04. but you're famous.

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I'll admit, most of the time, I'm playing some stupid game on my phone instead of doing something productive, like my homework. Most of the time I'm on a new app I'd downloaded that day, and it can range from the latest dating website to the crappiest version of Flappy Bird that exists. Only tonight, Bailey's Maths textbook is open right in front of me, and my head is ducked down in an attempt to get something done.

In all honesty, I like to leave my homework until the deadline is just seconds away. This is a fact. If it's not due, I don't do. But tonight is different, because tonight, I'm doing homework that isn't mine because I have a plethora of things on my mind; tonight is the night I received a private message from Luke Hemmings on Instagram. Tonight is also the night I'm not the least bit guilty for deleting the conversation altogether.

"Are you crazy?" Ashley's robotic voice sounds through the speakers of my computer, her hands gripping her own laptop tight as she tries to balance her way down the stairs. We never Skype, but in dire situations such as this one, a video call is mandatory. "You left him on read?"

"It's not like he's gonna notice," I shift some of my papers to the side, attempting to clear my desk, though there's a possibility that I'm cluttering it up even more. "What did you get for question seven?"

"Sixty-nine. And no offence, but I think you're insane."

"And I think you're bad at Maths. The answer's seventy," I state as-a-matter-of-factly, wiping my calculator clear of numbers.

I can practically hear Ashley rolling her eyes. "Wow, you sure told me. You want a medal?"

"Trophies are more my thing."

"You're funny," she mumbles, not amused in the slightest. "Wait, did you change your password?" she then asks, furrowing her eyebrows before staring directly at the screen of her laptop. I smirk as I hear her constant clicking, accompanied by a frustrated keyboard tap and the odd backspace.

"Yes."

"What did you do that for?" Ashley whines, her head falling back in frustration at my answer.

"Because I knew you'd try to log in after I told you about Luke," I reply, quite simply. All she does is groan.

"You know, I kind of really hate you right now."

"The feeling's not mutual, but okay." I say, entertained, before ditching the first sheet and moving on to the next.

I sigh, already feeling a migraine coming on despite doing the easiest three of the ten questions I have to get through tonight. "I fucking hate Maths."

"So do I. Why do you think I fed my paper to Rodger?" Ashley notes, referring to her dog. I smile slightly. "I also think you're trying to kill yourself. Slowly, but surely."

"How so?" I ask. "True, but how?"

"Well, for one, you don't even do the subject. You're a Literature student for a reason. And isn't that Bailey's sheet?"

I nod, somewhat solemnly, as Ashley chuckles. "You need to stop punishing yourself. So Luke found your Instagram, big deal," she says, giving me a dismissive wave. I look at her. "Doesn't mean you have to torture yourself with freaking matrises and equations you'll never need later on in life. Forget it."

"Says the girl who made the biggest deal about it last night," I raise an eyebrow, still not over her cyber-screaming fest. Ashley grins.

"Not just last night. Right now, too, because on the inside I'm freaking out enough for the both of us."

"Should I be worried?"

"Scared, more like. I told all of my family members what happened yesterday, and it's not even my story to tell," she says. At this, I can't help but laugh.

"But,-" Ashley drums her fingers against her laptop keys, eyeing my face on the screen expectantly. "I need to know. Are you gonna give him a reply, at least?"

I shrug, not really knowing what else there is to do. I could reply, start a conversation that makes me look like I'm a normal functioning human being. Or I could do the typical 'Sophie thing' and ignore the message until the thought of it slowly starts to eat me up inside; resulting in- no doubt- the developing destruction of my social media account.

"Would you?" Ashley asks me now, seemingly pointing all of her attention in my direction. I shrug, taking a quick break from my papers to glance at her.

"I wouldn't want to," I tell her, truthfully. Her face falls. "But for your sake-"

"Yes?"

"I'll think about it." I finish. Ashley puffs her cheeks out, but she doesn't say anything; she probably knows that I'll end up caving sometime soon, anyway.

We say our goodbyes not too long after, and the Skype call ends. I end up ditching Bailey's homework to go watch some Friends downstairs, thankful that Netflix exists for the sole purpose of providing a distraction.

