cool » l. hemmings

vi.

⇉ michelle ⇇

"I need you to help me figure out if this tastes right," my mom said to Luke and I while we walked into the kitchen. A quarter of me wanted to thank her for interrupting what I was about to tell Luke. The other three quarters would rather eat my own foot than try anything my mother bakes. Even if it did look like semi-edible cookies.

"No thanks, mom. I'm allergic to food that doesn't taste good," I looked at Luke and motioned for us to leave.

"Is it really that bad?" he laughed as soon as we walked through the opening between the kitchen and the living room.

Yes, it is. She made my tenth birthday cake and I ended up practically puking out internal organs. "Just take my word for it."

"So, do you want to tell me?" his voice turned soft and his eyes directly at me. We sat in the same position as before. The way I was sitting caused the light from the window to shine in my face, making me squint slightly.

The only person who actually knew what happened other than my family was Michael.

Speaking of Michael, I hadn't talked to him in two days. It felt odd.

Anyway, Luke waited for my response. I would've given it to him, if Grady and Ethan hadn't come running down the stairs and over to where we sat. Luke looked at me and quickly whispered, "I can wait."

Grady smiled at me when he grabbed the remote from on top of the couch. I sent a small smile back, looking toward the television to see him turn on an old episode of The Office. "Come on, we'll go to the basement," I caught Luke's attention just as a laugh escaped his chest. I'd never noticed his lip was pierced. It fit him well, with the amount of black he wears on a daily basis.

I had no room to talk, though. The color spectrum in my closet didn't span too far. Gray, dark gray, black, dark black. I'm a very colorful person, as you can see.

From behind me I heard Luke's shoes hit against the tile of the kitchen while we walked through it. I forgot he hates taking his shoes off in my house. We greeted my mother again while she placed the semi-edible cookies on a plate and put the plate on the end counter.

I wonder if these cookies made her forget about my schoolwork. Hopefully. Probably not.

The scent of chocolate chips followed us as I opened the basement door, greeted with the cold. As we walked down the stairs I completely skipped a step, scaring myself and practically nearing death. Luke's laugh was loud as I acted as if I didn't just almost kill myself.

"Thanks, you're a wonderful person," I turn to say to him over my shoulder, sarcasm evident.

I may not have known Luke for very long so far, but I've learned that his favorite color is blue, he's got a laugh that could probably end a war (no, really), and the day he had gotten money from his mother, he went straight to a shop to get his first pack of cigarettes since last week. I think that's important.

He laughed again, shaking his head and using his tongue to play with the black ring that was on his lip. I heard the couch squeak as we both sat down on it, Luke putting his arm around the back of it.

I remembered why we were here in the first place.

My breathing shaky, along with my hands, I pushed my fingers through my hair and sighed. Luke's shoulder was touching mine as we sat next to each other on the couch he'd become familiar with over the past six days. I could tell he felt awkward, and I almost wanted to make a horrible joke to make him feel better.

"He lost it because of me, Luke. It's all my fault." My hands covered my face, elbows leaning against my knees.

"I'm sure that's not true, Michelle," his voice was soft, comforting. People with accents seem so much more soothing than people without. Just an observation. I nodded against my hands, telling him that I really, really caused it.

It was because of me that Grady couldn't hear the beautiful sound of birds every spring, or the voice of our parents, or even his own. It was because of me that Grady couldn't just live normally. He had to put extra effort into everything he did that involved hearing; deal with rude and oblvious people for the rest of his life.

"My birthday. It happened on my brithday. I took him out to go play with the firecrackers and fireworks when I already knew he had sensitive hearing," I couldn't stop fidgeting. I hadn't talked about this since I told Michael. And that was four years ago. "I was dumb and me and my friends were being stupid and were so close to him with them and-"

"Breathe, okay? You don't have to finish," Luke's arm reached around my shoulders and rubbed my arms in security.

My eyes were dry. There were no tears falling, though it felt like I'd been bawling my eyes out since I started. "He kept complaining that his ears hurt. 'Mitchie my ears hurt.' 'I want to go home, Mitchie,' and I didn't listen," a sad laugh escaped as I said the last word. I lifted my head from my hands slightly and turned my head to look at Luke.

His eyes were focused only on me and when he saw me lift my head, he smiled a small smile.

Out of the whole family no one felt worse than I did. Not even Grady. If anything he seemed to be the most positive about the entire thing. "The rest of the night we had to repeat everything we said to him. Then the next morning it was worse, and he kept saying his ears were ringing. And then the next morning it...it was gone. I was such a shitty sister. I am a shitty sister."

I suddenly realized how crazy I sounded, mumbling an apology to Luke for being so rant-y. Is rant-y a word? I'm making it one.

Luke was just about to say something as his phone went off. His normally shaky hands reached into his pocket and grabbed for it without looking at it first. "Hello?...Oh, hey Brooke. Yeah, I'll call you when I get home....Where am I? Oh, over a new friends house? Yeah, that's where I am...Bye, babe."

He looked back over to me when his phone was back in his pocket, bringing his knees up to his chest. He does that a lot. It's quite adorable. "Sorry," his hands ran through his hair again as he mumbled. I looked at him curiously.

"Babe? Why wasn't I informed of this?" I joked, thinking back to when he asked me why I'd never mentioned Michael.

"Oh, I'm sorry - it didn't seem that important to mention to someone I've only known for about a week," he rolled his eyes as a teeth-filled smile was present on his lips, the sarcasm and mocking in his voice clear.

"But that's different, Michael's not my boyfriend."

His eyes almost flew out of their sockets. "Wait what?"

"Michael's not my-"

"I heard what you said. You talk about him like he is," he said, pulling out his - probably - already half-way-gone pack of cigarettes. He pulled out the oh-so familiar lighter and stood up.

"You know, smoking kills."

"Really? I thought it gave me the ability to fly."

"Maybe you've bought the wrong brand."

He laughed with a not yet lit cigarette in between his lips, me following him toward the back door. I've told him before that he could smoke in the basement if he wanted to. I don't know why he doesn't.

"I think I have."

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I ALREADY HAVE SOMETHIGN PLANN ED AND IM EMOTIONAL OVER IT AND ITS NOT EVEN GOING TO HAPPEN SOON BUt IVE ALREADY WRITTEN IT AHAHA GET READY FOR TEARS
we're finally going to school in the next chapter learn children leaRn