#punkluke

-her-

I don’t hate him. I couldn’t find a way to hate him. I don’t hate a bone in his body. He has a good heart, I know he does. 

He just isn’t the same boy I fell so madly in love with. 

He used to wear t-shirts and jeans, now he wears a leather jacket and an attitude. He used to wear glasses from time to time, now he wears a black metal lip ring on the left side of his bottom lip. He used to be clean of any markings beside the tattoo of the words “sincerely yours” on his right forearm from his/our favorite movie, The Breakfast Club; but now his left arm is completely covered in markings. 

I don’t hate Luke Hemmings, but when I’m trying to have a nice night in whilst watching Pretty In Pink and the house across the street is absolutely fucking packed with illegal substances and underage alcohol consumers, I have a problem. 

I pull on a black hoodie over my gray t-shirt and some pajama shorts over my underwear and slip on my black Toms and march my short body to the Hemmings’ household. 

I slam the door open, pushing my way through a flood intoxicated teenagers, looking for the culprit himself. I make my way upstairs and open his bedroom door, not bothering to knock, knowing that anything behind that door is something I’ve already seen. 

I find some naked, skinny redhead bouncing on his dick. 

She was stick skinny with bright blue eyes and a face full of makeup. Her thighs were so small he could probably fit a single hand around one of them. Her stomach was so flat you could see definition. Her breasts were a nice B-Cup. Her hips were tiny. She was tall and nicely tanned. Her curves were nonexistent. 

The very opposite of my dark hair and even darker eyes. My thighs are so large I end up with holes in my jeans from them rubbing against each other. My stomach wasn’t huge, but it certainly wasn’t hers. My pale, curvaceous 5′4″ stature was no match against her 5′10″ model-like body. 

She was the antonym of me. 

Was that the appeal?

She wasn’t thick like me? She was tall? Skinny?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Luke snaps, practically pushing Reverse-Me off of him and covering himself with a blanket. 

“Shutting this fucking circus down!” I argue back. 

“Why the hell are you so entitled?” He raises an eyebrow. 

At this point, the skinny redhead grabbed her clothes and quickly scurried out. 

“I have work tomorrow Luke! For God’s sake, please!” I yell. 

He rolls his eyes and crosses his slightly defined arms, “You’re just pissed because I was fucking someone else!”

“I don’t give a fuck who you stick your cock inside of!” I exclaim, “Have fun! I don’t care! It doesn’t affect me and I have no say! What does affect me though, is when you have loud parties that prevent me from sleeping and enjoying a night to myself!”

“What do you mean by ‘a night to yourself,’ Darling?” He chuckles. 

“You’re a fucking pig. It means watching Pretty In Pink by myself because I don’t have anyone that I have to deal with being clingy and not wanting to sit through the movie and just wanting to fuck me the whole time,” I shoot back. 

“Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” He scoffs. 

“Lucky me,” I tell him. 

“I was kind of in the middle of something until you rudely interrupted me,” Luke says, “So if you’ll excuse me.” 

He basically just kicked me out of his fucking house. 

How dare he?

A few days later, I exact the perfect plan of revenge on my day off. I drive myself to the nearest Home Depot, pick up several cans of spray paint, some sharpies, and a lighter. I then drive to the nearest grocery store and pick up some eggs. 

I gather all of my supplies and wait until everyone is gone in the Hemmings’ household. 

I hop their fence, entering the backyard, and climb up the ladder into the treehouse. I climb a little more to get to Luke’s room through an open window. 

Dumbass. 

I start tearing posters off the wall and set them partially on fire. I spray paint a large “FUCK YOU” on his wall. I go into his closet and pull all of his clothes out and throw them on his floor. 

I scribble over his mirror in black sharpie and then write “selfish” on it in silver. I throw eggs all around his room as well. 

That’s when I find something... interesting underneath his bed. 

A black box with a pink ribbon on it. 

I open it expecting sex toys or lingerie for one of his, I’m assuming, many fucks. 

No. 

They were pictures. Of us. Together. 

Kissing. Hugging. In love like no one’s business. 

He kept these? 

He wrote little messages on the back of each of them. 

For example, there was one of us kissing on our one-year anniversary when he took me to the zoo. 

‘Every kiss makes me fall in love all over again.’ 

Then it was crossed out with a single line through it. 

‘I fucked up’

Another picture of us cuddling. 

‘I’ll hold you as long as you allow me to’

It was crossed out as well. 

‘I’m sorry’

I almost felt bad. 

Almost.

I decide to write over every picture with one letter each in sharpie. 

I use them to spell out the message, “Didn’t realize you missed me that much, Lukey?” and spread them out on his bed.

r; molly is like really famous and really funny she deserves a michael clifford okay

pu; frick she's so beautiful and i want her eyes. she's also hella rad x

pe; she's v pretty omfg her sidebar makes me cry tho

i'm drowning in urls omfg sorry finishing those in my ask :(((