How Did We Get Here // Luke Hemmings & Zayn Malik

Chapter 13: Its Church

After a few hours watching movies, Arlene went home. I was left alone in my house again. Everything stood still. Only the sound of the wind swaying outside in the night's breeze. The sun started to fade. I tidied up the living room and kitchen. As I washed our plates, I peeked outside the kitchens window, outside to the little back yard. Since we've arrived, I haven't explored much of anything. I saw a little swing set by the wood fence. Two lonely swings creaking. I turned the faucet and stared outside.

When I was little, we used to own a swing set with a slide and monkey bars attached. Once we got older, we gave it away to our neighbors across the street. That play set was my most favorite place in the world. Mother and father played with us. You never suspect after all those years of enjoyment, would be ruined by divorce. Mother tore this family apart.

I left the kitchen and entered the living room. I turned on the lamp and once the room lit, it didn't feel like my home. The only thing that I brought to England from home was the statue dog we kept by the garden that was now sitting next to the T.V. cabinet. Everything else was new. There were no picture frames of our past life, no familiar objects occupying the living room.

I sat on the single couch and looked at my phone. There was a missed text message 10 minutes ago from Luke. I slide the screen to reply

'Hey.'

Two minutes later my phone ringed, I slide the screen to read the message from Luke replying;

'Emma!'

'Luke!'

'Did you miss me?'

'Yes! Of course, all I did was think about you.'

'Creep.' I bite my lip, preventing me from laughing aloud.

'It's true, I was wondering how the eulogy came along.'

'Oh, yeah well see when I started to write the first two words "Emma Johnson..." I realized I don't know you at all.'

'What a shocker.'

'It's true. We need to change that because then the eulogy would be so fabulous that all the other dead bitches would envy you.'

'Really? So poetic I see.'

'I'm very poetic for your information. When I was seven I wrote my mom a poem for mother's day, she cried. Best shit I've written since.'

'Oh yeah what did you write?'

'Roses are red, violets are blue, and you make my bed so I love you too.' I reacted too fast, causing my laughter fill the empty house, almost making me feel like mental.

'Oh Luke you're poetic, so romantic!'

'See. I flourish with talents like you have no idea.'

'Yup, I have no clue.'

'So, what you doing?'

'Nothing. Just sitting in my living room.'

'Wow, you're a bore.'

'Wow, you're a mommy's boy.'

'What?'

'Oh sorry I thought we were stating the obvious.'

'Oh that burns.'

'That's why it's called a "burn" Luke.'