Proxy [l.h]

20. Betrayals and Breakups

We didn't say anything to each other but we both knew we were thinking of the same thing. Michael.

I thought of the times my best friend's face lit up when his girlfriend walked into the room, and the way his eyes shone whenever he talked about her.

It was the first time he'd settled down after our countless meetings with girls whose numbers he logged down as some sort of a record or achievement. But after he met Amber, only one number on his phone mattered. Sometimes, Ashton, Calum and I would tease him about how 'mushy' she'd turned him, but he just smiled without denying it.

One particular night, I'd snatched the leather wallet peeking from his pocket and opened the front flap, revealing inside a small cut-out photo of him and Amber. I waved it over my head, teasing, while Michael reached for it. Letting out a groan, he'd tackled me to the ground, and Calum and Ashton followed, until we'd all ended up in a dog pile. Buried underneath the three of us and incapable of movement, Michael couldn't do anything when I'd given him a mean Wet Willy, except screaming profanities at me.

I shook the memory away with guilt as I took Amber's hand in mine. It was too late now, anyway. I couldn't turn back, and I didn't want to.

"Ready?" I whispered before we took our first step.

"Yes," Amber said back.

+

I stared at the video on Michael's phone of our kiss in Times Square. Amber was shaking the whole time with discomfort and nervousness, but I was the opposite. I felt emotionless and cold, like a moving machine. The sound of the city surrounded us, but I could still hear the people around us mutter. I could feel their stares on my back.

"Is that Luke Hemmings?"

You could see that it was obviously staged in the fuzzy recording on Michael's phone - how Amber's hand was rigid on my arm and mine was too slack around her waist. But Michael didn't notice that. On the screen, I'd begun to deepen the kiss, my hand moving to the small of her back. Not wanting to relive the rest, I looked away, my lips pressed together.

I'd been in my hotel room with Amber at the time as she yapped on about the day's events and wondered when she could tell her dear boyfriend about what had happened. I was about to chase her out any second, when suddenly, we heard the front door slam shut. Amber scrambled into my walk-in closet at lightning-speed, quietly easing the doors shut. And I'd scrambled onto my bed, pretending to be busy on my phone with the dreadful knowledge of what was going to happen next. Just seconds later, Michael stormed into my room, grabbed a fistful of my shirt, and begun shoving his phone in my face with the Twitter-trending video on the screen.

"Why did you do it?" He asked angrily. "What the fuck is this, Luke?"

I hated myself for not even being able to look at him. Instead, I stared down at my blank phone screen.

"I can't say," I replied.

His hands shaking, Michael snatched my phone out of my hand so that I'd meet his eyes. He lifted it over his head as if to throw it across the room. But catching himself, he lowered his arm again. He took a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to relax.

"You're my best friend, Luke," Michael said softly, letting go of my shirt. "We never fight. I just want an explanation."

He stood over me at my bedside, his blue-green eyes looking at me soft and familiar. He waited for an answer. I almost gave in then, but then I remembered what Ben said, and my body was paralysed in fear.