Project Fuckboy || a.i

Chapter 19// Overprotective

Azalea's POV

I hitch up my dress, wipe away the rest of my smudged lipstick with some awareness, and knock again. Soon enough, I grow impatient. And the knocking turns into the slamming of my fists on the door. 

"What?!" I finally hear a voice bark behind the oak, and then the thumps of feet as they come towards me. 

The door swings open. Michael stands in the doorway, his face contorted first in annoyance and then surprise when he sees me. I'm rocking back and forth on my heels, gripping the door handle to keep my balance. At the moment, I'm not in the right sense of mind. His eyes slowly move over me.

"Do you know what time it is?" Michael asks stiffly. 

Honestly, I have no idea. 

"Three o clock?" I guess, giggling.

Michael leans in and stares at me for a second, his lips turning down in a frown. He steps back and barks; "Are you drunk?" loudly.

"No, of course not," I lie. His face contorts in a jumble of expressions, and only then I realize, in my tipsy state, that Michael is drunk as well. 

"I'm coming in," I say shortly. I push past him and stagger into his house, one I haven't been in for a while. Michael stands with his back towards me and closes the door softly. 

There are empty bottles on the couch, and I know he's been drinking too much, just like me. I can feel my knees buckle, and instinctively, I sit on the soft velvet anyway. Some of the bottles fall over the edge with the impact; and crash to the ground. An ear-piercing shatter rings through the room, and the pieces of glass scatter on the ground like ants. Michael barely even notices, and then I know he's completely wasted. 

"Oops," I get to my feet immediately, somewhat aware that that shouldn't have happened. "I just wanted to..." I begin, stumbling on what I notice are my ridiculously high heels. 

I take the pumps off in irritation and throw them to the side so that the ground won't lurch anymore. But it doesn't do much good. I still have to grip the couch for support. My sight is blurring, and the only urge I have is to either kiss Michael, or fall asleep on the couch with the broken glass. There's no guessing which one I'll end up doing. 

"Why are you here, Azalea?" Michael asks, taking tipsy steps towards me. His eyes, like always, are bloodshot, and now his hair isn't as thick as I remembered it to be. It's as if he's balding right in front of me, the tuffs of his hair disappearing into the roots. The color is fading as well, as if he's old and he is slowly fading away as well. 

"I don't know. I'm angry at you, though," I mumble, stepping around the glass shards to get closer to him.

Michael rolls his blue-grey eyes. "No shit."

"Do you know why?" I ask sharply, my hands on my hips.

He raises his brow at me. "Because you think I'm a dick."

"No, what the fuck. Well..that too, but no. Because you lied to me and you're actually in love with my gay best friend."

Michael's eyes shoot me down in a death glare. 

"I don't know what you're talking about. Are you saying I'm...gay?" He snaps. Something unrecognizable gleams in his eyes. 

"I don't know," I mumble, my words jumbling together. I take my hands off my hips and sit down on the cold wooden tiles, waiting for him to say something instead.