✔ Run Baby Run ✖ punk hood au

xxx - traffic

c a l u m:

I've been so preoccupied with Gwen lately, that I almost forgot about Michael. Key word, almost. He was my best friend and I'd never neglect him on purpose. We both had separate lives and I was confident that if he ever needed me, he wouldn't hesitate to call or text me. Call it unmanly or whatever the fuck you want because the separation between Michael and I was taking a toll on me. I missed my best friend damn it, and I just wanted to spend time with him.

Michael had been M.I.A. lately from both school and in life. And while I was supposed to go to the Outreach Center to do more hours with Gwen, I had to ditch her-- much to baby girl's dismay. So I drove out to Michael's house instead, parking my car in the drive way like I always did and stepped out of my vehicle. It was almost sunset and it was still hot as the Devil's ass cheeks and I quickly took off the stupid long-sleeved button up the moment I was out of my air conditioned car.

I walked up the concrete path to the front door and gave the doorbell a ring. As I waited for the door to open, my eyes darted around the premises. Their entire front lawn needed some upkeep, as the grass was long and weeds were sprouting out and into the driveway. I guessed Michael has been lazier than normal, or hasn't been listening to his mother these days.

"Calum," a voice took my attention away from the lawn, back to the door in front of me. Mrs. Clifford stood at the open barricade with a smile on her face.

"Hi Mrs. Clifford. Is Michael home?" I asked her.

"In his room sweetie," she opened the door wider for me to slip in, "you know the way there."

I smiled at her, kicking off of my shoes and neatly placing them off to the side. I may have change my extra curricular activities, but there was one thing that remained the same: my respect towards Mrs. Clifford. She was like a second mother to me, as was Ashton's mum, and I loved them like my own.

I ran up the carpeted steps and down the hall to the last door on the right. I knocked on the closed door, the sound of a muffled Cab song drifting through the cracks. Suddenly, the music slowly faded before the door bursted open. Behind it was Michael, who looked like he could use a day or five of sleep.

"Whoa man, what's up with you?" I asked, letting myself into his room. "You look like you haven't slept in eight years."

"I feel like I haven't," Michael shrugged.

There was something definitely going on with me. I'd like to dismiss his behavior as the menstrual cycle, but seeing as Michael was a male, I was about 95% sure that bleeding lady holes weren't the answer in this case.

"You okay, man?" I asked again.

"I don't want to talk about my feelings," Michael grumbled annoyingly. He plopped down onto the bed, grabbing a magazine in the process.

"Well something is obviously bothering you, so spill the shit," I insisted.

Michael was silent for a while, and I guessed this is how Gwen must feel whenever I don't share things with her. I can see how offensive it could be, and how it kinda does sting the heart. That was something I wouldn't admit out loud though. Michael still wouldn't talk and because of this, the two of us just sat on his bed listening to music and reading magazines. We were acting like my sister whenever she had her friends come over for sleepovers when we were younger.

I wasn't going to push Michael to talk, because I hated when that shit happened to me. Instead, I kept quiet. I continued to observe him though-- watching him jump every time a little crack was heard, or how he'd furiously skip pages in a magazine whenever his eyes would land on something that made him uncomfortable. That was the weird part: nothing ever made Michael uncomfortable, but whatever was eating up his mind, had a touch of death to it.