Deadline≫hemmings a.u

4.9

"Michael!" I shouted after him, running down the hall and ignoring the few confused or disapproving looks I got from other people around me as I tried to catch up. "Michael, wait!"

He wasn't heading in the direction of the elevator, just stumbling down the hall, which made me realize he didn't know where to go or where he wanted to go. As I came closer to him, he banked left, and turned so his back was to the wall on the opposite side of the hallway from Ashton's room. He slid down the ground, his shoulders shaking as he hid his face in his hands and sobbed.

"Oh, Michael," I whispered sadly as I came to a stop in front of him. I kneeled down in front of him. "Michael I'm so, so sorry."

He hiccuped and a low, pain-filled moan was all he could get out as his crying intensified.

I frowned, my brows pulling together as I gently took his wrists and pulled them away from his face. His eyes were red when they looked briefly up at me before he closed them again, more tears cascading down his face. Michael's arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as he sobbed into the crook of my neck, his tears hot against my skin. My throat tightened as I looked down at him, clinging to me tightly as his sobs tore through him. In between his shuddering breaths, he let out grief-stricken moans that made it sound as if he was being tortured. In a way, he was.

I squeezed my eyes shut and held him tighter. Suddenly, it felt like I was back in Florida, all those months ago when Luke and I had come back to our hotel room to find Michael on the phone with a nurse, arguing about Ashton. That night, I had learned about his condition. That night, I had found Michael drunk and torn into pieces, grieving. I had held him for what felt like hours until he cried himself to sleep. Then, he was worried that Ashton would lose himself. That he wouldn't remember Michael or Luke.

But now, the reality was that he lost Ashton. The only person he had left from his old life had turned against him, blamed him, maybe even hated him. Ashton didn't even want to live.

This was so much worse.

"Michael, I'm so sorry," I whispered again, stroking his back and combing my fingers through his hair, ignoring the pitiful glances they sent our way. They probably assumed we had gotten the news of someone's death. They weren't far off. The Ashton Michael knew before all of this, the one who smiled with deep dimples and giggled...he was gone.

"He doesn't even want to be here, Mel," Michael moaned into my skin. "I did this to him, I made him go through this. He doesn't want this."

"Stop that, this isn't your fault." I told him, holding him tighter. "He's ungrateful. You did the right thing, Michael. He doesn't want to die, he's too much of a coward." I spat bitterly, thinking of how cruel Ashton had been. I could tell right there that he didn't really want to die. He was just too busy being sorry for himself.

"It hurts," Michael sobbed, tears wetting my shirt. "It fucking hurts."

"I know, Michael," I cooed, gently kissing the top of his head before resting my cheek there. I closed my eyes, wishing desperately for a cure to his pain. "Just tell me what to do to make it better, Michael, I'll do it in a heartbeat, I promise."

"I want it back," he croaked. His arms tightened around me, hands fisting the back of my shirt. "I want Luke back, I want Ashton back. I want it all back."

My eyes opened at that and I lifted my head, looking down the hallway at Ashton's door. I glanced down at Michael briefly, and then back at the door. An idea grew  in my mind, like a match being struck. The anger I felt earlier was back, fueling that fire. I couldn't give him Luke back, I wished desperately for the both of us that I could. But I could give him Ashton.