Knockout • OT4

10 - Her

WARNING: this chapter is definitely a bit heavier (mentions of gore and self inflicting injuries, drugs and what not). don't read if you can't handle it.

It took four days of the week Michael took off to sleep off the haze that clouded his brain, clouded his judgment.

He had no more painkillers to abuse, no alcohol because he couldn't afford it, no substances to shock his core and remind him that he's still alive.

He also didn't have any friends, making this week move by so painfully slow.

Sure, he appreciated the gesture to take some time off and get his shit together, but he couldn't help but mourn all that lost time that he could've been using to train himself.

Working until his muscles ached, begged for mercy. Training until his lungs burned with every inhale, allowing that familiar metallic taste to fill his mouth when he's pushed himself just a bit too hard.

He pushed his body to failure, like every good boxer did.

Instead, he lounged around, slept and sat in the shower under the blistering hot water to remind himself of how stupid he was the get caught up in the euphoria of an expired pill.

How stupid was he to allow himself to seek comfort in someone like the blonde that looked at him with angered pity?

Michael didn't want pity.

The feeling burnt him almost as much as the water did.

But something Michael was able to do with a clearer mind, was feel the utter embarrassment.

Calum had found him.. well, so Luke had mentioned. He found him passed out just like he was right now, trying to drown away his thoughts with something that'll never allow him to drown regardless of how hard he tried.

Stupid shower, he should've opted for an apartment with a bath tub instead.

The embarrassment crept up his spine and forced itself down Michael throat, almost suffocating him to tears. How could he allow this of himself, this isn't the Michael she raised, the Michael she knew and loved and held so carefully as if he may wither away.

But that's what he did anyways, right? Against her better judgment.

The boy just sat under that shower day in and day out, trying to scrub the irking feeling of humiliation and embarrassment off his skin. He felt it cling to him, like sand after a day on the beach.

He scrubbed until his skin was raw, red, scratched and bloodied.

He was driving himself insane over something that wasn't real.

When his muffled thoughts telling him to scrub it off wore away, he finally stepped out of the shower, looking down at himself in disgust. He was always disgusted with himself, never pleased.

He could've been stronger, more muscular like Calum, braver like Ashton and a hell of a lot more intimidating like Luke.

But.. he was Michael.

A kid compared to them. A kid with dyed red hair and singular piercings on each of his ears. A kid with just as many scars as them, to prove that he's been through it, through something just as bad and survived.

But he lacked the years and experience they did, yet they shared the same scars littering their faces and arms, chests and necks.

That wasn't proof of survival, that was proof of weakness.

He shuddered and pulled a shirt over his head, grabbing some loose basketball shorts to avoid the indents of his nails that dug deep along his knees and thighs, itching to rid of the feeling that wasn't even there.