But, like always, my mind wanders to Luke. It's all I've been doing for these past three days and I'm afraid that I don't know how to stop it. He's just there; in my mind when I'm in class, in my mind when I'm watching Friends, and undoubtedly in my mind when I've got one hand in my underwear and the other between my teeth to stop myself from moaning.

I think about it now, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Like most nights, I'm home alone.

There are so many things I have the potential to do- like run upstairs, strip my clothes off, and put on some porn. I can blast one of the many Luke moan audios I have saved on my computer, each one on the highest setting, background noise and all. I can even get comfy with a smut book if I'm determined enough to imagine some of the more real stuff.

However, before I can even begin to shift my position on the couch, my phone buzzes next to me. For a split second, I ignore it, because I'm convinced that it's just Ashley trying to call me again.

But then my eyes catch on to the familiar colour faded app, as well as the username starting with 'L', and I pick it up in an instant.

Did I scare you?

I knit my eyebrows together, confused. Did he scare me? He gave me a minor panic attack, as well as the thought of disappearing off of the face of the earth for a couple hundred years or so, yes, but he didn't necessarily scare me.

For some strange reason, I hold no hesitation as I compose my reply. I'm actually a little surprised that I'm even thinking of sending a text back.

No.

I practically throw my phone against the wall, the smallest sense of humiliation and making a fool out of myself causing me to shudder. It beeps again, not even a short while later, and I almost dread having to keep the conversation alive.

So she speaks :-)

Or texts

Biting my lip, I start typing. Only I don't know what to say.

I've read about moments like these, and I've even watched the fake reenactments of it on TV. When the girl or guy finally gets to talk to their idol, or their celebrity crush, or whatever. I always thought it would be much more different to this.

Is this a joke

I hesitate for a second before sending it. It can't hurt to ask- after all, I may currently be the victim of a new program where the obsessive fangirl gets pranked via Instagram, and I'm not willing to turn a blind eye to that.

What?

Why are you texting me

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you

Do you want me to stop?

I pause, knowing fully well that saying 'yes' would be a lie, yet saying 'no' to Luke wouldn't be the absolute truth or the smartest thing to do, either.

I was just wondering...

I didn't mean to sound like a creep in that first message I sent you

I meant I wanted to hear your voice.

Not... the other thing.

I can't help but smile, finding his frantic texts and random typing bubbles amusing as I calmly text my own.

I hope you don't mind

But may I ask why I've been given the pleasure of getting my inbox spammed by Luke Hemmings? x

I cringe at myself, hating the standard kiss symbol, yet feeling as if the text is too bland and monotone without it.

Luke takes a while to respond. I'm almost convinced that he's not going to.

I just saw some of your posts, and I decided to say hello

I kinda saw you tagging my username in your captions and thought, what's the worst that can happen?

Pair all of that with a pretty face, and I figured you can't go wrong.

I blush, feeling my hair fall in front of my face as I stare stupidly down at my screen. If only Ashley could see me and/or read these exact text messages right now, she'd definitely be screaming much louder than I currently am inside.

Can I ask you one more thing?

I type, taking a deep breath in as I wait in silence for his reply.

Anything.

Did you like them?

Like what? Your pictures?

My hands grow cold with anticipation, and if Luke truly has been stalking my profile these past couple of days, he would have seen everything.

Yes

And everything includes a bunch of very sexual, unbelievably kinky and highly inappropriate pictures taken of my body; some shots by yours truly, some even snapped by a platonic, unfazed Dylan Hadley. They're not quite enough to get me reported- god forbid I ever get anywhere near that- but they're there.

And anyway, it's not like it's the pictures that are inappropriate. It's mainly the captions.

Like when I asked Luke to choke me that one time, or fingerfuck me against the wall, or shove his head between my legs. Or when I tagged him in a picture I found on Tumblr of a guy eating a girl out and quoted, in a way I thought was hilariously edgy at the time, "this could be us, but you're famous".

As I think back to the many mistakes I'd made in the past, I feel my phone vibrate once more in my hand; two notifications, actually, and they both make my stomach flip and my heart skip a beat.

Oh, sweetheart...

I love them.

✖️