~Michaels POV~
He watched her drive away. He couldn't understand what he did wrong. He got in his black Chevy Impala and put his jacket on. He turned on the music and switched it to All Time Low. As he drove home, the rain switched from a light drizzle to an actual rain shower. When he got home he remembered his parents were out of town for the week on a business trip. It wasn't unusual for them to be gone. Michael ran up the stairs and put his jacket on his bed. He went to the bathroom and locked the door. Michael looked at his wrist and took off the brackets that would come off. He pushed the others out of the way and took out a razor blade and pulled it across his wrists, watching the blood flow from his veins down the side of his arm a little and then would watch it drip down to the sink. Repeatedly he would do this, thinking about how much of a bastard he thought he was. Why couldn't he do something right for a change. As he wondered this thought to himself a single tear ran down from his eye. He had made a reputation of being a badass. To prevent the slightest possibility of weakness being shown to anyone, he made one last cut deeper than all the others. For a couple seconds, the blood didn't drip. It flowed. Around six, he cleaned everything up and went to his room. He had always had a taste for play guitar. As he practiced the song 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day, he listened to what the lyrics he was singing meant. He sang and played his guitar for about three hours. He opened his window just ever so slightly to let the cool winter air in. As he lied down on his bed, he pressed down on his wrist just to feel the pain of his decision that day. He was sure he could have been a much better person to her. That night, he fell asleep to the sound of the night and to the thought of that beautiful girl. Bella...
