Jet Black Heart // Michael Clifford [AU]

3. Fight

Silence hung in the air like a cloud of smoke in the front seat. Words swirled around in Michael's head, but they were like puzzle pieces that just wouldn't fit together. Nothing he wanted to say seemed right. He wouldn't apologize, though. No matter what, he didn't regret what he'd done at the club.

Esther sat in the passenger seat, her bare feet propped on the dashboard. Her arms stayed crossed over her chest, her eyes focused solemnly on the city lights whizzing by outside the car. They passed in a blur, like her thoughts. She'd never seen her husband act violently, and she was not sure how she was supposed to feel about it. She needed some time to think. Of course, she couldn't seem to do that properly either. Alcohol ran through her system, and she regretted drinking so much in such a short period of time.

Half an hour later, the couple's vehicle parked in their driveway. Still, Michael hadn't spoken a word to Esther, and Esther hadn't said anything to Michael. Neither of them knew exactly what to do, neither of them knew what to say. The engine turned off, and Michael took the keys out of the ignition, but both of them stayed in the car.

"I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're waiting for...If that's what you're expecting." He finally said, so quietly that Esther almost didn't hear him.

"I'm not expecting anything from you, Michael." The slurred words made her voice seem so tired, so dull and lifeless. It had been a long night. She wasn't sober; She was the complete opposite.

"What do you mean?" Michael frowned.

"Nothing," Esther sighed, unhooking her seatbelt. She opened the car door. "I don't know, Michael. I want to sleep."

Michael followed suit, watching his still-tipsy wife struggle to walk up the porch steps. He ran to her side instantly, wrapping his arm around her waist. To his dismay, her hands pushed his hands away from her body. In his mind, Michael began to panic. His wife had never acted this way. She never rejected him, especially when he was trying to help her. She normally found his helpful gestures soft and caring...Had he fucked up that bad? He had protected her!

Michael unlocked the front door and held it open for Esther, and followed her inside. He double checked to make sure the front door was locked, and by the time he turned around, Esther was out of sight.

He found her curled up in a ball on their king-sized bed. Her dress had ridden up and her hair was sprawled carelessly over her pillow and face. She used it as a shield, and Michael wondered if she even knew.

"Baby," He said softly. He went to his drawers and pulled out one of his favorite band shirts. "Come here, let me help you change."

"No, Michael." She pathetically whined. Still, Michael was persistent, and grabbed her arm in attempt to make her sit up. Again, she groaned.

"Dammit, Esther!" Michael finally exclaimed. His vows had promised her patience, but this was becoming too much for him. He just wanted to help her change into something comfortable and cuddle up behind her, but apparently that wasn't going to happen if Esther had her way. He may as well have gone downstairs and slept on the sofa in his mancave. "Would you let me help you?"

"I don't need your help!" The young woman cried. She sat up and snatched his shirt from him, then began to struggle with the zipper of her skin-tight dress.

"Do you need help yet?" Michael sarcastically asked. He didn't like watching her struggle, but this was ridiculous. Why was his wife acting like such a child?

"Ugh," Esther sighed, frustrated. "Okay."

He tugged at the zipper of her dress and instructed her to lift her arms over her head. Then, he pulled his shirt down over her. The shirt was baggy on her, and even though she wouldn't admit it now, she secretly loved being engulfed in the cloth that smelled like her husband.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Esther sighed in frustration, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. She was drunk and she was confused. She was angry and she couldn't pinpoint why. It was so frustrating and overwhelming to her. She already regretted drinking so much, she couldn't wait to see how shitty she felt in the morning.

"You're not in high school, Michael!" She finally exploded, wiping underneath her eyes. Her makeup smudged, but she didn't notice, and even if she had, she didn't care. "You can't punch someone and expect to get out of it with a slap on the wrist and everything goes back to normal. You could get in huge trouble. That was so immature, and...And I've never seen you violent like that before."

"He had his filthy hands all over you! You're my wife, I'm supposed to protect you!"

"That doesn't mean you have to beat the shit out of someone else! That's too much. You took it too far."

"I hit him once!" Michael defended himself.

"He bled all over the club floor!" Esther exclaimed, the volume of her voice escalating, and the frustration becoming more evident with every passing word. Her argument may have been a bit of an overexaggeration, but at least it helped get her point across.

"My vow was to keep you safe, Esther. I don't care what that means, I don't care what it takes. I'd give my life if it means that you're safe. You're my everything. If anything ever happened to you I don't know what I'd do. How could I live with myse-" Michael was interrupted by Esther standing up and practically running out of the room. He stood speechless, appalled. Here he was trying to fix this mess, and the love of his life just walked away from him.

However, when he heard coughs and gags coming from the bathroom down the hall, he understood entirely. He'd been in her place a few times before, and he knew that it completely, totally sucked. He dashed out of the room as fast as he could and he ran into the bathroom after Esther. He sighed, pulling his wife's blonde hair back as another harsh gag resulted in another splash of disgusting, sour contents into the toilet bowl. Her throat burned, and tears unwillingly ran down both of her cheeks. Michael hated seeing her like this, and he wished he could take it away.

"M-Michael." She stuttered. He shushed her, handing her a towel to wipe her mouth off. He flushed the toilet and tenderly kissed the top of her head.

"Let's forget about it, baby," Michael said. "Maybe I handled it wrong, maybe I didn't. Either way, it's not worth fighting over. I just want to get you to bed so you can go to sleep and feel better in the morning."

Esther curled up against Michael's chest on the bathroom floor. She pressed her ear against his cotton t-shirt, listening to his steady heartbeat. She placed her hand over her own, and maybe she was imagining it, but they were perfectly in sync.

"You're too good to me, Michael," Esther mumbled against her husband's chest. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you, too, baby," Michael whispered into her hair. "More than you could ever even try to understand."