Chapter Five

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Chapter Five:

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Chapter Five:

Luke: Are you going to come down and eat breakfast with your loving family or continue to be rude and ignore us?

My phone vibrates on my desk in front of me, the message mocking me as I glance down. Pausing my doodling for a second, I contemplate on whether I should send a really sweet, witty message back or just give him the plain, dead expected silence. I stare down at the drawings on my paper—small, purple flowers, each with six petals—that I spent two hours working on. Since I'd woken up at 5:30 this morning and struggled to go back to sleep, drawing was something to pass the time.

Opting for the latter, I throw my phone across the room, and my bed catches it. I return to my doodles. I'm half-dressed for school, half still in my pyjamas. The bottom part of me is covered with my black school trousers and the top part of my body is still in my lavender polka-dotted night shirt. Five minutes seem to fly by, there's a knock at my door. Whoever knocked doesn't wait for me to open it, they shove the door open two seconds later. I circle around in my spinny chair to see Luke standing against the door frame with a plate in his hand.

"Mum says you have to eat. If you aren't eating because we're down there, then she's made it that much easier for you. See, she got me to bring up food for you," he lifts up the plate, showing me.

I take a deep breath in and nod.

He walks over to me and shifts some of the books and pencils from the wooden desk, making room for the food. When he puts it in front of me, I see what she has made me: mixed colourful fruits nicely cut and placed around a croissant on the ceramic plate. The fruits are arranged so the small pieces of grapes first circle the warm croissant, followed by the circular shape of red strawberries, and lastly, the bright green kiwi. I take one of the strawberry slices and pop it in my mouth. Strawberries are one of my favourite fruits. The tangy sweetness overpowers my lips.

I look back and acknowledge that Luke is still standing behind me, and he's staring at me. He's messing with his dark hair, running his fingers through it and has taken off his grey beanie to inspect it. He does it often when he's bored out of his mind and wants distraction, or when he's worried about something and needs something to mess with in his hands. His eyes move to me and he hurriedly puts his hat back on and readjusts his red T-shirt, the one that has the word 'Devil' stamped on it. He squeezes my shoulders, giving me an apologetic sad sort of smile.

He sighs deeply, "JJ. Please. . ."

I look down at the floor, staring at the round, purple paint stain on my carpet. I'm unable to look up. Meeting his eyes, which are most likely filled with guilt and regret, is something I don't want to see.

"Please. I'm really sorry about this. This is going to be so hard on you."

I still don't look up to meet his blue eyes

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