Ichor // Luke Hemmings

| 9 |

I stared at the note, unconsciously chewing the skin off my lips.

"For if you ever need someone to talk to and vice versa."

The note ended with his phone number. It was a kind sentiment, but I was on the fence over whether it would be acceptable for me to add his number to my contacts.

Technically, he and Tara had broken up, so I wasn't threatening his relationship, but in a way, it was still me going behind her back.

The fact that I didn't know whether Tara and I were friends or if we were just both Sloane's friends who were civil to each other complicated it even more.

As a friend, I could never keep in contact with her ex. But as merely a friend of a friend, surely there was no harm.

I decided I would add the number, but I would only contact him if I found it entirely necessary. I looked at the clock expecting it to have, shifted greatly from when I last looked, but it showed It had merely been a couple of minutes.

Today was the day before my birthday. I had expected the day to feel dreadfully long, but nothing would ever set me up for how irritating it was the whole day before your birthday.

I texted Sloane, asking her if she wanted to do something, watching as the read symbol appeared, followed by typing bubbles. "Sorry, can't :(" I sighed and looked around my room.

What could I do to pass the time? I had already phoned my mum this morning and had a lengthy conversation with her. So it wasn't like I could phone her again and talk to her.

I scrolled through my contacts, trying to think of who I could make plans with. I debated Tara, but I felt as though we had nothing in common to keep a conversation going when alone.

I stared at Luke's contact. He could probably use someone to talk to after his split with Tara. I quickly typed out the message, "Hi! Clever way to give me your number. Are you free to go for a walk or something? I'm extremely bored :(" I sent the text before I overanalysed the message and chickened out. I placed my phone down, deciding I would make myself a cup of tea while I waited for a response.

As soon as I got to the door of my bedroom my phone pinged and, I ran back to it, picking it up from where I had left it on my bed. "Sure, I just finished up at work. Meet at the park?" I smiled and sent, "Okay."

I hadn't anticipated him to reply so fast. I was still in my pyjamas. I swung open my wardrobe door and, grabbed the first jumper I saw and picked up the jeans I had worn the day before from the floor. I considered putting on some concealer and mascara, aware I looked exhausted from my unfortunate genetic eye bags. However, I didn't have time, so I would just have to brave, going out bare faced.

I threw on a coat, stuffed all my essentials into the pockets, put my headphones on and shot out the door.

I played the Little Women score. I always liked to pick a score that reflected the weather and scenery of my walks, and I felt that score perfectly encapsulated both.

*

We had walked around the park for a while, talking about the books and movies we had consumed recently before sitting down on a park bench.

"In loving memory of Anna Mason"

The gold plaque read. As morbid as it was to think, I had always hoped someone would do something like that for me when I passed.

"So I'm guessing Tara told you about her and me?" Luke began interrupting my thoughts. "Sloane told me... I'm sorry." I replied. Sending him a sympathetic look.

"Don't be sorry. I think we both sort of knew it was coming for months now," "It still hurts, don't get me wrong, but I think I already partially mourned the end a while back when-" He stopped.

"Sorry, I'm just not sure whether it's okay for me to tell people my side. I don't know what Tara's told everyone. Probably best to leave it." I watched as he picked at the broken skin on his thumb.

"It is better for the heart to break, than not to break," I said softly. Aware maybe it wasn't the wisest time to quote a poem.

His mouth curved into a smile, "The best way out is always through."

I tilted my head, trying to figure out who he was quoting "Ted Hughes?"

"What? No, it's Robert Frost!" He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief at my guess.

"I'm honestly not that familiar with Frost..." I admitted preparing him to ambush me.

"I can lend you some of his work. I think you would like it."

"Why have you got a notebook?" I inquired as I noticed the moleskin notebook tucked between his arm and torso. He glanced down at it, "It's where I write down lyrics and stuff that inspires me. I take it everywhere." He shrugged, passing it to me.

As much as I wanted to look inside, I felt it was a bit intrusive - I could imagine his lyrics being intensely personal.

"I think I'd rather hear you sing them than read them," I smirked, handing it back to him.