hatred {editing}

0.7

0.7 - Books

::Emily

"Hemmo?" I said, still blinded by the light of my phone, "What do you want? Why are you calling me? After what you did tonight, why should I be talking to you?"

Luke's got a lot of guts to talk to me after what he did tonight. I didn't even want to talk to him but, why I was still talking to him was beyond me.

"You're a girl right?" He asked, "You know how to handle these sort of situations."

"I'm hanging up-"

"Wait! Please just help me." He pleaded, "You are a girl right?"

"Are you trying to insult me? If you are it's not working." I said, "If you want my help think of less stupid questions to ask me."

"No, I need help." He said, "I actually need help."

"Yeah, you do need help, mental help." I joked, "Why don't you ask Michael or Calum or even Ashton for help? They probably have better advice than I do and I wouldn't trust myself with girl trouble even if I wanted to mess you up."

I might have been a little harsh to Luke at first but he'd do the same to me if I asked him something, not like I would ever ask him for anything.

"They wouldn't understand what I'm going through." He said, "They're guys, I'm dealing with a girl here."

"Why do you need a girl exactly?" I asked, "Can't you ask Hannah or something? She's a girl, right?" I waited in silence for Luke to respond.

"That's the thing." He said, "I need to talk to you about her."

"What do you mean?" I asked him, "Have you come to the realization that she's a terrible person? You know what, I told you not to go out with her and here you are asking me for help about her?" I only heard silence, not even breathing. "Hemmo you there? Hello? Hemmooo?"

Then the line went dead.

I put my phone down, confused about the situation. Why did Luke call me but then hang up on me if he wanted answers from me?

I simply shrugged it off. Luke's probably messing with me as he always does... I laid down on my bed, in sweats and a tank top and I walked to the bathroom to obviously go to the washroom.

I did my thing and washed my hands. Once I was done, I heard a knock on the door. "Mom?" I called, but no answer just kept knocking "Mom?" I repeated, but the knocks went faster.

I picked up a magazine from the drawer in the washroom, rolled it up and gripped on it. I went to the door and put my hand on the doorknob. I quickly opened the door and hit the first thing that came in front of me with the rolled up magazine.

"Ow!" It said, "Stop hitting me with that!"

I stopped, recognizing the voice. "Hemmo?" I asked, putting down the rolled up magazine. "What are you doing in my house? What are you doing here?" I furrowed my eyebrows and then walked further into my room.

He stood up and rubbed his head, where I hit him. He winced when he touched his head. "I was going to talk to you because the phone thing wasn't working for me and your mum told me that you were upstairs." He paused, "So here I am."

He started walking around my room and I was still curious as to what he was doing here. "This isn't your average teenage girls' bedroom." He said, "Well with from what I know."

"Why am I supposed to care about your opinion?" I snarled, "Why do you care anyways?"

"I'm not saying it's bad, I'm just saying it's different than I'm used to." He said, looking at my collage of Polaroid pictures and smiling at some of them. "I've known you all my life and I've never set foot in your room."