𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 • 𝕞.𝕔

chapter 27

•••

I hesitated a long time, standing in front of his door. What would I say to Michael if he was indeed, here, on his own? All of the speeches I had been rehearsing in my head had vanished, gone away, easily. Effortlessly. After days of listening to the beat of my own heart, I was finally about to face him. Would be be angry? Happy? Would we cry? I guessed none of them; I already imagined him being cold, just like in the beginning. But there I was. So I didn't bother ringing his doorbell, just pressed onto the doorknob. And it was opened.

I entered slowly in the apartment, the faint sound of music from his bedroom playing. I hadn't been there in a while; and it felt sort of nice to be back to the place where so many memories had been made. I hesitantly walked through his empty living room. Cans of soda and beer were on the small table, a box of pizza, and boxes of biscuits. Some of his clothes were scattered all around the room. I took a deep breath, and approached his bedroom, with an awful feeling. I wondered what the hell he had been doing on his own, here.

That could've been anything. How strange was it to think that he had just been here. The thought of him being here, to be alone (he had every right to be) hadn't even crossed my mind. How selfish had I been, only bothering about my feelings, not his. I loathed myself at this very moment, because I was probably the one who had made him, feel this way. Getting too caught up in the moment, omitting the fact that he had to go through this, too, and that it wasn't simple, neither was it easy.

I caught a glimpse of him, and my heart started beating a lot faster. I wanted to run to his bed, but instead, I took a few steps forward. He was laying down, facing the wall. I was afraid of his reaction the minute I'd speak up, if he would kick me out, or hug me. I didn't know anything, and this state of ignorance made me feel insecure about many, many things.

"Michael," I finally spoke up.

He turned around, saw me, and laid there, stunned. I could hear the song properly, now- one of his favourites. He just stayed still, for a second, before closing his eyes, a pained expression on his face. He rubbed his eyes, and put his hands over his face. I approached a bit closer, and he didn't say anything yet. I sat on his bed, next to him, and he finally spoke up.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I am sorry," I said, feeling the tears coming up. I felt weak; I couldn't resist crying whenever I felt like it, and I hated that.

"I'm such a dick."

"No, you're okay," he approached, and pulled me in. I touched the side of his face, now lying by his side. "I got so worried. I was so scared."

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating, and I could see that he was close to crying.

"You're okay," I whispered. "Don't do that again. What did I do?"

"Nothing," I could see a tear forming in the corner of his eye, which caused me to cry, too. "I'm just... I don't know how to be. I'm sorry."

I approached my face, and brought our foreheads together, caressing slightly his bare shoulder. "Stop worrying about this shit. You're fine."

"Okay," he nodded.

"I didn't understand why you left," I admitted. He opened his eyes and stared right into mine. "I thought you didn't love me anymore, Ashton said you thought we were over."

"Ashton needs to shut his big mouth," he chuckled, wiping a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. "I thought I would figure it out, figure myself out, what I'm supposed to do if I was alone, and I am so sorry."

"Did you find your peace of mind? Because that's what matters," I asked. "I know I am the way I am, but I care so much about you, and I want you to know that I love you. I don't care about what people think, or if you aren't being too sure. I love everything about you, and I don't care if I sound stupid, but I'm not going to let you go. Not yet. Sorry, Michael Clifford."

"Well," he smiled, and kissed me. "I'm not intending on letting you go, either."

"And I know that you feel as if you aren't going to be able to handle the whole thing, but you're doing wonderful."

"Do you know that it is hard? I want you and the baby to feel safe and sound."

"I know, I do know," I nodded. "I am sorry if I made you feel that way, it's my fault. You did so many things for me in such a short span of time, and I feel as if I haven't done enough for you. You have done so many things, babe," I said, butterflies flying in my tummy. I wanted to hold him tight, but my big belly was preventing me from doing it. "You opened my eyes in so many ways, and I am so thankful. I don't like saying things like this, but I can't believe you came into my life. You're one of a kind."

"So are you," he smiled. His tattooed knuckles brushed against the side of my face.

I nodded. "At least, be certain of my love. You're such an idiot, but you're a little kitten at the same time, and you changed my life in so many beautiful ways."

"I feel like we are in a soap opera," he chuckled. "We sound stupid."

"Fuck, I know," I said.

"I love you," he just said.

I touched his hair lightly, stroking it. "I love you, too. Thank God for you."

•••