The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

14.00

     “ARE THERE SNACKS for our road trip?” I inquire, voice hopeful as I muffle my growling stomach. The last thing I ate was that disgusting french fry abomination Luke gave me. It was so bad that I couldn’t eat anything else for the next few hours but now, my bloodstream was clear of alcohol, a dull headache was setting in, and I was really, really hungry.

       “There can be snacks if you want there to be. We’ve got a little over two hours to drive there and back so food sounds like a great idea,” Luke slides into a jean jacket, pulling it over his shoulders as we descend down the stairs. His pink lips are set in a hard line, jaw sharp as it clenches and unclenches.

          “Do you need help getting down Cohen?” He calls out, hopping off of the last step and crossing over the room. Luke turns on the heel of his black vans, blue eyes darting around the room.  After a while of searching, he visibly relaxes, releasing a breath and disappearing inside of the living room.

          “I’m okay, thanks.” My ankle still hurts, but not nearly as much as it did initially. Maybe it was because I slept on it, or because Luke wrapped it so well, but whatever it was, I was just glad to be free of the pain. I grab onto the banister and put my good leg out in front of me, gently stepping with it first before dragging the other leg behind it. Eventually, I make it down and Luke returns from the living room, pair of combat boots in hand.

       "These are Lucy's, hopefully they fit." He chirps, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip. Luke tosses the boots onto the couch and proceeds to move quickly without stopping, determined to get everything done. I don't know if maybe he doesn't want to run into his dad again, or if he doesn't want to be late but whatever it was, he was making my head spin even more.

             "I feel weird wearing your clothes," I say quietly, running my thumb over one of the flannel sleeves. It was comfortable, yes, but this entire situation was so...bizarre. I didn't want to be going up to Duke because Brown was the only university I wanted to go to. I didn't want to be filling out his college apps or spending so much of my spare time trying to get him into college. I never asked to be blackmailed and I never asked to have my story taken away from me, all I wanted was to get into fucking Brown and now I'm wearing his clothes and going on a stupid road trip and it was all just too much.

          The only person I wanted to talk to all this about, I couldn't. Because that person was Lucy and Luke told me I couldn't tell her about what was happening. I didn't want to risk the scholarship, so I couldn't say anything. I might have even spoken to my mom about it, but she would be too focused on my dad and the divorce to listen to anything that I would have to say. Either that or she'd brush me off as being melodramatic, negative, or some other stupid adjective that wouldn't fit the situation at all.

            A lot of things bothered me, but one of the main things was when people said something like 'you're too young to have problems', or, 'you don't know what you're talking about. you aren't equipt to make decisions'. Because tell me, what dictates whether a decision is right or wrong? Who says that you have to be a certain age to feel like the world is crumbling at your feet? I hate when adults, when anyone deems a situation insignificant. Everything matters to someone, and far too many people forget that. You might not care, but someone else could, and that should always be minded.

             "Why? Not used to someone getting you out of your pants?" A strangled sound escapes my throat and I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks; the blush spreading in the blink of an eye. Curse my Scottish and Danish blood; prone to excessive rosiness at the worst possible times. In attempts to hide my flushed cheeks, I duck down, hair falling in front of my face as I jam my feet into Lucy's boots. They're a little big, but it's better than walking around a college campus in fuzzy kitten covered socks. "I'm kidding, Cohen. Just getting you back for what you said in my car," He smirks, swinging open a cabinet. "White or wheat? Choose your sandwich future wisely." Luke grins, dimples drilling into his cheeks.