cigarette butts ➸ michael clifford

03. Michael

GUYS, IF YOU ARE A PREVIOUS READER, PLEASE RE-READ CHAPTER TWO. I KNOW I KEEP CHANGING EVERYTHING BUT BASICALLY, THE STORY IS NOW IN 1ST PERSON, MINUS THE FIRST CHAPTER BECAUSE MICHAEL WAS HIGH AS PORK PIE OKAY? OKAY!

SO BASICALLY, CHAPTER 2 IS 1ST PERSON, GO READ IT, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS UNTIL THAT.

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A groan emitted from my lips, before I even knew I was awake. My hands flew to my head, a dull throbbing present in my left temple. All I could do was let a low hiss leak out from under my breath. I had been well and truly fucked last night - I had pushed my limits. Scrunching up my nose, I curled into myself, burrowing deeper into my cocoon. My head span and ached as if I'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. I struggled to swallow, my throat all dry and after a while, I punched my pillow with a huff. I was completely wrecked and in all honesty, couldn't be bothered with the after shock of what I had taken last night. Another groan bubbled up in the back of my throat as a tsunami of nausea hit me. I swallowed down the midnight Big Mac I had, as it came back up, in disgust, slightly regretting everything. I peeked out from under hooded eye lids, blinded by the sun's ray's. As my eyes adjusted, I registered the fact I was occupying a room that was completely unfamiliar to me. Had I been kidnapped? I gave the room a once over, checking out the bare, sterile, white walls. This didn't seem to be the kind of place a kidnapper would own. Next to the bed, was a beige dresser with a vase and a plastic bouquet sat inside it.

"What the fuck is this?" I murmured, gravelly undertones laced around my words.

I gripped the duvet and ripped it away from me, propping myself up with an elbow. I swung my legs over the edge and felt my toes brush the surface of the floor, sending a shiver rolling down my spine. My head continued to throb, pulsating through out my skull, causing me to clench my jaw. Just as I steadied my swaying body, readying myself to stand, a knock echoed through the small room. I swallowed, my throat still dry, before answering.

"Yeah?" a husky resonance to my tired voice.

The door knob jiggled, squeaked and turned before the door gave way. What I assumed to be a nurse, appeared, an upbeat and peppy smile gracing her features.

She was hot, but not all there.

"Hi!" she greeted, in a cheery manner.

I squinted, not at all ready for this shit, and stuck my hand up slightly, to show I heard in response.

"Someones not a very happy bunny, huh," she giggled.

I frowned at her. What the fuck did I take last night. It was silent, as I didn't even bother to reply. She sensed the awkwardness and the refusal to reply.

"Anyway," she started, slightly perplexed. "I'm Lara and I'm one of the staff that monitors this floor and seeing as you've just been admitted, I might as well help you get to know what goes on!"

"If I'm honest, I don't know what the fuck is going on, I don't know if this is a joke and the boys are dicking around - ha, ha, ha - but I really can't be bothered, so if you'd stop, that'd be nice," I snapped.

It was her turn to look confused, nervous laughter coming out in short breaths. She scratched her arm, not sure if I was messing with her, but I was very serious.

"You were dropped off last night, I was told. By an Austin Irvine?" she explained.

I ran my fingers through my knotted, greasy mess of hair, letting out a breathy laugh, but then remembered I was not on good terms with "Austin." Playing jokes and pranks are not fucking fun unless you're the one playing them. I really wanted the prick to jump out, high five Ashton Kutcher and laugh about being "punk'd" so I could go home.

"You're at Coral-Dale Rehab Facility Center, remember?"

My eyes instantly bulged out of their sockets, my breathing slowing and nearly coming to a stop. I whipped my head around so fast, I was sure I got motion sickness. Rehab.

"No," I shook my head in denial. "No, no, no, no."

"Uh, yes," she nodded, her eyes widening.

I just stared at her, not believing how dense this young woman was. No one as dim as her would be able to pull this off. I had been discarded and left to my own devices, in a place I wasn't even slightly familiar with. I didn't need to be here, I had told him this plenty of times. I'm completely fine. I didn't even have a clue where he was and no one knew I was here. Lara placed a piece of paper on the side dresser and started talking. I spaced out, internally panicking. How was I to cope? I was meant to be going out tonight, meeting my new dealer and drinking until I couldn't feel my legs. I was meant to make myself feel good the only way I know how. I heard a click and looked up to see the door, shut and the girl gone. I rubbed my hands over my face and grabbed at the double sided piece of paper and scanned it.

Coral-Dale Rehab Facility Center.

Welcome, we're a center that specializes in Alcohol, Drugs, Eating Disorders, Depression and Gambling Problems.

We provide detoxing, medication, therapy and a variety activities.

Coral-Dale, providing the first step to recovery

I exhaled deeply through my nose, not believing what was happening. Were they for real? Turning over the page, there was a timetable with my name printed above it.

WEDNESDAY; breakfast, crafts, creative writing, free, music, lunch, free, dinner, bed.

They were for fucking real.

I scoffed at it, scrunching it up and tossing it across the room, watching as it landed on a black duffel, that I assume is mine. Opposite to that wall, was a door which led to a pristine, white bathroom. Standing up, wobbling a large amount, I padded off to the toilet, before taking a shower.

I flicked at the dials, wincing as I went through a rainbow of temperatures, until I found one that hadn't seared nor frozen my skin. Shedding myself of clothes, I stepped in the shower, letting the water soak my hair and travel down my back. Would I be able to contact home? The boys?

I turned off the water, unable to move. I didn't want to be here - I wanted to continue ruining my life, because that's what it was - my life. I was sort of happy doing that. An exasperated sigh filled the small bathroom, my forehead against the wet tile wall as I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. I chewed on my lip as I stood like that for a few minutes, before stepping out of the shower and blinking back tears.

Crying is for pussies.

My feet became dry, as I left water filled foot prints in the carpet. My mind was swarming with thoughts I was struggling to lock away. I huffed, roughly grabbing at the duffel, rooting around for a plain grey jumper and a pair of black jeans. My fingers brushed upon something plastic. Digging around, I found a pot of green hair dye - the color I'd been talking about dying my hair for weeks. A note was taped to it, stick men and love hearts drawn all over it.

sorry, love Ash xx

"Dick," I muttered, the corner of my mouth slightly quirking upwards.

With a shake of my head, I grabbed a clean pair of boxers, slid them on, yanked on the jeans and pulled the jumper over my head. I picked up the discarded towel and quickly dried my hair with it and traveled back to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. Disgusting. Useless. Ugly. I slowly turned around, my shoulders slumped, and went back to my room. Why do even bother? My hands tore through the bag, angry and upset, rummaging around for a beanie, before heading to the door. Taking a deep breath, I grappled the handle, twisted it and cracked it open. I quickly stuck my head out, scanning the area. There was an older man sat at the end of the hall, rocking himself and muttering nonsensical things.

What the fuck is going on.