living or existing | mgc

twenty two

Michael's POV.

The warm shower water hit my back repeatedly, slowly dropping down my pale skin and making its way into the drain beneath my feet.

I scrubbed my body quickly and decided to get out, shutting off the taps and pushing my hand on the glass door, before standing out into the cold bathroom air and wrapping a towel around myself. I rubbed the towel down my naked skin, drying off.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I combed my hair with my hands, setting it into a style that looked neater than the last one. I shivered. Taking a deep breath, my mind wandered off into the memories of last night.

I could physically feel my cheeks heat up and I couldn't help but smile to myself. I hope I get to see her today.

---

12:35 PM.

The big hand on the clock finally ticked to the twelve, cuing the bell to ring loudly and force Mr. Jones to dismiss us from the classroom.

Everyone pushed and shoved, either trying to get their lunch early or be the first person on the oval or however else normal teenagers spend their lunchtime doing.

So, obviously, I was obviously the last one out, and the last one to get my lunch.

As ashamed of myself as I was; I was hungry. Plus, repeating in my mind was Julia's voice, reminding me that I need to eat. And as a result, I ended up dragging myself down the hallway to my locker, forcing myself to open it and retrieve my sandwich. Ignoring the stares I got from the people that stood against the other lockers, I hung my head, watching my feet carry me away and down the hallway to the music room. My favourite room of the whole school, where I belong. The place where I feel okay.

Pushing the door open with my foot, I took a bite of my vegemite sandwich, chewing it slowly as I grabbed my guitar off the shelf that stood in the middle of the room. I plucked a couple of strings with my fingertips, checking to see if it was still in tune from my lesson this morning.

Good enough. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the next blank page. Sitting down, I placed the instrument on my lap and tore a bit of the bread away, nibbling on it before throwing the rest of it in the bin that sat about two meters away. Taking a deep breath, I began to strum.

I hummed along, occasionally scribbling in lyrics and notes that came into my head.

After about twenty minutes of this, my page was almost covered in the messy ink letters, and I read over them again, changing a few chords here and there.

I began singing to myself softly, strumming the notes, my fingers climbing the different frets.

"You met me in your backyard... That night," I sang, quickly scribbling down the new starting verse and scratching the other one.

I bit my bottom lip in concentration, continuing to sing.

I didn't hear the door open, although it must have because the next thing I heard was the sound of somebody clearing their throat, and they were standing above me, and my eyes met theirs, and it was Darby. She was watching me play. And she was smiling.

"Um.. Hey," I coughed, my hands nervously fiddling with the strings of the guitar. "What's up?"

"Hey," she smiled, before pulling a chair up and sitting beside me. "I thought you said you couldn't play?" She gestured towards the instrument that sat on my knees.

I gulped. "Yeah," I stared at my shoes, knowing deep down that there was no possible excuse to get out of this one. "Um. I kinda c-can."

She didn't say anything, but I could feel her eyes on me as I continued to dwell on my own mistakes.