how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

14. pretty little liars & maggie

"Here, drink some water."

Michael hands me his plastic bottle, evading my gaze as I with his. He squints through the wind which nips at his cheeks, making them a blush pink. We're both staring at the desolate road in front of us, watching as the odd car rumbles by. My arms throb from the stifling coldness and I sniff, lifting the cap and pouring the water into my mouth. It's bitter with second-hand storage and bag warmth. I pass it back to him silently, closing my eyes. He doesn't say anything, and nor do I for a moment.

I grip the edge of the bench. "Do you hate me?"

He finally turns to stare at me, his purple hair whipping around his face messily. I regard him sidelong, watching as he leans close to me.

"Why on Earth would I hate you?"

I swallow. I feel sick. "Because of what I wrote. Because I'm a goddamn embarrassment." I shove my face in my hands.

I can barely hear his voice behind the howling gusts. He tugs me towards him, pulling off his leather jacket and engaging me in it. I'm trembling like a leaf, and he's hugging me tight. He says, "That's not a reason to hate you. I'm just kind of... Shocked."

"That I'd do something like that?"

"That your brother hit you." I feel his jaw set against my head. "If that was anyone else other than your brother..."

I sigh, glancing up at the flailing trees beside the bench. The wind's died down and sun is struggling beneath clouds. Michael's looking in the same direction, too. His house is only a few blocks down.

"We can go back to mine, " he mumbles. "I know you mustn't want to go to the shop--"

"Michael."

"Yeah, Kitten?"

My heart stutters at his sudden nickname. "I really, really like you, but I just don't want people around me at the moment."

He begins to stand and I exhale, pulling his jacket further around me. Unlike what I expect, he doesn't leave, but fishes in his pocket until picking out his keys, placing them in my hand. I raise an eyebrow.

"Go to my house and make yourself comfy. It's the gold key, okay?" He smiles. "Just call me when you think you're ready."

I push off the bench, skimming my fingers over his many key chains. His eyes seem like mint, with mist around his face, anyway.

"You--"

He hushes me with the press of his lips on mine, the sweet and quiet touch of his watermelon taste and soft mouth.

"Take care, Maricruz."

"You too, Michael."

+ + +

I've spent around one hundred and twenty-one minutes alone in Michael's dainty living room -- I've measured the time in Pretty Little Liars episodes. The first episode consisted of me balling myself into the corner of the couch and crying, the second was playing the knife game with Michael's house key and cutting my hand multiple times, and the last episode really was the only one I've watched. I move back two episodes on the browser. I'm going to re-watch them.

I whip out my phone and attempt to text Michael. Surprisingly, Ashton will not leave me alone. I venture through his messages.

Can I pick up my vinyl, today? - 14:32

Hello? - 14:39

Maricruz, are you angry at me for kissing you? That was ages ago, honey. You shouldn't hold a grudge. - 14:45