It's been two days since we met Jamie's favorite girl band. They were nice. Jamie still hasn't gotten over their appearance. I was a little shocked that they would do something like that for her.
So much for not living a fanfiction, eh?
I sit on the counter of the store, smiling like an idiot. It's strange, but today feels fresh and new. There's also a small hope of being alone today, and collecting myself. Jamie's gone out with Lou, and the others are... somewhere else? I have no idea. I love hanging with them, I really do. But it's so nice just to have a day. I grab my laptop off the ground, and check Tumblr. The One Direction fandoms are wondering where their boys are. Huh. I thought that they'd've known by now. I guess I know, but I would never tell any-
Oh. My. God. A picture pops up on my screen as I check my email. Me, Jamie, Niall, Zayn, Louis, Liam, and, Harry at the cafe. I check the address. Jeremy. That little whore. I email him back:
What the hell?
He responds immediately, calling me on video chat.
"Go out with me," he says as soon as I accept.
"What?"
"Go. Out. With. Me."
"No," I say, in a 'duh' tone.
"Well, I can just post this on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Blogger, Instagram, DevianArt, Pinterest, Gifboom, Snapchat, Google+, Vine, Cinama Gram, 8tracks, even Myspace.
"You still use Myspace?"
"'Course not."
"Uh huh. Look, I'm not going out with you."
"Well, I'll just log on to Twitter, and-"
"Alright!"
"Alright, what?" he asks with a smirk.
"Alright." I take and awful shaky breath. "I'll go out with you."
A plan forms in my mind.
"Alrighty then, Babe. Talk to you soon." I say.
"Wait! We're going out tomorrow, so wear something... delicious."
Ew.
"Okay." God, when can I stop talking to him."
"Alright, Honey, I'll see you soon." He blows me a kiss, and hangs up.
That's it? No blackmail if I tell someone? I guess he wouldn't know. One thing I learn about a boy like Jeremy is that his head is like a hollow melon, he's so utterly idiotic. For some odd reason, I decide not to ask Jamie for help. We've gone through things like this before, when we don't want eachother's help. 'Sides, she's hanging out with Louis.
I get off the counter, and go to the closet. When I open the door, I see it. It's strange to play, or even own really, but I love it. A lute. My mother could play, and taught me how. I pretty dang cool, really. I play it when I need a plan, or just to clear my head. It's not helpful when I'm hurt emotionally, though. That's what the razor in my drawer was for. Sorry.
I strum the lute while I sit on top of the counter in the store.
What to do?
The door chimes.
"We're closed!" I yell, not looking up from the strings.
"Is that a lute?" a Bradford accent asks.
"Yes."
"And you're playing it...?
"No," I say sarcastically, as he hops onto the counter. I strum the strings. He's close.
"You're like a book character, you know"
"How so?" I ask.
"You do all these interesting things, and you've got men admiring you, you've got a nice personality..." He trails off.
"Zayn," I say, "no offense, but you don't really know me. We've talked once of twice, and we text, but I'm not all that..." I search for a word. "Special. My life, It's pretty boring. I mean, It's not- And everything is kinda sucky in it-"
"What? I don't believe that. Name one thing that sucks."
'The boy I hate is blackmailing me to date him, and my mom's dead, and I'm stuck in Normal, I'm living a fanfiction- which is nice, but I hate it because it's too much, and you're in trouble.' I almost tell him.
"My dad's left town," I decide.
"Well, it can't be that bad. I mean It's not like you're never going to see him again."
"But what if I don't? He's my only parent left - the last time one of my parent's left, she came back in a coffin."
I've never realized how scared I really am. Or did I just push it back of my mind so often, it was like I never even thought about it. But now, sitting here, letting it pour out, I do realize. I'm terrified. I take a deep breath, and wipe an angry tear off my cheek.
"You're mom... What happened?"
"She went to war."
"She went to war."
"She died in action?"
"She died the day she got back, getting breakfast in New York." I swallow back tears. I don't want to feel weak.
"Oh."
"Yeah, It's okay, really."
"Alright, so what else sucks?" He tries steering away from that subject.
"I need your help," I blurt, "and it's not suckish, but I need your help. Badly."
"I'm in. Whaddya need?"
"Well, you remember Jeremy, right?"
