Love Me {Sequel To Last Hope}

Chapter Eight-Lingerie

"My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed." - Juliet Capulet, Romeo & Juliet

T E L L I E

By the end of my first week in London I was ready to fall off the edge of a cliff and never have to open my eyes again. I was stuck trying to not remember that I was so pathetic my own mother faked her death twice, so she wouldn't have to deal with me, and I tried to act like I wasn't completely freaking over the bruise on my cheek. Because there was a bruise on my cheek. Purple light bruising skin where you could the outline of a handprint. It didn't look that bad with cc cream on it, but I couldn't completely get rid of it without caking make up on like a prostitute.

I laid in bed letting the sun rise, staring out my window and seeing the top of the buildings of London. Monday mornings weren't as dreaded as they used to be the last Monday I woke up here. I wasn't scared of school, or of really anything that would happen in day-not majorly anyway. I wanted to stay in my bed all day and not try to keep myself thinking of everything that had happened in a single week.

A god damn week in this fucking city and I was ready to go to sleep for the next fifty years.

My phone rang on the bedside table; it had been ringing all of yesterday but u hadn't been bothered to even check who was calling. After being forced into explaining to dad about when I had gotten the letter, and every form of contact I had had with Phoebe since all I wanted to do was sleep away my life. I couldn't think of any other to distract myself besides sleeping.

My phone stopped. And the morning noise began. It was probably around seven or so, because I could hear the shower running in dad's bathroom. My phone began to ring again, and I waited it out, just watching the sun over the city. My phone began again, and this time, I groaned, reaching my hand over and grabbing it.

"It's like seven in the morning." I said without even checking who it was. 

"I've been calling you for three days." I sat up at Zach's voice, gulping, wearily holding my phone to my ear. "What the hell have you been doing?"

"Are we still fighting?" I asked. I sounded tired; I felt tired; my heart was begging to pound at the idea of a distraction.

"I don't know." He said shortly. "I guess I shouldn't worry to much about what you said... Because you were mad and your you... I talked to Cassie. She's... She's sorry about what she put on Twitter and she promised to well un-confirm our no existent relationship... She just wanted in on the publicity."

I wanted to believe him. But that voice inside my head was saying that it made no sense. But I needed a distraction. I craved anything and everything I could use to distract myself besides sleeping my summer away. "I didn't tell anyone about the stuff they wrote by the way. And if you think I did just hang up."

"I never thought it was you." Zach said bluntly.

"You did."

"Maybe at first." He admitted. "Look can we just pretend it never happened...? I can try and sort out the rumours and that... But I just... I'm sorry I got the way I did and I just... You just got back from New York; I've missed you. And I mean really miss you." He urged. "Can you come over tonight or something? We can talk it all and again you know, I missed you. And I love you. And you know what I mean when I really miss you right?"

I decided just to go with it. I was tired and I had cried at night and I wanted to have something to focus on. "So your forgiving me because your horny?" It was meant to be sarcastic I think. I wasn't sure. I didn't think he needed to forgive me anyway. I was never the one to apologise; saying sorry was mostly being weak.