chapters → luke hemmings

one.

dedicated to lukeshemmo because five minutes makes me cry every five minutes ok
. . .

                           |   o n e   |

She was about to begin, to start letting all her emotions out through the tip of a pen, but her phone rang. She debated letting it go to voice mail, but knew if it was important she would regret it. Padding over to the kitchen counter, that was less than ten feet from her previous position, she slid the green arrow across the phone, placing it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked softly, turning so she was facing the window again. 

"Abby? It's mom," her mother smiled through the phone; she was worried about Abby. She hadn't been herself since they broke up.

"Hey," Abigail smiled slightly, it not quite reaching her eyes. She loved her mom, but ever since he left, her mom has been bugging her every day. 

"How are you?" her mom asked, concern laced in her voice.

"The same as I was yesterday," she answered, going to sit on her old couch. The cushions were ripped at the seams and the bright white was not so bright, but it was her couch, and even if not all of them were good, it held memories.

"Well, at least you're okay," Mrs. Jewell was not only worried for her daughter's well-being, but also for her life. Abigail had always been a happy girl, but recently she had lost her spark. Mrs. Jewell was scared for her daughter, hence the phone calls everyday and the tremor in her hand every time she dials her daughters number.

"Yeah," Abigail nodded, "Okay." She didn't really believe that herself, because she wasn't okay, far from it, actually. She just missed him, the ache in her chest always there, and hopefully, she thought, one day it will go away.

"Have you done anything recently?" her mom was curious; these past few weeks Abby shut her out, and she missed the closeness that they used to have.

"No," Abigail answered honestly; she was lucky she showered yesterday. "I gotta go, Mom. I'll talk to you later," Abby bit her pinky nail, feeling slightly guilty for cutting the conversation short, but they had the same one everyday, and it was getting old.

"Oh," Mrs. Jewell blinked quickly, trying to keep the burning behind her eyes from trickling out, "Okay, sweetie, I love you."

"You too," Abigail responded before hanging up. She sighed; she didn't like doing that to her mom, she just didn't have a choice.

Instead of pulling up netflix or grabbing a bag of doritos like she normally would, she walked back over to her nook and grabbed the journal. She pulled her plaid blanket off the couch and fluffed her overstuffed pillow, settling herself onto her bed, pushing her overly large framed glasses on her nose and picking up the pen; maybe she could get inspired. 

After glancing around the room aimlessly for fifteen minutes, she remembered what her tenth grade creative writing teacher told her. Write what you know. Those four words brought back memories, happy and sad, but one stood out the most; the day she met him. Within seconds, her brown eyes widened, falling down to the blank page on her lap. 

Chapter One, she enjoyed the sound of the scratching pen on paper as she began, My Purpose.

The day my life was given a meaning was the day I met you. I'm not trying to sound crazy or obsessed, but I am telling the truth. Up til that day, the beautiful, sunny March 5, 2013, I didn't know why I was here. But meeting you, instantly I knew; I was here to love you and you were here to love me, simple as that. The sad truth is, however, that people's purposes change, the get a new haircut or new job and their first purpose is gone, just like the cool breeze.