Pretty Girls ⇼ Luke Hemmings

Virgin Mary.

"A pretty boy is nothing if he has an ugly attitude," Luke laugh loudly as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Well, pretty girls are nothing if they can't hold their liquor," he shot back, staring down at me. I felt so vulnerable in this moment. Like at any second, he could ruin me.

"I can too hold my liquor," I defended myself, knowing that probably wasn't true. Luke raised an eyebrow.

"I bet you're one of those girls who gets really horny when they're drunk but won't give out." My eyes widened at his brash words.

"I am not!" I don't know what came over me, but my voice was loud. Much louder than he or I anticipated.

"Sure looked that way when Ashton's hands were all over you," he smirked. I could tell that he found amusement in my uncomfortability.

"I let him buy me a drink, I had no control of him putting his hand there," I huffed. "And besides, I wanted to tell him to move it," I don't know why I was trying to prove myself to him.

"I'm just testing your purity and faith," Luke's eyes were wild and I wanted to stand up and slap him, but I didn't.

"Well, that is none of your business," I told him, and I meant it. Who was he to judge me?

"Just saying. You shouldn't let a guy buy you a drink if you're not going to fuck him," I clenched my jaw at his words. What I do with my body is my choice.

"Boys like you are so entitled!" I snapped, standing up. The tips of our shoes were touching and with the added height of my heels, he still towered over me. A smirk plastered on his face. "You always think someone owes you something. Well guess what, they don't," he laughed. I couldn't tell whether or not he was laughing at me, but I was getting frustrated.

"Calm down, Virgin Mary," he mocked. "I don't think anyone owes me anything," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "You know you don't belong here, right?" He changed the topic. "Just because Lea likes you for some reason doesn't mean you belong at my parties, with my friends," when I didn't respond, he stepped closer to me. In a nervous action, I stepped backwards, hitting the wall. Our shoe tips connected again.

"Valerie, Valerie, Valerie." He tsked, his breath was hot against my face and had a lingering scent of mint mixed with tobacco. "You don't fit in. We don't need some Jesus freak cramping our style," his voice held a hint of threat. My breath was caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say, but I certainly wasn't a Jesus freak. The only reason I went to church and catholic schools was because my parents made me. It was never my decision.

"I'll stop coming around when I stop getting invited," I challenged in a bold move.

"Then I'll make sure they stop pitying you," his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Did they really pity me? Was that why they invited me? Was that why they were being so nice? "Did you really think they wanted to be your friend?" He laughed as if he read my mind. "They want to dress you up like this, get you drunk, and humiliate you," he threatened, his eyes scanning down my body. I felt so small compared to him.

"That's not true," I defended. "I know when people pity me, and this is not the case," I refused to believe it. "The only one who is trying to humiliate me is you," his eyes narrowed, a mocking smile formed on his face.

"You make it so easy," he whispered, his breath hitting my face.

I didn't know what to say. Or do, for that matter. I was angry beyond belief and if I stood here any longer, I felt I could do something stupid, like smack that dumb look off his face.

"I am going back inside," I waited for him to step away and when he didn't, I pushed past him. He was quick to grab my wrist and pull me back to face him.