Mrs All American ❅ Luke Hemmings

Zero

[UNEDITED; FEEL FREE TO SOB OVER THE MISTAKES AND THROW SPOONS AT ME]

Chapter 25 - Zero

Today's the day. The day they'll leave; the day I've been dreading for so long. I have, approximately, almost broken down at least three times already. Of course, I didn't actually cry because Jack was by my side 99% of the time. We were in his room and I was helping him pack because, unlike me, Jack made himself right at home when he had arrived.
During the time we packed, I was trying my hardest to not think and keep it together, as you would've guessed, I failed horribly.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Jack asked, throwing me a penny. Where he got it from, I have no idea.

I caught it, tucking the coin in my pocket, "I'm sad. Sad because my brother is leaving today; sad because the great star-crossed love of my life just friend-zoned me and is leaving with my brother," I exhaled.

He dropped the shirt he was trying to fold. "You know, now that you say it out loud like that, it does sound really sad." He commented.

I groaned, turned on my heel and fell back on the bed. "Jack, what am I going to do?"

He continued to fold (he wasn't a good folder but he's a perfectionist so just think how long it would take for him to fold one shirt perfectly), shrugging. "Not sure. Get off my favorite Green Day shirt, maybe?" I sat up. "Try to move on, like you've been ranting about, perhaps?" He suggested, then added 'innocently', "Or you could always wait for him and see what happens when he gets back?"

I held my head in my hands, my eyes squeezed shut. "Him who?" I tried playing dumb.

"Why! The moron next door, of course!"

I tilted my head a little, peeking at him. "Luke or Michael?"

He only sent me a blank look in response.

"Obviously Luke." I muttered under my breath.

Jack finished folding his white shirt, placed it in his black roller bag and proceeded to fold his Green Day shirt, which I had ungracefully laid upon. He grimaced at the slightly wrinkled tee, his eyes darting from it to me disappointedly.

"Sorry . . ." I mumbled, sitting a bit straighter, my eyes casted downwards at the floor.

A minute or two passed before he broke the silence, "So?" He glanced at me expectantly.

"What?"

"What do you choose to do?"

I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands tiredly. "Let me think it over,"

"Well, think fast 'cause we're leaving in an hour. Usually, it takes you twenty-four to think something over." He said simply, fastened the luggage shut and lifted it off the bed.

"That shirt was fast to fold," I remarked, hopping to my feet.

He started towards the door. "I shoved it in." Jack said and grabbed his backpack along the way, slinging it over his shoulder.

So much for a 'perfectionist'. I guess even perfectionists have their limits. I wordlessly followed behind Jack as he hauled the roller bag downstairs.
When we eventually reached the bottom of the staircase, I realized something; something was different. The house was eerily quiet . . .

"Hey, where's Ash?" I asked.

Jack pondered the question for a moment, leaving all his luggage by the door. He turned to me. "Clifford's house, I think."

I nodded, "Okay, thanks. Be right back." I slipped on my Chuck Taylor's, opened the door and ran out before he could utter a single sound, much less a word.