"Al, please don't go," Annabeth reached for me, but I leaned out of the way, rushing by as I turned into the house. I dismissed the idea with the wave of my hand. I didn't even have a ride.
Behind me, the electric wail of an amp and a muffled thump could be heard over the noise of the party crowd. In my mind's eye, I could imagine clearly what was happening. Michael, freezing the way I did when I saw him, then quickly becoming animate again to smile and wave to the crowd before pulling his guitar over him, ridding himself of the strap. Not so carefully, he would set his guitar down and mutter some inaudible excuse to the rest of the boys as he hops off the stage.
I made my way through the throng of people who had gathered at the back door to see the band in a rush, trying to avoid the one person I wanted to be with the most. I didn't have a destination or a plan in mind, I just moved, getting away from him as quickly as possible. He lives in the apartment above me and he wants to talk to me now?
Before I even knew it, I was standing at the counter in the kitchen, a red cup in my hand. I shrunk down over the counter, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible and started mixing the various types of alcohol spread out before me. As I did, it became impossible to ignore pounding in my chest and the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Every single muscle in my body was burning-aching-to turn around and run to Michael and work this out. We'd find a way to make this work.
No, I chided myself. Long distance relationships were just too hard. They almost never worked. Long distance was the reason I broke up with my last boyfriend and we lasted for years.
But he wasn't Michael.
I froze, my hand still wrapped around the neck of a bottle that hovered over my red cup, waiting to be poured. I glanced up and looked around, getting a weird feeling. Like I was being watched. I turned around and had to reach behind me, holding onto the counter to make sure my legs wouldn't give out.
My Michael, my subconscious cooed softly, yearning to be next to the boy five feet in front of me. I hadn't noticed earlier while he was on stage, but he had dyed his hair again. Now it was a blueish purple, not like his bright galaxy hair, but softer. His hair fell lightly across his forehead, bright against his pale skin, but still a mellow shade.
His light green eyes drank me in as mine did the same for him. My eyes feverishly swept over him, taking in his slightly rosy cheeks, tinted pink from his show. He was wearing his white "God Save the Queen" Sex Pistols shirt, his usual black skinny jeans, his black and white Converse, and there were numerous bracelets hanging on his wrist. For a fleeting moment, my heart stopped, afraid to beat as I considered the bracelets could be hiding something underneath. My fear quickly ebbed away as I realized most of them looked handmade, probably by the band's fans who were steadily increasing in number.
I opened mouth to call him, but my words died in my throat as I watched Michael's eyes travel down, resting on the red cup in my hand. He visibly went from his normal pale complexion, to a ghastly haunted one. His mouth pressed into a tight line and lines formed on his face that looked as if they had been etched there forever. His green eyes turned gray and he suddenly looked much older.
I glanced down at my cup, realizing what he must have thought. The blood drained from my face and my eyes widened. I looked up, and my heart dropped. The spot where Michael had been standing was now occupied by a dancing couple who were too busy making out to even notice what was going on. I caught a glimpse of Michael's trademark colored hair and his shoulder as he immersed himself in the crowd, probably getting as far away from me as possible.
I closed my mouth, blinking back tears and wordlessly set my cup down and walked away.
***
By the time Annabeth finally unglued herself from my side and I slipped out the front door, the sun had long since set. I sat on the front steps to the house with my chin cupped in my hands, elbows on my knees, and the pulsating party music behind me, occasionally getting louder when the front door opened to allow people in or out.
