Pretty Girls ⇼ Luke Hemmings

People Who Actually Care.

Ignoring Luke's texts and calls had proved to be easier than I thought it would be. Well, it's only been a few hours. He knew his secret was out. As Lea had told me that she pried it out of Michael, Michael had told Luke that he'd let it slip. I turned off my phone to stop the incessant buzzing and tried to focus on the story I had due next week. The story I hadn't started. The story that was once about gain, but now all I can think to write about is loss. Lea left an hour ago to yell at Mikey, and I sent Monica and Mandy away when they showed up to try and cheer me up. I knew it wasn't their fault, but I was still mad at them.

They drove me back into Luke's arms each time we fought, and reassured me that he was changing when he wasn't. I was mad at them. I was mad at Luke. I was mad at the entire world. For what seemed like the fifth time in the past hour, I pushed my laptop away from me and walked over to the window, staring out at the soccer field where a group of students were sat, having dinner together. They were laughing, enjoying each other's company. I just wanted to be as happy as them. I wish I never met Luke in the first place. If I were still who I was when I came to college, I'd be content.

I wish I was still without a roommate, without any friends. If I hadn't met any of them, I wouldn't be in so much pain. Not just emotionally either, but physically. My heart is aching so bad it's pounding against my ribs and giving me heartburn. I've been crying so much that a migraine is forming. My hand aches from the stitches of the glass I picked up when Luke smashed it. My body was restless, no position I sat or lied in would ease the aching in my muscles.

My gaze travelled to the streetlamp, where a man was leaning against the metal and holding a cigarette up to his lips. I wanted to open the window, let the breeze flow in and let the cigarette stench fill up the room. It may be the closest I ever get to being with Luke again, smelling someone else's cigarettes and thinking about him. I didn't open the window. Instead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I didn't need to open the window to smell his scent, it was already plastered all over me.

From the morning, when he said all those thoughtful things. From my dirty clothes, where I spent my days with him in. From my comforter, where he lied with me. Even from Lea's comforter, where he spent his time before he met me. My mind reeled back to the words we exchanged, how he wanted to meet my parents, how he said he likes me, the things he said he loves about me. Hell, we were dating. So close to love, sharing so many intimate moments, so close to me giving my body to him. The only thing I hold sacred.

What would I have done if I gave my body to him? What would I have done if I let him meet my parents? What would they say? Hell, I already know what they would say. 'Valerie, you're too good for him. Valerie, he's a punk. Valerie, he's dangerous and he'll only hurt you. Valerie, you don't belong with a man like that.' And they'd be right. I hate to admit it, but they're always right. I wish I would have listened to my instincts, that mom and dad wouldn't like him, and stayed away.

What am I supposed to say when mom asks about the dinner next weekend? Sorry mom, we broke up because he's a piece of shit—he's always been a piece of shit, but I thought he was changing—and he ruined me. They didn't have to know about the video or the dogfight or the stitches. They only needed to know that it didn't work out. First boyfriend, first heartbreak: That's what mom said the first time Gene got dumped. Does this qualify as heartbreak? What does heartbreak feel like, because this is pretty damn painful.

My eyes focused on the sidewalk beneath my window as I wiped away the tears that wouldn't stop. It was like a leaking faucet—sometimes it slows, but never enough to allow the sink to dry. Familiar boots hit the pavement and I panicked. He's coming up here. He has to be. In a panic, I swung around and made eye contact with the door. The broken door. How was I supposed to keep him out when the door doesn't lock?