art geek ⌽ hemmings

⌱ 0.9

Hallie

It didn't take that much convincing on Luke's behalf -at all, really- for Hallie to conclude that she was in love with him (again). She was at constant debate if he ever thought about feeling the same way, too. Though, Hallie didn't really care. It felt as if every instant thought of Luke instigated an efflorescence of every emotion imaginable yet nothing at all, otherwise what Hallie had imagined her version of love to feel like (she had never really loved anyone before, except Jon Bon Jovi). She mentally punched herself in the stomach as if it were possible to rid of the butterflies (no, more like pterodactyls) in her stomach. Jesus.

It was Saturday night and Hallie was sat on her bedroom floor, somewhat attempting to sketch out a reasonable backdrop for Miss Greere. She'd been attempting to do so for three hours. But all Hallie could manage herself to think about was Luke. Her pencil didn't want to cooperate with her creative flow at all, either.

Hallie stared at the blank sheet from her sketchbook -that lay amongst a sea of coloured pencils- and scrunched up pieces of previously used paper. She sighed, wondering what Luke was doing right now, if he was thinking of her. Which he more than likely wasn't.

She didn't even care that much about Miss Greere's production, anyway. I could always do it Sunday night, right? Hallie thought. She reached for her phone and dialled Violet's number, making sure to put her on speaker.

"So I heard you and Hemmings had a little bit of a sleepover." Violet greeted from the other line. Cue pterodactyl  eruption.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks for dropping off my things by the way. But, um ..." Hallie swallowed the colossal lump in her throat. She felt like she could die (then again, it was becoming more frequent of an emotion). Fucking hell.

"I think I love him, Vi. I think ... I feel like every time I see him, the chorus of Me and You by Fall Out Boy is playing in the background." She tried to laugh, anything to cover up the fact that her cheeks were redder than ever and possibly sweating, Hallie hated it. And she was positive Violet would assure it, even on speaker-phone.

"Hals, you say it as thought it's something I don't know." Hallie was on the verge of biting a hole in the side of her cheek. She only wished she was back at Luke's house, wearing his Cage shirt, tiresomely kissing at each other's neck as if to pretend Luke was at least a little bit sober. She wanted him.

To Hallie, Luke was a lot of things. He was like all the food groups in one breakfast, like the same cologne he always wore. He was like turning up to The Agora and seeing the floors had been polished overnight. He was like a cliff's edge, always ready to leave Hallie hanging over the edge.

He was also far from even wanting to feel vice versa, too.

"Ugh, please don't tell Michael." Hallie pleaded, picking at the skin around her nails. She really felt like she could die now (she felt like she could die lots of times when she thought of Luke) even if she was only talking to Violet. It could be worse, Hallie thought. Ashton could appear at this moment. Luke could appear at this moment. Luke could be at Michael's house right now and overhear this conversation. She could have to stand up at the front of the school auditorium and declare her love for Luke in front of the entire student body. The possibilities circulated around Hallie's head like a goldfish in a tank. Hallie sighed the most melancholic sigh she could conjure and collapsed on her bed's aspen white sheets. What was she even thinking?  Of course she was stupid enough to even contemplate confessing her love for Luke. She didn't even want to think about what she would say in the process.