The Stepbrother // Luke Hemmings

"how it feels"

"You done?" Luke questions from in front of me, laughing quietly. 

When I lift my head, he's is crouched down on the floor, collecting the fallen ice cubes and I stare at him; a bit exasperated. I mean, I get that he's trying to help me, but I'm not a baby, I could have easily gotten those up by myself.

Plus, him being so nice to me, does nothing but ruin the fact that I want to be mad at him. Not to mention the fact that it defeats the whole purpose me giving him a silent treatment, because now it just seems like I'm  the bitch.

"Hey, are you hungry?" He calls, "My dad said they were gonna be running a bit late, so I figured I could make us something."

I ignore him. I never even said I wanted to talk to him. Why is he talking to me? Jumping down from the bar stool, I grab the house phone off the table and hurry out of the kitchen.

Maybe if he doesn't see me, he won't think that it's a free invitation for us to be cool again. Because, without an apology that I've yet to get, it's not. Climbing the stairs to my room, I take a seat on my bed, and rub my makeshift ice pack around on my shoulder while I go through the call history on our landline until I recognizes Ashton's number.

I press call, and lay back on my bed, hoping that he answers.

Fortunately, he does, "You rang, Anastasia?" He says my name like it's pronounced 'ah-na-stah-see-uh', and I laugh.

"Let's stick with Annie, alright?"

"Why? I quite like your full name," he grumbles.

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Yeah, well you're saying it wrong. It's pronounced, 'ana-stay-zhuh'. Pretty much why my nickname is, Annie. Otherwise, it'd be like, Anna, or something."

There's a silent break, Ashton repeating it over quietly, and then he laughs, "Ooh! Well, I like the way I say it better."

"Whatever, do you know to drive?" I ask.

Ashton hesitates, "I don't have a car."

"Not what I asked," I squeeze ice pack down on my arm, shifting it into a more comfortable position, "Do you know how to drive?"