Stay (Punk Luke Hemmings)

Chapter 3

"Maybe you should calm down." Chase seems concerned, voice tinged with worry.

"Maybe I should throw the next shoe at your head." I snap, tossing another article of clothing with unnecessary force into my biggest suitcase, following the pair of shoes I had recently thrown in with violence.

Raising his eyebrows, Chase walks over to me, placing his hands on my shoulder with a gentleness that contradicts his next words.

"Maybe you should get the fuck over it."

Right. It feels like I've been slapped, and it clears my mind of the clouding rage and dread.

"You still need to work on your bedside manner." I pull away from Chase, but with considerably less venom in my voice than before.

Chase grins. "You don't keep me around to be sugary sweet."

"No, I definitely don't." I mutter, crawling under my bed to retrieve the match of a shoe I'd been looking for.

"Look, I know you're really not looking forward to this, but you need to accept it. It's part of your job." Chase continues to watch me pack with a look of half amusement, half concern.

To say I wasn't looking forward to being the official reporter on my ex boyfriend's lengthy world tour was an understatement. Childishly, with no shame, I was dreading it. I'd spent 2 years avoiding Luke Hemmings and all the memories he brought up, and now all that effort was going to be blown up in my face. He was my biggest heartbreak, and I had thrown a tarp over my feelings, hiding them from view, never to actually fix or face or really even think about.

"I'm starting to rethink this whole 'I love this job' thing." I morosely mutter as I fold my favorite dress and place it in the case.

"Oh, Andy, grow up. You'll do fine. You'll go in, do your job, have fun on an international tour with all expenses paid, blow his mind and maybe break his fucking jaw, and you'll come back just fine. This is a chance for you to get over him, once and for all." Chase reminds me, helping me fold clothes now.

I lean into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, and wish, for the millionth time that we could have made it as a couple. That we could have had that steady perfect love people say follows your wild and passionate first. He wraps his arm around me, leaning his head on mine, and squeezes me tightly, and I know he's thinking the same thing.

Chase and I had given it a go, we had really tried. We'd gone on a awkward few dates, made out, done a bit more than make out, gone on another bad date, we had tried to make us work. We worked well together, understood each other, had made amazing friends, but that was it. We were just friends. Our relationship was more like brother and sister, and after finally admitting it to ourselves, we'd fallen back into our previous easy relationship where he took care of me and I took care of him, no sexual or romantic tension at all. If there had been that passion, we would have been fine together. But there wasn't. And now we were okay with that.

Entering the room with her usual flare, Rose stomps in, holding up a dress triumphantly. She barely registers the way Chase and I are holding each other, dropping her key to my apartment on the table.

"I found it!" She squeals, gesturing to the dress.

The dress is short, very short, black, and sheer. It's sexy, far too sexy to belong in my bag for a work trip where Rose is tucking it.

"Why are you putting that in my bag?" I'm almost scared of the answer.

"Don't look at me like that. You're not going to be working 24/7 on this trip, you're gonna have times when you need to go out and have fun. This dress, though, is for when you want to make him suffer."