Michael Afton x Reader ~ The Boy on The Bus

Chapter Eighteen - Promises

Michael hadn't moved since you left, it took too much strength and energy. He almost felt like he couldn't move, and when he did occasionally adjust his position, his limbs felt stiff and heavy. He kept hearing Baby's usual quiet whisper in the back of his mind, just repeating those same three words.

"You won't die."

He had been in a half-sleep state since before you left, and definitely was not coming out of this trance any time soon. After a few hours of just laying there in your bed, Michael heard you open the front door. Just hearing you stepping into the house was a comfort to him. Though he felt sickly and was getting colder, he somehow summoned up enough energy to get out of bed. His limbs barely seemed to bend or move anymore, and he wondered how he would function normally if he couldn't move right. He managed to limp out into the living room.

"(Y/N)," His voice was rougher than usual. He frowned realizing this, mostly because it reminded him of his father. He didn't want to be reminded of William, so sounding like him made Michael want to claw at his throat and rip out his vocal cords.

"Michael," You responded, turning to look at him from whatever you were doing. The small smile on your face soon turned to a frown, "Oh god, you look horrible!"

"What, really? I can't look that bad." He shrugged.

"No, Michael, really. Your eyes." You said, your brows furrowing with worry as you walked up to him. You could tell something was really wrong now. Not only were his eyes sunken in now, but they looked clouded over and there was a thin, discolored line going through his sclera.

"What about my eyes? I can see just fine."

"They're all cloudy... Oh, it must be those contacts. You have to take them out right now. You shouldn't have slept with those in!"

"Oh, yeah, let me go check..." Michael said, quickly walking to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He flicked on the light switch, and to his horror, you were right. He did look horrible. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he started to hear that voice again. He furrowed his brows and stared at his dead eyes in the mirror. He understood what Baby was trying to say now. 

Michael knew he wouldn't die, not him or his soul or his consciousness, but that had nothing to do with his body. His body was dying and rotting, and he could do nothing to stop it. He leaned in closer to the mirror to get a look at his eyes, which were pretty gross looking. It almost didn't feel real to be looking in a mirror and seeing a dead man's eyes staring back at you. He wondered how he was gonna hide this one.

Once Michael had enough of staring at his gross-looking eyeballs in the mirror, he walked back out to the living room.

"Any luck with the contacts?" You asked, turning to look at him.

"Uh," Michael started, "What contacts? I don't wear contacts."

You looked at him blankly, "You're joking."

"No, I'm not. I've never worn contacts." He replied dumbly. It was so obvious that he was spewing bullshit.

"You literally told me yesterday you got contacts. They were purple... They look just kind of grey now, though."

Michael frowned, "They've always been like this, okay? And I'm kind of insecure about it so can you stop pointing it out?"

You were extremely confused, "You just walked out of the bedroom and said you were gonna go check your contacts and then walked into the bathroom and now you just came out of the bathroom. Am I wrong did this not just happen?"