Good Girls

Hanna, a 17 girl, is the new senior at a different high school. Everyone thinks she's a good girl, but what is underneath her innocent face?


23. 17

Luke and I had to wake up early the next morning to get to the airport on time.  I threw my hair into a messy bun and put on some of Luke's clothes.  Ashton, Michael, and Calum came to pick us up so we could get to the airport.  Luke and I got into the back of the car when they pulled in.  Luke and I held hands the entire way down. At the airport, Luke went through security and then waited to board the plane.  I laid my head on his shoulder as we sat in the airport chairs.  He wrapped his arm around me and held me close.  I snuggled closer into his neck. " I love you." he said into my hair. "I love you too," I choked out.  He rubbed my back and kissed my forehead.  Then his flight got called.  "That's me,' I said and began to get up.  I stood and hugged him tightly.  He lifted  my chin and kissed my lips. I ran my fingers through his hair as he took the kiss deeper.  He pulled me closer so there was no space between our bodies.  "ahem." coughed Ashton.  Luke pulled away from the kiss, "We will Skype every single night." he told me.  I just shook my head as they called the last call for Luke's flight.  "I really have to go now." I said, hugging me one more time.  He then walked to his plane.  Right before he got on, he turned around and blew a kiss toward me. 

Going home, I realized, I won't be able to see Luke for a whole week.  It's not that I'm needy, it's that I can't stand being alone for long periods of time. 

When I arrived home, I went on twitter. I hadn't been on for a long time, ever since I met Luke.  There was a lot of hate messages.  They  were all directed toward... me?

My name was a world trending hastag.  When I clicked on it, most of the tweets were hate toward me. I really wanted to get off, but I couldn't. I started crying.  I don't deserve Luke.  I don't want to be pregnant.  I can't do this anymore.  I ran to the bedroom and dug through the drawer.  Finally I found the small case. I went to the bathroom and filled the tub with warm water and got in.  Then I took out one of the razors and made three deepish cuts in my wrist.  I let them bleed for a bit and just laid there.  I got out of the tub and rinsed my wrist under the faucet to clean them out and dressed them.  I didn't want to look at them so I changed into a long sleeved shirt and looked into the mirror, turning to the side, I looked at me stomach.  At least I'm not fat... yet.  I sighed and went to the living room to watch TV.  I ended up sitting there staring at my wrist.  I haven't cut since before Michael.  I was extremely depressed then.  I never thought I would go back to cutting.  Apparently anything is possible.  

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