PCD || Muke ✓

twenty-four*

This chapter is kind of triggering so there's a trigger warning. Mentions suicide but not that graphic.

***

There was so much blood and Michael felt weak. He was sitting on the hotel bedroom floor, crying his heart out as he tried to make the bleeding stop.

He knew he had to have been downstairs about half an hour ago but he couldn't. Not now. He thought it wouldn't be so bad but he hurt himself so badly. It was so much more deeper and it wouldn't stop.

Michael cried as he pressed multiple towels against his arms. It just seemed to get worse and worse the more he tried. He just needed help now.

Actual help. Physically and mentally.

He couldn't keep this up if he actually wanted to be there for the fans but also himself. He had so many people that cared for him and he deserved to be there for him.

Michael continued sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth slowly as he cried and let small whimpers escape his lips.

This was the worst day of his life. He had been through this twice before and it seemed worse the third time around. Michael felt like he was going to die. He was most likely going to die.

He never got to release an album. He never got to go on his own tour. He was going to let down his band. This wasn't going to end well.

Michael let out a choked sob when he heard someone knocking on the door. He prayed the person couldn't hear him wallowing in complete self pity.

"'Michael, are you okay? Dinner ended two minutes ago and you never showed up," Luke's voice softly sounded through the door.

Michael tried to blubber out a response but his words seemed to get stuck in the back of his throat. Tears stained his cheeks an ugly bright red and he just wanted to scream out so that Luke would know that he needed help.

"Luke!" Michael cried out. His voice sounded weak as he pressed the towel more harshly onto his skin. 

Luke stood on the other side of the door and heard the desperation in the small boy's voice. Luke started panicking as then he heard Michael's loud cries sound through the doors. He was so grateful that he had a key. Michael had given it to him a few days prior. It's like he knew.

"Michael?" Luke called out softly, poking his head into the room.

Luke's eyes landed on the small boy and he felt sick to his stomach. A towel, now died an ugly burgundy, was pressed to Michael's wrists as the boy cried on the floor. The blonde felt the vile crawl up his throat but he choked it down. He had to help Michael first.

"Fuck Luke, there's- blood," Michael choked out. Luke nodded his head, not moving closer to the boy.

"I'm calling for help," Luke said softly, watching the boy on the floor. He was an actual wreck at the moment; a collapsed train, a car overturned, a mess.

"Please," Michael said softly.

The small boy tried to stand up but quickly fell down once again, the blood not flowing to his brain properly anymore. Michael stood up finally after two more attempts and made his way to Luke. He stumbled a bit and paused in his steps. He should just close his eyes, rest a bit. It'd all be okay when he'd wake up. He just felt a bit sick. He could nap.

That was the second time Luke Hemmings had saved him from collapsing into the floor. 

***

This made me cry so hard.

-Lee