Lines // hemmings

Chapter 7

LUKE

“One for Ashton Irwin, one for Luke Hemmings.”

Brian tosses the two envelopes to the floor and I slowly sit up to look at them. One is bigger than the other and I figure it’s for Ashton and the smaller one is for me. Why would I get a 9 x 11 big envelope? I see them being ripped open – as usual– and then sealed again. They don’t trust us here. They always scan every package and letter being sent to us because they think they will contain weapons of any kind or an escape plan. They caught someone the other day which caused quite a scene and the inmate was brought in for a little talk. And by a little talk I mean an interrogation that may or may not involve some punches and some blood. I’ve never been called in for a talk but Ashton has and let me tell you, it wasn’t a pretty sight when he came back. A black eye, swollen lips, blood smeared in his face. You may think police officers would treat you nicely, but in reality they don’t.

Everyone here knows that, including me.

I reach for the smaller one but when I see Ashton Irwin being addressed, I frown and throw it onto his empty bed. He’s at the gym – again. So I reach for the other one, the larger of them two, maybe Brian just made a mistake. Maybe they’re both for Ashton. But the frown on my face just grows as I read my name being written on it. 

I empty the content in bed in front of me and feel the corners of my lips starts rising when I see the magazine. Kidz. I haven’t seen one of these for a very long time. I don’t think it exist anymore. I start flipping through the pages and read all the old news about some new pop singer, a day with a football player and I read the comic pages. I shake my head a little at all the memories being brought back to me. I see myself in my old childhood home, in my bed under a blanket. The only light is coming from a flashlight in my hand and I giggle to myself. If my parents would have found me this late, they would ground me.

Being here is worse though.

I unfold Abby’s letter and start to read it. I feel myself smile at the ice-hockey talk even though I have no damn clue of who this Henry guy is, but at the same time I feel nauseous. She thinks Ashton is my roommate in college. She thinks I’m in college. If only she knew… But that’s not what catches my attention. She wants me to send her a photo of me. The last time photo that was taken of me was 2 years ago when I entered this building. And there’s no way to send me a photo to her anyway. We don’t exactly own cameras here. Besides, I don’t look very clean, not according to the mirror wall in the bathroom. There are bags under my eyes, a scar under my chin from a fight and even though I shower, dirt seem to like my face.

I wouldn’t mind her sending me a picture of her, it would be nice to see her face. To see what she looks like so I don’t have to keep imagining. Some days she has brown, curly hair, the other it is red and short. Right now I picture her with long blond hair. And her eyes are constantly shifting as well. Blue? Green? Brown? I don’t know. Maybe she’s got different colors. I read about it, heterochromia something. Quite cool to have two different eye colors. But probably really hard and annoying because people always find differences funny. She’s got a broken leg, you don’t have to point it out! I thinks she knows! People nowadays, I roll my eyes. Here you don’t really get judged for your appearance, at least not in the same way. If someone comes back with a cast or a black eye, people will cheer and applaud that person. 

ABBY 

“There’s a letter for you on the kitchen table,” dad greets me as I come home after work.

“Thanks dad!” I say and give him a hug.

I walk into the kitchen, open the fridge but close it almost immediately, realizing I’m not even hungry. I do that sometimes, just open the fridge and close it. Open it, close it. Most of the times I’m not even hungry, I just open it to see if I can find something good. We never have good food at home. Like cookies or soda. Not that we would have cookies in the fridge, but still. Cons about having a dentist to dad.

I turn around, almost forgetting the reason why I went into the kitchen the first place until I spot the envelope on the table, making me smile. This was quicker than the last one.

To Abby,

I am sorry but I cannot send you a photo of me. I do not have a camera and there really is no way for me to send you a photo, sorry. I tried to explain what I looked like in my last letter, the one before this, so I do hope you got a better image. You may still send me a picture of you, if you want, but know that I cannot return the favor.

I have never been to an ice-hockey game before but I still understand that feeling. I went to see Green Day back in 2009 at MSG and nothing compares to it. I know I said I did not want to talk about music so I am sorry for bringing this up.

Do you have any book recommendations? I am running out of titles and would love to get some suggestions from someone other than Mrs. Wilson, the librarian.

Talk soon,

        Luke.

First of all, who doesn’t have a camera? Everyone has a camera on their phone, unless it’s a really old Nokia but I doubt Luke has one of those. It’s easy to just snap a photo and then print it out, either at home of you have a printer or at the library since he spends a lot of time there. 

And then, Calum was right. Luke thinks I’m too weird, that’s why he won’t send me a photo. I should have listened to him. Calum always says he’s right but I always argue even though he usually is right. Stupid Calum.

I might also be paranoid, but this letter is shorter and I wonder if he’s grown tired of me. We haven’t talked that much, this is only his third letter to me, but this still feels different from when I first started writing.

“Who’s it from? That Luke guy?” Dad asks, leaning in the door way.

I had told dad about Luke. We don’t usually keep secrets from each other, so telling him about Luke was no exception.

“Yeah,” I reply my dad. “Do you have any stamps? I’m running out.”

He disappears for a second, returning with five stamps in hand and his glasses on his head.

“These are the last ones. You should buy some more tomorrow after work.”

“Why me?” I groan.

“Because you’re the one writing letters in this digitalized world. Why don’t you just ask him for his number? It’ll be less expensive.”

“Are you seriously telling your own daughter to ask a random guy, who she has never met before, for his number?” I ask and he nods. “Father of the year.”

“19th year in the row, darling,” he winks at me, and muffles my hair before walking out of the kitchen.

I sigh and rub my eyes a little before I take the stamps and go back to my room, closing the door behind me so I can surround myself with good music and not the silence that is often haunting me and this house.

-

Anyone wanna talk about the Good Girls video? Like there's a girl named Sophie...Best name just the wrong spelling.. :)

There's this competition where you can win like VIP tickets for when 1D are performing on the Swedish Idol Finale and I'm on the high score list, and people have contacted me on Facebook  (you sign in with you FB account on the site..) and asked me how I got so many points (laughing at this bc who does that??). And honestly I am not 100 % sure why I'm even on the list but more importantly, should I tell them or not? I'm nice but I wanna win???? decisions decisions...

Anyway I hope the few of you who actually read this like this chapter and I hope you're staying with me because I promise there will be some more action soon. And I promise it gets better :) Vote, comment, share and I will love you forever and ever and ever and ever and...