Stupid Love || Michael Afton x Reader

thirty two - repairments

Contains blood, mentions of abuse and depressive themes!

August 11th 1983.

I slammed the front door shut, closing with a bang. I slipped off my shoes quickly and made my way upstairs, grumbling under my breath.

By the time I had reached home, it was pouring with rain again. The water droplets tapping loudly on my windows, creating a dull atmosphere in my room.

I sat down on my bed with a sigh, staring into completely nothing. I was thinking. Everything had happened so fast. I couldn't function properly, everything was good with Michael but now... it was all a mess.

How could the smallest incident change my entire view towards Michael?

After what I witnessed happen with Brian, I was really debating whether Michael was actually safe to be around in the first place. Wherever he was learning his actions, wherever he thought that bad was good, it had to be stopped before anything more outrageous happened.

First it was his brothers death, now a huge fight that could end him in jail?

It didn't make much sense. I couldn't blame it on him, not entirely at least. It was obvious Michael had grown up in an abusive household and was still living in one but that didn't mean he had to act like that, he knew what he was doing even if he claims that he didn't do it on purpose. I was so easily manipulated.

Everything had a purpose. Who the hell was gonna tell him that?

Something in the deep of my heart ached however, the more I thought of hurting Michael, the more it hurt me. I didn't want to hurt Michael's feelings but I already did. Maybe I was too dramatic? I was screaming at him like a mother did. I was so worried for our future that I completely forgot about my own actions.

Michael picked up a fight with anyone but why did I mind it so much? Was I jealous? Was I jealous that Michael literally gave other girls the same attention as he did to me?

But then, Michael literally got blood on his hands for me again just because his friend had said something wrong about me.

That was something I wasn't going to understand.

And I didn't want to.

I was angry at Michael, my blood was boiling. Or was I? I was mad at him, I was mad because he treated me like other girls but then became overly protective, I was mad because he was argumentative, because he was acting like an asshole again.

The ping of pain in my heart didn't stop, it became more painful, digging through the depths of my chest, leaving a lump in the back of my throat.

I grabbed a polaroid photo of the two of us from my side table, clutching it tightly in my fingers.

We were so happy. We were sitting around a campfire, my head in Michael's lap, staring up at him. Michael was smoking as usual but he was smiling, I was smiling. I missed that.

I wanted to forgive him, I wanted to tell him that everything was okay and that I still wanted to be with him but I just couldn't. His actions were something I couldn't deal with. He was going to have to deal with them on his own.

Everything was so confusing, so irritating, so stupid.

I didn't realise my fingers had started to tear up the photo, pieces floating down onto my carpet. I didn't realise heavy tears had started to drift down my cheeks, loud sobs escaping my mouth uncontrollably.