luna. luke hemmings.

chapter forty five.

But, I had planned one thing. It just relied on a single determinent: Luke taking me back. My brain told me that it shouldn't be an issue, that a week wouldn't significantly change the way he felt about me. Yet my heart ached at the thought that things had changed, that everyone had just moved on and stopped caring. I just had to hope. Hope that finally my life might start to see some light; that my garden would start to grow.

Maybe I should figure out how I'm going to reappear tomorrow. I glanced at my phone, face down and completely dead on the coffee table where it had been since it died two days ago. I could start leaving breadcrumbs, let the 'active now' symbol pop up on social media for a minute so they'd know I was alive and most likely lurking.

I wonder if there were any sad concerned posts about me made on social media by people pretending to care. All the people who called me a weirdo, a lunatic, posting their prayers and hopes for my safe return. All the fake people hoping for an easy like and share because it appeared they cared. That they are good people, when they're not.

Alexis Taylor had probably posted a selfie on her Instagram, maybe if she was nice enough with a bad angle of me unintentionally photobombing the image far in the background. She wouldn't tag me but it would be captioned 'thoughts and prayers for luna, i know we never saw eye to eye but i hope you're okay x' followed by various hashtags #instabaddie, #instafamous, #followme. She doesn't care about me, she just cares about the attention: the two thousand likes and various comments from strangers who've noticed that I've never been on her feed before, but won't say anything about it, and will just pass on their thoughts in hopes of being noticed.

That's the problem with this flea-ridden couch. When I sit here alone my brain starts to think for itself, takes me off to places I don't want to go. I'm more negative, but at the same time I feel it's important to filter through it before I go back. Understanding the negative will make me appreciate the positive more. Or so I hope.

I plugged my phone in, and the second it spluttered awake I was bombarded with buzzes that were battling each other to be heard. Five hundred and eighty-nine unread messages and calls. Nearly six hundred tries of contact in literally two days. Forty-eight hours. Either something had gone terribly wrong or I was just severely missed.

As I deleted the notifications and cleared my phone a bit the door handle rattled. I turned around and watched as the door opened and Jacks blond tuft peaked through the increasing gap.

"Jack?"

Oh fuck. The blond tuft didn't belong to Jack. It belonged to the youngest Hemmings brother; the one I'd been hiding from for a week. The one I wasn't quite ready to see just yet.

I fell onto the floor and got on all fours, hiding behind the couch and watching from the corner as Luke closed the door behind him.

"Hello? You home? The doors unlocked."

My eyes followed Luke as he breezed through the living space, peering into the kitchen before spinning on his heels and heading down the small hallway that lead into the bedrooms.

"Jack? Did you fall asleep on the toilet again dude?"

As he shoved his head into the bathroom I scrambled across the carpet and into the kitchen. If I wasn't nearly 6 foot I could squeeze into a cupboard, but instead I quickly got onto my feet and slipped in between the fridge and the wall. The only way Luke would see me here was if he was to get something out of the fridge, which now thinking about it seemed like something he was likely to do. Fuck.

Maybe he'd just leave, locking the door behind him and sending a quick text to Jack to let him know he stopped by. There could be a totally plausible reason as to why Jack didn't lock his door, like who would enter a highly secure apartment complex and travel up to Jacks floor explicitly. It's not like several people shared the same level. It was probably very safe to have unlocked doors here.