foreordination // Luke Hemmings

→ 07

March eighth, two thousand and fourteen.

"So she agreed to letting me move in with Ashton and his room-mate."

"That's great Luke. I'm happy your mother is finally letting you move on in life. Now tell me how do you actually feel about all of this?"

"Scared." I admitted quietly. She nodded in response before writing down something on her paper then looking back at me. "It's a scary thing, moving away from your family." "I'm not scared about moving away from them Lindsay." She frowned at me in confusion. "Scared about what then?" 

Emma, I was scared about Emma. I was scared that she wasn't actually real or that I wouldn't ever meet her, but the thing I was scared about most is how long would it be before I see her again, I kind of love her actually.

I shrugged. "I don't know what I'm scared of Lindsay — is that stupid?" 

"No, it's not."

"Let's not lie shall we? We both know that me being scared is stup-"

"I don't think it's stupid because I know you, and I know that you are not actually scared of nothing but there is something that you are actually scared of but you won't tell me because you're afraid of looking stupid." 

Well then, I didn't realise I was that easy to read.

"God Lindsay." "You're not a very easy person to read Luke, you know that right?" "Well you didn't just show that there." "Trust me Luke; it's taken me nearly a whole year to figure out what your interests were let alone what's going on in your mind." I smiled to myself, I liked knowing that I was hard to figure out, I mean if people figured me out; I'd be jealous — why should other people figure me out when I can't seem to grasp on to myself. 

-

"Okay, well this would be your room." Ashton led me into a room - in his apartment, it was small but big enough for me. "We'll have to buy furniture, a bed, cupboard, desk." "Or we could just get mine moved here." "Oh yeah. That's a better idea." Ashton said making me frown in disgust — he was so stupid sometimes. "Do you wanna meet Calum?" He asked as he walked out of the room. Thanks for letting me reply, maybe I did not want to meet Calum, but how would you know but you just walked out the fucking door. I rolled my eyes as I walked out the room behind him. "Luke Hemmings! I have heard so much about you. I'm Calum. Calum Hood." I was greeted by this idiosyncratic boy who seemed a bit overly excited. "Hi." I said before walking past him to go to the kitchen and make myself a coffee.

"Did I say something wrong?" "No Calum, Luke's just not good at... adjusting to new people." I can hear you. I sighed, I didn't mean to make Calum feel bad. "Yeah sorry Calum. I just don't feel that great today." I told him walking back towards him. "Why? Didn't you see Lindsay today?" Ashton asked whilst frowning. "I did." "Did you take you medication?" "God Ashton, you sound like my mother." I rolled my eyes at him. "Luke, you really need to take it." He sighed. "I'm gonna go home. Need to pack and stuff." I said as I begun to walk towards the door. "It was nice meeting you, Luke!" Calum shouted as I closed the door behind me.

-

Moving in with Ashton and Calum meant that I was closer to the Styles' home and Anne's coffee shop. I was only five train stops away which also meant that getting to uni would be easier and quicker which I was most thankful for, I hated trains in the morning, I mean; I love trains, but train journeys in the morning rush hour was probably the worst thing anyone could ever experience; that and depression, oh and cancer, cancer sucks.

-

"Luke? What are you doing here?" "Well I was on my way home, but I thought I'd come visit you." Anne smiled at me appreciatively, "Do you need anymore staff Anne?" "You want a job here?" I nodded in response. "Luke you're super intelligent, I'm sure you can work somewhere much better than a ghostly coffee shop." "Please Anne?" I asked quietly. "Well, I guess so, but you're not going to get paid much." "That's fine, but I have an idea on how to get new customers." "Really? How?" "We have to shut down the Starbucks opposite us."

—

March ninth, two thousand and fourteen.

"Emma?" 

"Luke, hi." She looked up at me smiling. "Hi." I said quietly sitting down and pulling her into my arms. "Oh." She said in shock as I hugged her. "I missed you." I admitted as she wrapped her arms around my neck. "I missed you." "Are you real? Do you exist in real life?" I asked making her laugh and unwrap herself from me. "Yes, I do." "Do you remember me when you wake up?"

"I don't know. Do you?" I nodded in response. "I wanna know you." She told me quietly, looking down to the ground. 

I didn't know where I was, like usual. It was half beach half park — literally, the place was split into two, half of it was grass, and had play things, and the other half was sand and water. The funny thing was that the it literally split in the middle as if there was a line between them, even the water stopped where the invisible line is. "There's nothing much to know, I mean, I'm a seventeen year old boy who pretty much hates everyone, wants to kill himself but is too much of a dastard to do it and is sarcastic ninety nine percent of the time." I told her. 

"There's more to you than that." She told me looking back at me. I rolled my eyes in response. "No, seriously, I know there's way more to you than your depression. You're probably amazing at something like writing or drawing — am I right?" 

"I don't write anymore." I told her as I begun to play with the grass which was next to me. 

"Why not?" "There's nothing to write about, like before there were things which made me happy or made me feel something other than depressed and I'd write about them because I didn't want to forget them, the last time I wrote was last year."

"What did you write about?"

I sighed. "I hadn't written in a month or so because my depression had kicked in, but that day I was just so angry, my parents were arguing with my sister about me and I just felt useless so I wrote in anger. It was the first time I wrote about something which wasn't happy."

"So why did you stop? I bet you felt better after you let all your anger out." "I guess-" "No wait, so why don't you keep writing? Write about what's making you sad and let your depression out." 

"I don't believe writing should be depressing or miserable, I liked writing when I proper things to write about, you see all those authors who write about depression and death, it's miserable. People don't want to read about things that can be faced in every day life, they want to read things that will make them happy and have an actual meaning to them."

"Okay, fine. Why don't you write about something else then?"

"Nothing makes me happy."

"Nothing at all? What about your friends?"

"I don't have many. I have a couple."

"Do I make you happy?" I nodded in reply to her question — I mean was it not obvious that the only time I felt like someone was when I dreamt about this girl who I had never met, never seen, never heard of.

"Write about me then."