Live // Muke //

9: Ambulance *

By the time Michael arrived at Luke's house some medics were already carrying him away and into the back of a red ambulance.

Michael quickly rushed out of his truck, slammed the door, and ran towards the medics carrying Luke away. "I -- is he okay?" Michael asked one of the medics.

"He did hit a vein and lost quite an amount of blood, but he's stable for now." The medic responded. Michael sighed in relief and quickly asked, "C -- can I go with him?"

"Only relatives or his spouse," the man said. Michael watched as another pair of medics put a mask over Luke's nose and mouth. "I'm his," Michael paused before continuing. "Boyfriend."

The medic nodded and Michael eagerly jumped into the ambulance, sniffling when seeing Luke. Both his arms were bandaged, but the white cloth was soaked in blood. And even though Luke's left arm was covered he was still able to deep slashes on his upper arm and bicep. A tear scurried down Michael's face but he quickly wiped it away.

Why would Luke do something like that? How did he even do that? Michael knew for a fact that Luke couldn't properly use his right hand without being too harsh or too gentle and he wasn't left handed.

Was it his fault? Was it because he was too oblivious to even phantom the idea of Luke being so sad he'd hurt himself? Michael helplessly tugged at the thin strands of his hair as a quiet sob left him.

It's all his fault.

>>>>>>>

Michael sat in the waiting room with an impatient expression as he kept trying to call Ashton over and over again. But he wouldn't just answer.

So the pink haired boy simply gave up and counted the number of tiles underneath him. One-hundred white tiles and one-hundred-fifty baby blue tiles.

He hopes Luke's okay, stable at least. Maybe this all has to do with Ashton and his condition. Maybe it wasn't his fault he was there. Yet he still blamed himself over the whole
thing.

It was now half past two in the morning and Michael needed sleep but he couldn't leave Luke alone. Not again. He needed to at least see him and comfort him or at least hug the boy.

"For Luke Hemmings," he heard a lady call out. Michael scrambled up and rushed towards the nurse with a hopeful expression on his face. "H -- how is he?" Michael stuttered, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. He wouldn't admit it, but he was scared. He was scared of losing Luke, because even though he's only known him for a few weeks he's taught him a lot about life.

"The doctors had to stitch up a few wounds on the arms and wrists, but he's stable as of now. He'll be out in a few days, we have to keep him in for observation. In case he tries to hurt himself again," her words caused Michael to flinch but he shakily nodded. "Can I -- can I see him?" Michael asked quietly.

The nurse pursed her lips before leaning in towards Michael. "Visiting hours don't start until seven in the morning but you've been here since he came. So I'll make an exception," she smiled, feeling pity for the boy.

Michael thanked her over and over as she guided him towards the blonde's room. "Here you are," she smiled. The nurse walked back towards the front desk as Michael looked down at the knob that'd allow him to see Luke.

He quietly entered the room, keeping his eyes down on the ground until he sat down on a chair besides the boy's bed. The pink headed boy squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he fixed his gaze on Luke.

His heart stopped.

The blonde laying before him didn't even look like Luke. His blonde hair lay flat on his head. His skin didn't hold it's usual glow, but was instead an unhealthy pale color. Michael sniffled when his eyes dropped down towards Luke's arms.

The visible slashes scattered his arms along with his wrists, the cuts going all the way up to his biceps. He could see the outline of stitches underneath the bandages covering both his arms. Michael held in a sob as he felt his eyes become watery at the sight of Luke having wires connected to him and a heart monitor to prove he's still here.

Michael slipped his hand into Luke's cold one, leaning his forehead on the bed as he let silent tears leave him. Why would Luke do this to himself? Was it Michael's fault? Was it Ashton's fault? Why did Luke call Michael instead of Ashton?

"M -- Michael?" Luke said, voice a hoarse whisper. Michael's head shot up as he made eye contact with Luke's squinted blue eyes. A smile made its way onto Michael's face and he fought the urge to hug the shit out of Luke but he'd probably just hurt him.

"Where's Ashton?" Luke asked, eyes scanning the room and coming to a halt when he reached Michael's disappointed gaze. The pink headed boy quietly shook his head and frowned as Luke's smile dropped. And it was at that moment that Luke knew he'd chosen the wrong man to spend the rest of his life with.

"L -- Luke," Michael whispered, sadness laced in his voice. Luke smiled at the way his name rolled off of the boy's tongue but frowned when he saw Michael's tear stained cheeks. "I'm -- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --" Luke was cut off by Michael.

"Why would you do that?" Michael whispered, green eyes examining Luke's face as he looked down at his lap. "I -- I just thought --"

"I know what you thought, Luke. And doing that isn't the damn answer --"

"Then what?!" Luke questioned, voice rising slightly. "What else am I supposed to do? Wait until I can't move a muscle and have so much medicine in me that I can't tell reality from fantasy?" Luke whispered, tears clearly visible at the corner of his eyes.

"There's worse things Luke," Michael scoffed, wiping away a tear begging to trail down his face. "Oh, there's worse?" Luke scoffed, not caring if he sounded like an asshole. He just wanted to be correct at this point. Even though some have it worse, this was as worse as he could get so he couldn't compare.

"Being deaf to the world. That's worse. But you know what's even worse? Not being deaf. Because you still hear those stupid assholes trying to put you down and don't say committing suicide is the answer because I've hit rock bottom but I'm clearly halfway up," Michael said, hand now removed from Luke's as it shakily laid on his lap.

"So shut the fuck up, you're alive. Be glad you're still alive because you're still young and you still have a life to live," Michael finished, watching Luke's appalled expression.

Luke shook his head at the word 'live' and pursed his lips. "I'm dying. I'm not you, Michael. Half of my bloodstream isn't made of alcohol and I'm not fucking strong. I'm weak, physically, not mentally. I don't take risks. I am twenty-five and I don't know the definition of 'live.' So excuse me for attempting to risk something I never wanted."

"Life isn't something you risk," Michael stated, gaze fixed upon Luke's twitching fingers. "Before -- before I was diagnosed I was known. I had people coming to see me as I strummed some stupid guitar strings. And I thought that was my way of 'living' so I didn't mind not traveling. But after I was diagnosed I knew it was too late to travel, and now I really regret not doing much of the things I'd kill to do now."

Michael sniffled before locking gazes with Luke. "It's never too late," he spoke, his voice breaking slightly.

-

barely a month into school and I already want to kms bc of all the school work I'm getting :---)

how are you guys??? have you drank your 8 glasses of water??? did you get enough sleep (lol what's sleep)?? have you eaten your vegetables yet???? have you had your daily amount of love/hugs yet???? no?? come to me my tiny sons so I can love you and hug you :--)

guys I watched this gr8 movie on Netflix called Seashore it's fucking good af I recommend it, it reminds me of a story I'm writing

I hope you guys enjoyed! thoughts so far?

don't forget to smile ya little shits :3

~ xoxo ~

Linda