didn't mean to act like that!

Sorry!

Hey

Dude.

Fine, whatever. Don't fucking talk to me. Bye.

And that was the last text. All were sent around the time I left yesterday. I never checked my phone at all. I don't care. I don't care. 

I close my eyes and continue drowning in my own self-pity and self-loathing. Luke hates me and for what? Because he thinks I have a crush on somebody he dislikes, when that fact is not by any means proven? I go and check the unknown number's texts.

Hey.

you don't know me.

but i know you, Calum. watch your back.

I furrow my eyebrows, who was it?

Who's this?

I press send and put my phone back on my nightstand. I didn't bother responding to Luke, I don't have the strength in me right now to fight with him. There's no point anymore.

I go downstairs quietly and see my father passed out on the couch. My mother's shoes were by the door so I assumed she was sleeping. I open the fridge quietly and pull out some meatballs that my Mum made a few nights ago. I squint as I press the buttons on the microwave and watch the container spin.

I look over to the person I call my father. His hand was limply holding a beer bottle and there was an ashtray next to him. My Mum deserved so much better than this.

Better than me. Better than him.

The microwave goes off and my dad moves a bit and I stiffen; but he doesn't wake up. I open the microwave and take the meatballs out, grabbing a fork and going upstairs. I slowly eat the few that were left. The sauce in the container was hot but the inside of the meatballs were cold.