He was, quite aesthetic and pleasing to look at. Honestly, people would label him as, "High School Baddie" or "Bad Boy" But Luke Hemmings is none of those stereotypical names.
Luke is very.. sweet. He's charming.
The only few reasons why-girls in general- would think Luke is this "big bad guy" is because he has tattoos, he smokes, and he has a lip ring.
But, god only knows, why society states that everyone and everything has to have a label.
Hemmings has gone through a lot.
He's so friendly and so sweet, yet girls still call him a bad boy.
It's utterly disgusting and unpleasing.
As I'm sitting here in class, staring at the world-famous, Luke Hemmings jawline, I wonder what it's like for him to.. I don't know, physically be him.
With all the, tattoos, piercings, the quiff.. it's a lot.
I look away from Luke's jawline and focus my eyes on my teacher. Mrs. Kelly.
I can just feel my cheeks flaming like crazy, I flick my eyes to almost every classmate, my chest feels heavy, I can't breathe, my mouth is dry.
It's just a thought.
My mind is racing my head is spinning.
No ones judging you.
I try to speak but only air escapes my lips.
Calm down, just tell her you don't know.
I stand up but just as soon as I do, I collapse.
I hear a few chuckles.
They're judging you.
I blink as I try and focus but the floor blurs and collides with my hand.
They think your weird.
"I.. I need some fresh a-air.."
My hand is gripping my desk and all eyes are on me.
I run out of class and blitz out the doors of the school.
The smell of fern and pine enter my lungs, my blurry vision has finally ceased, my head is calm, and I've stopped shaking.
I breathe in the smells around me, sliding down against a brick wall that aligns with my back.
I look up and see Luke.
He's sitting next to me and he's staring into my eyes.
Luke smiles back and leers at the sky.
"Are you uh.. are you okay?" He institutes, his eyes still glued to the sky.
"yeah. just a-"
I shouldn't tell him about my panic attacks.
How almost every little thing makes me have them.
it's why I have little friends.
why I always practically sit alone at lunch.
I almost tell him about my OCD. Where if I know something, I need to know more about it. My brain feeds and feeds until it gets tired and gives up.
I almost tell him everything.
I bite my tongue, feeling that same taste of bitter blood explode across my tounge.
It's a habit I've had, ever since I was 13.
I bite my tongue until the blood seeps out. I do this so I don't say anything I don't mean.
"Just me being stressed."
Luke chuckles softly.
"Oh? What about?"
I let out a sigh.
"You know. Hell, life, basically everything."
I turn to see Luke smoking a cigarette.
He turns and smirks at me.
I swivel my eyes at the ground.
"Well, are you ready to go back inside?"
He stubs the butt of his cigarette onto a patch of grass and stands up, holding his hand out for me to take.
I take it gingerly and stand up beside him.
"Yep. Let's go."