leaked (l.h.)

40

"Okay, ready? One, two..."

From where I sit somewhere in the park between our houses, I gently strum the guitar Luke had left behind in my home. It's worn down, covered in scratches and one broken string that I can't seem to fix. I sit on the ground, one foot crossed over another with my camera propped up against my backpack.

I have adopted Luke's mannerisms sometime during his time here: when I am focused, my tongue is held between my lips. When I am not paying attention, I'm nibbling on my bottom lip. And I tend to get stuck in the pouring rain more often than not.

Luke and his band, Five Seconds Of Summer, have been gone about six, seven months now. I've learned how to calm myself down when I begin to feel the familiar sting of an empty bed on the coldest nights. The bites Luke had covered me in has healed, and I can't remember what it feels like to hug him. No matter how hard I try to remember, no matter how much I tried to take in every single detail, I still forgot. 

"That sounded good!" Luke says in my ear, in the pink headphones I managed not to break yet. "Of course, it'd sound better with all your strings intact."

I smile up at him from the guitar, running my fingertips across the instrument in front of me. "I know, I'm sorry. I can't figure it out."

"It's okay," he chuckles, setting down his new acoustic guitar he bought in Spain. That's what he told me, at least. "I'll be there soon to help you."

"Hopefully," I look up at him. "But like I said, I won't be upset if you can't make it."

"I want to be there for your birthday," he tells me for the hundredth time. I turn the knob of one of the tuners on the neck of the guitar, watching how he takes the phone in his hand and walks through the arena he is in. Backstage, it all looks the same. Same in every country, every city. This week, he told me he's somewhere in London. Where One Direction was formed. "And your show. That'll be the day before, right?"

"The day of," I respond, pulling the strings of the hoodie he had left behind - on purpose. It sat on my bed when I got home from the airport, and for a week or two I could not leave it behind. It went wherever I went, and still I'm trying to figure out a way to let go of it without feeling incredibly empty. "My birthday is on opening night."

"I have to be there," he furrows his eyebrows together. "I can't miss it."

His hoodie stopped smelling like him about a month ago. I was hoping he'd wear it during Christmastime, but the holidays came and went. His Mom and his brothers had moved back to Australia sometime after he had left, so when it came to them and me - he went to them. But I told him to go with his Mom. I couldn't justify him skipping time with his family to be with me. Although, selfishly, I wanted him to come see me too. But it's February now, almost March. I'm reaching the end of my senior year, and I have yet to break the news that this time next year I'll be in New York. 

"Come if you can," I look up at him, strumming the first song I had learned. "So you can fix this guitar of mine."

Luke's changed since I've seen him last. His hair, he's cut shorter. But it stands on top of his head, the same way it stands on top of the One Direction's boys. He wears all black, and the same ripped jeans and converse that he has even when he was still living near me. His first music video, his first song, has gone viral. Three, four million views in the span of two weeks. She Looks So Perfect, that's what it's called. Everyone here knows every single word, and everyone likes to brag that they went to school with the band who created that song. But me, I knew what it felt like to be held by the lead singer. 

FaceTiming him the first month or so was full of his regret. Telling me that he should have never left, telling me how much he loved me and how our love is stronger than any distance. And for a while, I believed it.