Never Enough | Luke Hemmings

Bonus Chapter: Heath

You asked and I delivered! Most of the voters said they wanted a Bonus chapter in Heath's point of view. But don't worry, I know a LOT of you also voted for Luke but half this story has been in Luke's POV and I don't see the point of it BUT there will be another one I'll be uploading this summer! I know, love me, I'm the best. This took a lot of tears to write so I hope you're prepared and ahh don't forget to check out the sequel (Story of Another Us) if you haven't yet and PLEASE let me know your thoughts at the end! 

Heath's POV

The biology teacher paces, back and forth, back and forth and his painstakingly gruff voice rings through the silent classroom of students I've known since first grade but knew nothing about, not really. This teacher failed me every chance he got and he's an ache in the back of my head and the literal back of me, as in my ass. Oh, how I wish I didn't have to sit through this and pretend like any of this fucking matters. But see, the thing is, I don't have to pretend like any of this matters since it's not like anyone is watching me but I'm doing it anyway so they all have something to wonder about when I'm not here.

They'll say"Oh, but he was normal? and wasn't he happy?" I stare at the gutted frog in front of me, dead, smelly, and plain fucking disgusting. I feel the strange need to lay on the floor dead like the Frog is laying in the container amidst its remains but then that would be another hour of self-inflicted hell if I get detention. I keep the position in mind because it looks comfortable.

I turn away from the rotting flesh and look at the sky outside through the large windows, it's a bright blue and it hurts my eyes. Add that to the list of the things I hate, it was always so bright and loud, kind of like my chubby Aunt Mae at every Thanksgiving. And God, did I hate her.

Maybe I should do it today—looks like a bright enough day to kill oneself. Nothing compares to the feeling of exhilaration I get when I think about finally being free and my head spins a little with how sodding happy it makes me.

There's a tap on my arm, almost on cue. I turn my head slightly from my slumped position over the wooden desk that's rotting its way into its next life. The tap on the arm comes from the only thing I don't despise other than that feeling of exhilaration—it's a person, and her name is Sierra.

Her eyes are narrowed at me, telling me to pay attention. There's a little smile plastered on her face and the sleeves of her white uniform shirt are rolled to her elbows. Sierra was the comfortable brightness in my life, she has been a saviour more times than I can count and that is the only thing I hated about her. She loved me and she will love me until the earth freezes—there were no boundaries nor expectations. Just me, a coward and her, the entire universe.

The first day I saw her it was a couple of years ago, her brown hair was almost golden silk under the sun and her eyes the kind of emerald that put all other kinds of beauty to shame. She had her nose buried in a book and she was quiet while her friends giggled around her. She was lost to them but she was never lost to me. My eyes followed her everywhere she went after that first day, perplexed by her profound groundedness and her ability to carry herself with an air of...importance.

Heads turned when she walked by and being a jock turned out to have its perks because I soon found out that not one person in school envied her, at least, not publicly. She wasn't the popular mean girl, she was the popular nice girl that everyone loved and respected and sucked up to.

Love turned out to be something I despised, though. No matter how brilliant she made it for me. You must think I'm delusional with all this hate, but mind you I actually have quite the explanation for all this, I just don't think anyone would care enough to hear it.