"I can't take this,"
"Sophie, you have to."
"I don't have to. I could just leave it here,"
"For some sad old senior to pick up and use for campfire fuel tonight? You're funny. Take the damn book already, Hayes,"
"Don't be so..." I watch as Chase flips obsessively through a small dictionary in his hand, his eyebrows pulling into a frown as his eyes land on the right word, "...Ma'arte?" [Finnicky/Dramatic] "Ashton left it here for you for a reason,"
"Did you just try to speak Filipino?" Ashley asks. He shrugs.
"I tried to."
"I can't take it. It's not mine, and it isn't even Ashton's,"
"So the fuck what?" Ashley rolls her eyes, almost successfully swiping the book of off the table. I yank it towards me quickly, my refusal at letting her have it shining through, "It's a poetry book, Sophie. It's not like it holds all the secrets of the universe, or whatever,"
"Probably just scribbles on how to become super, mega-rich," Chase notes playfully, and together they laugh. I can't help but hold back. "Seriously. You've always hinted that you'd like to take a peak in Luke's mind every now and again. Now's your perfect chance,"
"I have never said that. Not even once," I frown. He shrugs.
"You've hinted it,"
"Look, the point is, we've got an asshole's Tumblr-aesthetic-worthy book in the middle of us, and it's probably filled with shit he has to say about other people," Ashley notes, slapping her palms on the metal surface, "It's now or never!"
"It wouldn't be right," I say, "It's not my book, you guys. And just because Ashton gave it to me to have a look through doesn't mean Luke even knows about it,"
They squint their gazes at me, evidently confused. "And why does that matter?" Chase questions me, dumbfounded.
I carry on, "I've seen him in the coffee shop, with his head down and his pen ready. He writes so much that he loses himself. He probably forgets where he is half of the time, he's so out of it. And when Sadie comes by, he snaps it shut like nothing ever happened,"
"You've lost me," Ashley states. Chase nods in agreement.
I roll my eyes, unzipping my backpack before subtly sliding the book inside, "I'm not going to read it, or even look through it. It's his privacy,"
"Privacy he probably doesn't give a shit about if he's willing to let you read it,"
"That's the thing. Ashton probably took it without him knowing," they both raise they eyebrows, though it's pretty evident where my morals are and how they probably won't change. They simply aren't around Luke as much as I am- regardless of it not being intentional- so they just simply wouldn't know.
He writes obsessively, looking up only for air and the occasional glance in the distance to gather a few more ideas. He writes until his hands are hurting and even then, I've never once seen him stop. Luke Hemmings pours his feelings out through pen on paper and to read that would be entering a space in his mind in which I know I'm not permitted.
Maybe I'm overreacting. I probably am. But there's something about the way I've seen him clutch the edges, something about the worn out pages that have long since folded into each other, that tells me I'm not.
I know Luke, and I have a good sense of who he actually is already. And who knows? There might be a side to him that nobody's ever seen before, tucked away safe and sound in a book by Rupi Kaur; scribbled haphazardly in between the lines, no doubt. But to find that out though his apparent best friend's sneaking-around just wouldn't be right.
So I don't.
I get back to the dorm, refusing to even acknowledge the fact that I have a part of him in my bag, and settle underneath the covers. I turn all the lights on and play some random mainstream TV show on my laptop, my phone in my hand as I scroll absentmindedly through all my social medias.
Most of it's boring, with the occasional picture of a province in the Philippines that my distant relatives have visited recently popping up and causing me to double-tap. Other posts are of celebrities; D-list to A-list to No-list, wannabes that I follow for the sole purpose of following. Their pictures of unopened Prosecco bottles and overpriced diamond chokers also earn a like, one that I know will go unnoticed, before I continue my scrolling with a stoic face.
There are pictures of freshman, of boys and girls like me, right in the midst of their intiation tasks. There are girls with their lips on Michael, on Calum, some even on Ashton; every plausible thought of the guys possibly having girlfriends thrown out of the window for the pathetic excuse of 'it's for education'. To some extent, it makes me sick.
