fanboy ↦ michael clifford {au}

eighteen: hope

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

| michael’s pov |

The tears in my eyes fell, and this was the only time I realized that I’ve kept things to myself for far too long. It wouldn’t stop– I couldn’t stop crying.

I made no sound, but the voices in my head were loud. It replayed everything I’ve been through, and how fast it had been to throw that all away.

Pulling the covers on top of me, I hid myself. I was alone in the room, but I felt like I wasn’t. The way the events ran through my mind made me feel like I was there again. They were there again.

I could see them.

I could hear their words.

I could feel the pain.

And this time, it was immense. I was blind to it then, but now, I know. I know how stupid I’ve been– how dense I was.

It was in front of me the whole time.

The reluctance was enough for me to figure it out, but why did I choose to ignore it? Was it because I was just that idiotic?

Or was it because I, myself, chose to do what I did– hope?

“Stupid,” I mumbled to myself, as I tried to catch my breath. I hated having a stuffy nose after crying; it was pathetic. 

It only made me feel more miserable.

And the fact that I’m actually considering a petty cold to be something so unfortunate proves how different I’ve become.

I wiped the remaining of my tears away using my blanket; I hated how weak I’ve gotten. Flashbacks usually didn’t get to me, nor did rejection. 

I felt so feeble. I felt like if there was just a little more weight on my shoulders, I'd break.  One word, and I'll change.

I shook my head, and a humorless laugh followed.

“What's the point?"