Runaway. || Luke Hemmings

Chapter 11

I looked around quickly and noticed there was a guitar in the corner of the little space we were in. It leaned against the wall, held stable by a tiny wooden stool with a black ripped folder sitting on top of it, a couple of pencils and sheets of paper lying loose. The guitar case lay open on the floor and I looked over at Luke, he was sat down beside me, but there was just the right distance between us. But then again, I felt as if I was missing something when he wasn't right beside me. I felt cold.

"You play?" I asked, nodding to the instrument.  He shrugged and glanced over, and then opened his mouth and closed it again, and then opened it once more. "Yeah. Um, a bit. Like, I'm probably not great, but I mean, I play, if that's what you mean." He stammered. That made me smile slightly, somehow I found it amusing when Luke acted a little..unsure of himself. Or a little nervous in front of me. It was cute.

I grinned softly. "Do you write your own stuff, or?"

He scratched the back of his neck and said, "Yeah. Well, mostly stuff-I mean mostly my own stuff, yeah."

"Play me something."

His head shot up. "What?"

"You heard me," I smiled and nodded. "Play me something."

He swallowed hard and began shaking his head and paused before answering. "Well, I never really play in front of people. I get a little... nervous, I guess."

"Come on, I know you're really good. Just do it. Please. For me." I begged, leaning forward slightly, folding my hands into each other in almost praying motion.

He sighed and dropped his head, looking at me with creased eyebrows and and a worried look. "Fine. But.." He stopped. "Promise me you won't... laugh, or anything."

I smiled, relieved, and comfied myself on the hard floor. "Of course I won't. "

He got up and grabbed the guitar,  pulling the stool out into the middle of the floor and laying the music sheets on the ground in front of himself. He sat up on the stool and fixed the instrument to his liking, and grabbed a guitar pick from a rusted old pen-holder on the floor, that I hadn't even noticed until now. He placed it on the strings and was just about to strum it, when he stopped and looked at me. "Bella," he said quietly. "I'm only doing this for you because you're my best friend and I like you."

I was surprised, but smiled as I felt my stomach warm up. It was nice knowing that he did like me, as a friend of course. I had to remind myself again and again that he didn't like me in that way, and to push out my stronger feelings before I ended up getting hurt, or falling deeper into Luke's love trap that was being held wide open for me to fall through.

"You're my best friend too." I knew that Nat and I would drift apart, and here I was, faced with reality.

I could see a small smile pulling across his face, slowly but surely. It was definately there. "Good." he half-laughed. "So," Inhaling deeply, he said, "Should I start?"

"You can whenever you want." I reassured him. He barely whispered an 'ok' in reply and kinda laughed softly to himself.

"Well, it's called 'I Miss You.'  It's not mine, I just.." he stopped. "I just sing it, you know. For my parents and stuff." I nodded, as if I understood what it really meant to him, although I don't think I could ever understand how much of a loss it was for him; even now, ten years on. So I just nodded and half-smiled at him for a moment before speaking. "That's really sweet."

He dropped his head and swung his legs slightly while tapping the plastic pick onto the brightly varnished wood. "It helps, you know?"

I didn't.