Look After You.

Chapter Twenty-One: Home Is Where Mrs. Hart Is.

Erm. What can I say? No excuses me. I have NO excuse for leaving you this long. Look After You is not over. Amber and I are not dead. But yes, I am horrible. I am telling you to kill me. I am SO sorry.

I can't believe I went this long without updating this story. I am the worst co writer ever. I offer my humble and sincere apologies. Please feel free to shoot them down because I do not deserve your empathy, sympathy or forgiveness.

But read on for Amber?!?

I've missed this story and no wonder why!

Anyway, I'll shift my ass now.

Lana&Amber

Lana xx

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Chapter Twenty-One: Home Is Where Mrs. Hart Is.

Lana:

"I do wish you'd take your hands off of me, you-" insert swear word here. "I'm not a murderer."

"If looks could kill you would be," Amber muttered darkly to me. I nodded grimly, as the car drove up to my house.

"Kindly remove your grip," Amber growled as my mother came scurrying out of the house, wearing a look of horror on her dainty face.

My mother is going to kill me!

"Let go!" Amber hissed to the burly man. "I have a bodyguard!"

"Yeah, where is he?"

"She," My friend corrected. "Shauna."

Mr. Burly chuckled. I growled, uttering profanities under my breath. His grasp tightened.

"Why won't you release me?" I asked, exasperatedly.

"You're protesting, therefore you cannot be trusted."

I snorted. Oh, what absolute bull. They didn't want us running for a taxi.

I miss Louis. Though, surprisingly, I don't miss Victoire. Big surprise there. Though her sister Julieta had seemed decent enough.

Victoire. This was all that plastic's fault.

My mother reached the end of the driveway, clutching a newspaper. Ah. So she'd read everything. Peachy. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the scolding. I could just imagine it now...

"I told you that temper of yours would lead you to trouble, Lana Louisa Hart!"

"You've disgraced our family, Lana Louisa Hart!"

"You hung around with a celebrity? Lana Louisa Hart, you are in huge trouble!"

But to my immense surprise and delight, my mother shoved Mr. Burly's hands off us and cried fiercely,

"Get your hands off my child!"

I smiled smugly.

"But ma'am, Mr. Cowell requests that I stay with these delinquents until further notice -" His tone is polite.

"Delinquents my teapot! Oh, Mr. Cowell told you that, did he? How nice. Do come in and make yourself at home."

Mr. Burly didn't recognise the sarcasm and barged into our house. My poor mother nearly slipped into a coma she was that offended.

"I apologise, Mrs. Hart - I must remain with these girls," He called over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes.