Recount the Seconds (Muke)

Chapter 8

Present - Luke

I left the guitar with Mikey. I think he really loved it, which made me happy…But singing with him, especially that song…? I try not to cry in front of him, but sometimes it’s hard. 

I told him about the band taking a break. It’s weird…I mean, I can tell he feels bad, but distant from it all. God, he’s always so distant…I know it’s not his fault. I do. 

But even as I try to get closer to him again — to make things better even if it can’t be like before — I feel him pushing back like he can’t quite accept me…I need to keep reminding myself that, to him, I’m from a different planet. 

But how am I supposed to address that? Am I supposed to act like nothing ever happened between us because he doesn’t remember it? Am I supposed to act normal? I’m trying to put Michael first, because that’s what you do for people you love. But I get so angry sometimes, and so low….it’s like I’m mourning my memories of him. 

You know, I’m almost jealous sometimes — God, I know this is horrible — but I’m almost jealous of not remembering, because then I wouldn’t know what I lost. 

I realize that I’m clenching my fists around the neck of my guitar. Pulling my hands away, the strings and frets leave cross-hatched marks on my skin. With a sigh, I push the guitar away from my crossed legs, letting in rest in the folds of the white hotel duvet. 

Then, as I stare at it, a phrase comes to mind. Amidst my jumbled, horrible, resentful thoughts, one thing comes clear: I need to write. 

——-

Present - Michael

I wake up with a jolt. 

"Michael," my mum peers over at me from an armchair in the corner of the room. I look around, momentarily disoriented and panting. Where the hell…?

Right. I got cleared to leave the hospital yesterday. We’re still stuck in London, though. Well. 

Well, apparently I live here now in a flat with the rest of the boys that Ash has gone back to. (Luke’s still staying in the hotel because he wants to be close.)

God. What am I going to do about Luke? 

At any rate, I’m sick of living in a bed in a single room. I did enough of that in high school. I want to go home. Sydney home. Mum’s been leaning against it because she knows it would kill the boys. But I want to get better, and to do that, I think I need some time and space. I just don’t know how to tell them. Especially Luke. 

I haven’t felt this trapped since high school. It was a different kind of one room living: the days spent shut up in my bedroom, just me and my computer and my guitar, because it was the only place my hands didn’t shake. In my room, I didn’t feel pressure like two hands pressed over my ears, squeezing hard, and I didn’t spend half my time wanting to cry and half of my time wanting to scream. 

Cal was my only friend back then. He was the only one who knew about me. God, I wish they would let me see him…He’s always been there for me. 

You know, I wish I could explain how or why year 10 happened, but I can’t. Depression is fickle sometimes. It sneaks up on you, even when you have a good life. I had a good life, and for a time, I wanted nothing more than for it to end. But Cal helped me every day, especially since that was when Luke and I didn’t get along. 

Luke and I had the same guitar teacher for a bit, before I quit the classes. We always competed. I hated how he was younger than me but just as good. And his voice was perfect, but I could never admit that to him. He was nervous around me at first, and I was cold, and it all got mixed up in bickering until we couldn’t stand spending time with one another…