Michael lay on his bed, his music turned up as loud as it would go because he was trying to drown out his thoughts. Unfortunately, it was mostly ineffective.
He turned the song up again, ignoring the pounding in his head from hours of this.
The door opened and, like always, Michael prayed that it was his sister and that the last week had just been a dream, but he felt his hopes crash and burn when his mother stepped through the door. She approached his bed and began to speak, but he couldn't hear what she was saying over the sound of his music. He made no move to turn it down, but his mother could obviously see the incomprehension in his eyes, because she pulled off his headphones.
"I swear, Michael, you're going to go deaf," She sighed when she heard the volume of the lyrics. "Did you even hear a single word I said?"
Michael shook his head plainly.
"I told you to get up and pack your bags."
Michael gave her a questioning look. He noticed how red her eyes were and how tired she looked. She was obviously still in mourning.
"You're going to stay with your aunt in Canada this summer."
Michael was shocked at how bluntly his mother had sprung this on him, as if she was telling him he was to go take a walk outside.
"I've discussed it with your father," Michaels mother continued, talking in the controlled, calm tone that she used with her coworkers or patients - and, since Grace's death, Michael. "and we've decided that it'll be best for you to get away from everything for the summer."
"Get away from what?" Michael asked, aghast. "Run away from this shitty situation and then come back to it in September exactly the same? Oh, yeah, that'll make everything so much better."
"Michael!" His mother scolded. "Language!"
"Are you kidding?" Michael felt his anger bubble over like a pot of boiling water. "You're lecturing me about swearing? There are so much worse things in the world, mom. Like the fact that Grace is dead."
Michael should have felt the sting of regret when he saw the hurt in his mother's eyes, but he only felt satisfaction. Because he was angry with her. He was angry with her for wanting to send him away. That's what she was doing, wasn't she? She wanted to send him as far away as she possibly could because she couldn't bear to look at him. He saw the shame in her eyes. He wasn't stupid.
She blamed him for Grace's death, he could tell. And he was only mad at her for doing so because he felt the exact same way.
Mrs. Clifford swallowed, and then spoke, her voice quavering.
"I'm not discussing this, Michael. I..." Her voice broke. "...I can't."
And with that, she disappeared from the room.
Michael sighed and flopped back onto his pillow, staring up at his plain, champagne coloured ceiling. He couldn't seem to overcome the heaviness in his chest, like if he slacked off for even one moment it would drag him down and he would drown.
He stood up, staring at the door for a moment before opening it. It seemed to take an extra amount of effort and thought to do anything since Grace's death. He made his way to the front door and pulled on his shoes, exiting the house.
He was in a rebellious mood. That was never a good thing.
It might take him a while, but, because of his lack of transportation (he wasn't sure if he could trust himself to sit down beside the wheel again), he would walk.
It took about an hour, or at least half of one (Michael had never been good at keeping track of time), but Michael soon arrived in front of his destination. The drug store.
He walked through the isles for a while before finding what he had come for: #121, Midnight Black.
---
Michaels father was sitting at the kitchen table when Michael exited his room the next morning, and when he looked up, his eyes widened. "For God's sake, Michael!" He nearly choked on his toast. "What have you done to your hair?"
Michael shrugged and sat down, running a hand through his newly ebony hair. He had unofficially decided that was the way he would mourn his sister.
His father him a look of fixed disapproval that, to a stranger, could have been easily mistaken for a look of carefully veiled pride and returned to his breakfast.
I know this chapter was short, but I don't like to write long chapters because I naturally write short ones and when I write long ones its always because I wanted it to be long so I added a bunch of random stuff that barely applies to the story and just ends up ruining the whole chapter.
If that makes any sense.
Thanks so much for reading! I really, really hope you guys like this story, because its actually been working out pretty well for me so far, writing-wise. Although I have a bad habit of adding commas where there shouldn't be one, so if there's a sentence with like twelve commas then just ignore it.
And thanks to anybody who actually read this whole authors note ;)
Loser_Luke