I don't like any of them. I refuse to. I just keep on scrolling, knowing wholeheartedly that I'll have to do the exact same thing at some point.
Luke hasn't had a party this weekend, at least not one that's been properly announced. I've heard that most of the time, people show up uninvited anyway; whether it's because of assumption or false information, it's rare that he ever turns them away. Though now, it's clear that he has- pictures of body shots and videos of intense beer pong games in his million-dollar penthouse have yet to show up on my timeline.
I'm not afraid to admit that the absence of those very pictures worry me.
For some reason, guilt starts to sink in my stomach. I know it's not my fault, and this is a problem that can be easily fixed in the morning, but I can't stop myself from overthinking; knowing that his book is in my possession isn't exactly the best thought to have.
I sigh, poking my head out from under the covers and squinting in the direction of my backpack.
It's exactly where I left it, untouched and innocent-looking from the outside, though I know it's something much bigger than that. Behind those zips is a guy's thoughts, somebody's diary within somebody elses words. Thinking about it causes a shiver to run down my spine, so I turn my head to look at the clock.
11:34pm.
I narrow my gaze at it even more, as if by doing so, it'll make time go back. If it was five hours earlier, I'd spring out of bed with no hesitation and march right up to Luke's luxury penthouse suite; his book in my hand, my head held high. Or I'd probably chicken out and get somebody else to do it for me, preferably someone he likes just so I can spare both of us the grief. Either way, I'd be getting rid of something that isn't mine and returning it to the rightful owner, therefore resulting in a clear mind for the rest of the night and nothing to worry about when I wake up tomorrow morning.
But it's not five hours earlier, and it's actually very nearing midnight, and my head will be held anything but high when I approach Luke's door due to the sole fact that I am terrified. Not of him, exactly, but because of how strange it would look to give him back something that I had no right to have in the first place; if looks could kill, I'd probably be a carcass on the floor even after giving him the book back. The aftermath to a mind-murder that I have no doubts will take place once he finally wrenches it out of my hands.
Groaning, I duck back under the covers.
I'll give it back to him. Maybe not now, maybe not even first thing tomorrow- but I will.
Somehow. I can't just keep it, even if Ashton had the intention of taking it back sometime in the future. I have to get it back to—
"Sophie?"
My train of thought is interrupted, and I freeze in my blanket fort.
Suddenly, there's a loud pounding on the door leading into my dorm and as I lift my head up to peer out, the knocking continues; as well as the loud roar within the voice that accompanies it.
"Who is it?" I call, puzzled as I slowly lift the duvet off of my body. There's no coherent reply; just constant banging, and an agitated voice.
"Sophie!"
I'm quick to jump out from under the covers, a million thoughts racing through my mind, all of them different and all of them doing a relatively awful job at keeping me sane. And I don't know why, but a bundle of anxiety forms at the bottom of my throat at the mere thought of having to socialise so late at night; I actually find myself dreading answering whoever's at the door.
"Just a minute," I call confusedly, though I know I'll be far longer.
"Open the fucking door!"
Again, I freeze.
It's not a girl, ruling Chloe and Ashley and even Bethany out entirely. It's a deep voice, a voice with an accent and a tone that is far different to that of Michael's; it's not Calum's or Chase's, either. I've only known them for a short while, but even I know that that's not what they sound like.
That only leaves two people, and I'm sincerely hoping for the one who slid me the book to begin with- it would make perfect sense as to why I have it, then. But a part of me knows it's not Ashton, no matter how hard I try to tell myself it is as I hurriedly motivate myself to look decent enough to answer the door.
They sound far too angry- far too perplexed- to be Ashton Irwin.
"Sophie Hayes!"
➢
;););););););)
fIrsT IntEraCttiON BECAUSE DADDY'S SENSITIVE
I love you all! Thank you so much for reading. Yous mean the world to me and I hope you have a lovely day! Take care :-)
-M xxx