Deception (Michael Clifford)

Seventeen

An uncomfortable silence fills the air, but I don't want to break it. I think both of us are still too shocked to talk, not wanting to discuss anything of what happened. I'm fine with that, as far as I'm concerned, I just want to get back to the hotel. A sharp crack sounds from somewhere behind me and my head instantly whips around to look. My heart rate threatening to rise once again. But I see nothing. What the hell? I stare little longer before dismissing it, and look ahead again.
Michael continues on as if he didn't hear anything, his head still bowed, looking at his boots which drag along lazily. I start to wonder how he knows where he's going, if he knows at all. I don't think I've seen him pull out a phone once this whole time we've been walking.
He must have walked this way when he came out here, to wherever he was going.
But why is he out here by himself? Surely if he was going out for a drink or something, he would be with the guys. But then I remember something that Ashton said a couple of nights ago, when Michael stormed out of the hotel in the middle of our game of laser tag. I asked Ash where he was going, "God knows..." He said, "He does that almost every night."
He seemed so dismissive about it, almost like he's used to it, like he doesn't care.
As soon as the thought enters my head I push it down, shaking my head in denial. No, Ashton is not like that, I remember him trying to calm Michael down that time in the ration station, but he just snapped. He looked defeated, and maybe that's how he feels about it now, maybe he has tried getting through to him, but has failed too many times. I shake my head in confusion.
What is going on with this boy...
I look up at his figure walking ahead of me, and pull my arms in tighter. The others don't seem to take much notice of his foul attitude, I thought it was just me at first, but since I've been traveling with the band, I've gathered he's just like this around everyone.
Except the fans...
That gets me thinking.
One minute he can be as sour as a foul tempered badger, the next, a goofy, warm hearted boy smiling at the camera for a photo. He completely changes.
Bi-polar?
No. This isn't random or unpredictable. This happens in a pattern, it's like whenever he's placed into the spotlight, he puts on this mask, a happy mask if you will, hiding from whatever is really going on inside.
I'm snapped from my thoughts again as I hear a noise to my right, across the other side of the road. But yet again I see nothing, and again Michael doesn't flinch.
I look at him. My eyes traveling across his tensed shoulders, then down his arm to where his fists are opening and closing. I watch cautiously. Maybe he can hear it?

The icy chill from the wind is numbing me to the bone, and I'm pretty sure I've lost all feeling in my hands. I really hope it isn't much further, I might turn into an icicle before I make it back. I shuffle along the sidewalk looking at my feet, which crunch little stones under my converse.
Suddenly I walk into something.
Michael's arm is held out in front of me.
"What th-"
"Shh!" He hisses. I look up at him from beneath a stray lock of hair, and I'm about to protest when I see where he's looking. We have pulled up on the opposite side of the road to the hotel, which glows ominously with artificial light.
Grinning with delight and thoughts of a toasty warm bed to sink into I start forward, but Michael's hand stays firmly in place. I look down at it in annoyance.
"Look," he says, in barely more than a whisper. I stare at him undecidedly for a few more seconds, before I look ahead once again, this time taking in more detail.
I don't see anything unusual at first, the building looks the same, a couple of windows lit up, others not. But then the ground just in front if the entrance starts to sway. Hold on a minute.
Just in front of the main doors to the hotel lobby, shivering in the damp light of the street, sit about 10 to 15 girls, all huddled up in little groups.
What the hell are they doing out here?!
But my eye is caught by a particular group to the left. Stirring slightly where they're sat on the pavement. My eyes struggle to adjust in the gloom but for some reason they look familiar.
I gasp out loud, "is that the same group?" I whisper to Michael.
He nods slowly, still keeping his eyes trained on the fans. I stay silent, hoping he has a plan, but he continues to avoid my gaze, I can tell he knows I'm looking at him by the way the muscle in the side of his neck twitches.
Why won't he look at me?
Sighing, I return my attention to the gathering of fans in front of the hotel. There's no way we're going to get past them with out being seen.
As if reading my thoughts, he breaks the silence.
"We won't get past them unnoticed." He grunts.
My heart sinks. Great, so we're going to have to wait out here until they leave. I let out a shivering sigh, crossing my arms in defeat.
"But we can go around the back." Michael speaks.
I look at him in confusion. The back?
"There's another entrance into the hotel." He explains.
Oh... Well I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I assume being famous gives you special access to a lot of things.
I sigh half-heartily and look back down at the pavement.
"So how do we get in?" I ask, playing with a stray thread on my jeans. He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a breath.
"Just follow me, and stay close." He mumbles.
Without another word, he steps out into the light of the street, and I start after him with surprise. I walk in his shadow, staying hidden from view, and I feel an unnatural chill run up my arms, like tiny spiders crawling over my skin. I still hate shadows, and it feels unnatural walking in his.
He walks with a quick pace, our figures stretching in 3 different directions across the pavement as we move underneath the street lights. Surely they can see us, there's no way we can be invisible under this much light. But then I realise, they're not looking behind them. They're looking at the hotel.
Why would you look behind you when what you want is supposedly inside the building? I chuckle at this, if only they knew.
We walk for a little while longer, taking a right turn and crossing the street, my arm brushes against Michael's side as I try to keep up. I flinch slightly, but he doesn't seem to have noticed the contact.
I listen carefully for sudden screams or rushed feet as we cross the road, but all is silent except for the distant sound of the motor way, and the carful sound of our footsteps against the brick path.
Finally we reach the shadow of the opposite street.
I look around nervously, uncomfortable at being surrounded again by such gloom.
Now what? I think in my head, but I don't stew for long, because Michael just as quickly starts off again, heading further along the sidewalk. I look up, the hotel looming over us, it looks strange from this angle.