La Douleur Exquise // Muke {Completed}

Thérapie

Michael hated therapy. He hated the fact Ashton had convinced him to go. He hated the way it made him feel worse not better. He hated that he couldn't even afford it, that Ashton was paying for it. He hated the fact he was there and not Luke.

He felt patronised every time he entered the stupid room, and lay down on that chair you see in the TV shows and the films and that Michael had always assumed was fake and never thought he'd find out either. He didn't need to be there, he was fine, everyone had rough patches and this was his.

Michael never really opened up to the women who was only there for the money. She was a stranger, why did she even deserve his darkest, most personal thoughts and feelings. Those were kept there for a reason, and no paid stranger deserved them. It was for him to battle, for him to win by himself, not for anyone else to join in on the battle.

That didn't stop Michael from thinking about things he knew he shouldn't. When you live near the top of the building and could just step out a window, some days it can get all too tempting. Michael blocks that out though, well he tries. He hates the constant sick feeling in his stomach and the way his whole body begs him for it to be over. Sometimes he's not sure what keeps him back. The sun will rise and he'll be surprised he's even still alive, that he managed to survive the night. It sounds like a bad video game, but it was becoming Michael's life.

Luke was becoming a distant memory once again. It was stupid for Michael to think he could help him, there was nothing he could do for Luke, after all, Michael was just the occasional fling for Luke, even if Luke was everything to Michael. Maybe Luke was happier with Calum, how would Michael ever know. Yes he can hear the yelling, the only reminder in Michael's dull world that real people still exist, but couples fight. Michael had given up on Luke. He was a lost cause, everything in Mike's life seemed like a lost cause.

Ashton was paying for everything, Michael may as well move in with Ashton. He managed to put on a brave face for him every time he came over, which seemed to be everyday now. Michael would rant about how well the therapy is working, how much better his was feeling and force a cheesy grin onto his lips and hope the dark circles that etched his eyes wouldn't give it all away. Or the pale skin and slouched posture, or the look of death in his eyes.

Michael found himself driving every where, constantly. It was easy to forget to think when you're concentrating on the mechanical movements needed to move the car forwards and bring it to a halt again. It was easy to dangle the idea of pulling the steering wheel to the side, jerk it so the car cascaded into another or down the ditch by the side of the road. Sometimes that was nearly the case when tears blocked his view and he couldn't see in front of himself any longer.

He often ended up on the stretch of road Michael and Luke had ended up on, running over the exact part he had lain out his thoughts and realised his biggest weakness, and part of him imagined running himself over when he got to that spot, taking Luke with him. He didn't want Luke to die, but sometimes he hoped that if he left, Luke would too. It was a disgustingly selfish fantasy, but even in death he didn't want Luke to be away from him.

Michael could feel his heart thumping in time with his own head, and the thought of blood running through his veins and the pain in his head was sometimes the only reminder he was alive, it didn't make him feel better, or any less dead than before, but he knew he was existing still, that this wasn't some sick dream, and sometimes that was enough.

There was a light pitter patter of rain against the windshield, each drop running along the slope of it and collecting until they were wiped away with a groan from the wipers scraping against the glass, disappearing and collecting again, it was easy to get rid of the waterworks, not so easy to relieve yourself of the pain that brought them in the first place. Especially when most of the time Michael didn't know what was bringing this much hurt. The darkness just enclosed on him, a cloak that was choking him slowly, all too tantalisingly deliberate. Sometimes hope would shine like the sun, but it was gone like torture to Michael.

Sometimes Michael lost himself, picking a random exit to leave the freeway and enter some tiny trail of a road to God knows where. He could never find his way back to each place he ended up, what with random exits and turns chosen, it was luck he ever got back home, and sometimes he hoped he wouldn't be able to, but in the end you always find your way home. But that didn't always mean salvation, sometimes it meant the opposite. Home only brought suffocation, inescapable for him. He just wanted to get away from that.

Michael could feel his heart pumping too fast and he just wanted it to stop.

Somehow his therapist had been able to make him voice all of that. He wanted to kill her.

I AM BACK after a month but that months break has definitely done me good like I'm enjoying writing again and that's good and I've missed this so yeh HELLO AGAIN FRIENDS

Basically I love Brand New now l8r sk8rs