Killer || muke

e i g h t

》Luke

"No. Not gonna happen." Michael stated as soon as the words left my lips. I rolled me eyes and he got off of me, putting his shirt back on. I put my hands to the side and pulled myself up, leaning against the armrest of the couch. He stood in front of me as if I was his son and he caught me with my hand in the cookie jar before dinner. I scratched my bare chest and waited to respond.

"You did say you want to make me happy." I pointed out.

"I said I wanted to make you happy, not make you go insane. I'm not going to expose you to something like that."

"It's not like I've never seen blood before."

"Not like this, Luke."

"Take me with you."

"Do you not understand the word no?!" Michael lost his self restraint as he whacked a picture frame off of the mantle behind him. The picture flew across the room before hitting a creme wall and shattering, glass fragments cascading like snowflakes.

I flinched at the crack.

The sound was quick; but Michael's breathing was hard and coming out in pants as if he was using every bit of his control not to hit me. Or kill me.

"C'mere." His voice was softer now, but I didn't dare disobey is demand. I stood, my legs shaky and stepped over to him, careful to avoid any outlying pieces of glass.

I stood before him, a foot distance between us. I didn't meet his eyes.

He sighed before grasping my arms with his hands and pulling me closer, close enough until our chests touched. His breath fanned over my face, his cold hands holding my arms with an iron grip.

"Look at me." He instructed. My eyes met his and suddenly my heart was an olympic runner, a thousand beats a minute.

"Do you understand what you are asking me?"

"I'm not five, Michael." I defended.

He pulled his lip inbetween his teeth and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. "This means, that if anyone sees us, they will see you. You could become an accomplice."

"I know that."

"Why do you want to see me kill someone?" He asked, a furry brow going up in a questioning look.

"I read somewhere that BPD can be caused by something traumatic," I said, changing the subject.

"So?"

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Is that your business?" He snapped, letting my arms drop at my sides. He backed away from me, his arms swinging at his sides as he left the living room. I heard his feet slap against the tile, then the clatter of a stool. I decided to follow him.

Michael's shaking head was buried in his hands, his legs tangled in the legs of the stool he sat on. My heart wrenched at his quiet sobs.

"My dad killed my mom. So what? Am I supposed to cry about it every night? Do you expect me to visit her grave once a week?" His voice was muffled in his hands and I fought the urge to break down for him.

"Is that why you kill?"

"Fuck off, Luke. I'll take you to see a fucking murder if you want," He pulled his head out from his hands, his green eyes dark and furious. His cheeks were pink and tear stained but his voice was as loud and intimidating as ever. "Just know that I can't take away the nightmares of the last looks people give you."

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ah mad michael

he changes emotions really quick bc he has bpd ok ok so dont be like "he was happy a second ago" or something like that bc he can snap any moment

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-Katie♡