The next day, Michael packed his bags.
He most certainly didn't want to give his mother the satisfaction, but at the same time, he did want to get away from everything. Not the situation. He wasn't fooling himself. He knew that even if he crossed an ocean he could never get far enough away from his guilt and sorrow to forget about it, but he did want to get away from his stupid family that wanted to get rid of him anyway.
Michael had always assumed that when parents lost one of their children, they would naturally and instinctively pull the other one closer and try to protect them with all they had. Apparently the truth was the exact opposite in his case: One kid dies, the other gets pushed away.
A thought crossed Michael as he stuffed a T-shirt into his suitcase: What if his mother didn't trust herself? What if she was trying to protect him and, after Grace's death, she didn't have enough confidence in herself to do so, so she was sending him away so someone else could do a better job than she inevitably would.
No, Michael pushed that idea aside. His mother was afraid of him, to put it bluntly.
He finished packing and walked to the kitchen, inside which both of his parents sat. His mother was holding his father's hand and saying something to him, tears in her eyes.
Her mouth snapped shut when she saw Michael standing there, and she quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"So..." Michael crossed his arms. "When am I leaving?"
"L-leaving?" Mrs. Clifford asked before the realization crossed her face. "Oh! Leaving...um...we'd decided sometimes this week, is that alright?"
Michael shrugged carelessly.
He was surprised that his mother seemed more shocked at the fact that he was willing to go quietly than the fact that he had changed his hair colour without permission. Or maybe his father had already told her, he didn't know.
As if she had read his thoughts, Michael's mother stood up and ran the fingers of her left hand through Michael's hair.
"Black suits you, Michael," She gave him the closest thing to a smile she had given anybody since Grace's death. "I like it."
She brushed past him towards the direction of her bedroom and Michael blinked. That wasn't at all what he had expected his mother to say. He groaned, ignoring his fathers look of confusion.
Why does everything have to be goddamn confusing?
---
As the plane took off, Michael closed his eyes, remembering the events that had taken place back in airport. The way his mother had kissed him goodbye with tears in her eyes. The way his father had patted him on the back. They both looked sadder than ever, and it was easy to tell that most of it was about Grace, but it was even easier to tell that some of it was about him leaving too.
His eyes snapped open as the wheels left the runway, and his hands clenched on the armrest to his right. This was his least favourite part.
"Don't worry," the woman next to him patted his hand gently. "It'll be over soon. Everything will be okay."
Maybe it was the way she said that last sentence exactly the way Grace had on her last day on earth, or maybe it was the twinkle in the woman's eyes that reminded him of the way his sisters eyes had shone so bright, but Michael took in one more ragged breath and felt a sob wrack his body.
It was as if a big, fat, grey rain cloud had been hovering above him filled with all of his bottled up tears and sorrow and that woman's words had finally triggered the violent and intense downpour.
The tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he tried to stop them but it was use. He couldn't seem to silence the sobs.
"A-Are you okay?" The woman, shocked at Michael's sudden burst of emotion, placed a comforting and concerned hand on his arm, but that only made him cry harder.
He didn't want to be crying in a plane filled with strangers, but he couldn't control himself. It was like someone else had taken his body and he could only watch as his dignity completely unraveled.
"Is he alright?" A flight attendant approached, her tone concerned. "What happened?"
"I don't know," the woman admitted. "He just started to cry. I think he's scared of flying."
Michael tried to correct her, but he couldn't get in a word between sobs.
"Sir, I need you to breath into this bag." The flight attendant attempted to pass Michael a paper bag, but he knocked it aside.
"Sir, I think you're having a panic attack."
Michael was finally able to get a handle on himself enough to choke out. "N-No, I'm fine."
"Are you absolutely sure, sir?" The flight attendant asked, concern filling her warm brown eyes.
"Y-Yeah," Michael took a shuddery breath, no longer sobbing. "I'm good."
The flight attendant nodded, and after a moment of watching him to make sure he wouldn't spontaneously burst into tears again, she disappeared down the isle.
Michael took another deep breath, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
The woman next to him still looked concerned, but she was silent. For all she knew, he was just scared of flying.
Michael wished with all of his heart that his only problem right then was a fear of flying.
Okayyyy.
That sucked.
Well, no, it wasn't that bad, but nothing really happened. It was more of a filler I guess.
Like I said in the last chapter, I like writing short chapters because if they're long than they end up being terrible, so sorry about how short it was but at least it was well written...I hope?
Remember to comment with any advice or questions you have and thank you so much for reading!
Loser_Luke
