Hate/Luke Hemmings Fanfiction

11

I didn't stop Michael, because, well it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Michael's lips were so soft and gentle; his hands rested on my face, his thumbs smoothed over my cheeks. It was different than kissing Luke; the situation seemed more romantic somehow, sitting on chairs in my kitchen with my parents out of town. Like a movie, almost.

Michael pulled away slightly, leaving my lips tingling with energy. "Taylor?"

"Hm?" I hummed, my eyes still closed.

"I like you,"

The familiar words brought me back to Luke's similar declaration not long before.

"Michael ..." I stood up, shaking my head. What was I doing? Was that okay? Did I like that? What was right and wrong? I couldn't think straight.

A knock on my door followed by the creak of it being opened took me out of my train of thought. 

"Taylor?"

"Son of a-" I cursed under my breath. "I'm in here, Luke."

I turned to see a panicked look on Michael's face, and I brought my pointer finger to my lips, silently telling him not to bring up what we had shared to Luke.

"You forgot your dress so I though I'd-" Luke stopped in his tracks when he walked into the kitchen as he saw Michael sitting; he tried to continue his sentence as if we couldn't tell he paused. "I thought you might want it."

He held my small dress in his outstretched arm, his eyes flickering between me and Michael.

"Thank you," I took the fabric from Luke's hand. "Michael was just leaving, because I have to ... take a shower."

Michael stood up abruptly, the chair making a deep scraping noise as he pushed it back. "Yeah, I was."

"Thanks again, Luke." I said, implying I wanted him gone along with Michael.

He nodded his head and began walking backwards towards my front door. "Call me, babe."

My cheeks flushed at the use of his nickname for me around Michael, again. I put a smile on my face and waved, walking into the bathroom, hoping he got the message.

The sound of the front door shutting was my signal that both Luke and Michael had left. I turned the shower faucet to the right to begin warming the water I was about to step into. The small mirror that hung on my bathroom wall began to fog as I stripped my clothes off my body.

The cold left my skin immediately as I stepped into the water, rinsing my face and hair in an attempt to cleanse my mind.

The house was quiet, but my thoughts were loud. Luke? Michael? What do I want? What can I want? Do I want anything?

Was Luke just a one-time weekend fling? When he said, "Call me, babe.", did he really want me to call him again? Do I want to call him? 

Do I like Michael in that way? How would I feel if he kissed me again? Should I call him?

Would it be easier if I just forgot about everything?

That seemed like a wonderful solution to my problems, just ignore the fact that they're there. I grabbed a magazine off of my bedside table and began to read it, the first page displaying a Marc Jacobs advertisement, oddly displaying a thin woman in a silver pantsuit. I envied her body; her protruding bones mesmerized me. 

I looked down at my body in disgust and decided after all the pizza I ate today, I didn't need to eat dinner.