Cut To Pieces [Complete]

Questions

I backed into the flat, my arms loaded with shopping bags, Michael following close behind.

“Just put then on the worktop.” I instructed Michael as I started to unpack the contents of the bag. “Thank you for the ride.” I smiled, hoping he would stop looking at me like I had a terminal disease.

“It’s okay.” The words were empty. His eyes were glazed over as he walked around my tiny kitchen helping me unpack the groceries I had bought with the money Aunty Iz had given me. “I just”

“It’s my dad.” I cut him off, knowing I wouldn’t be able to move on with him until he at least knew the general outline. Michael’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ shape as he registered what I’d said. I think he’d been expecting a cousin or my uncle, but not my father. He knew that my mother had died. Michael knew that this was the only family I had left. “He’s not stable and he finally cracked. My Aunt and Uncle admitted him to a hospital. We should have done it years ago." I could feel my throat tightening and crinkled the plastic carrier bag in my hand. “I love him, you know? But he’s not all there. I’m running out of him to love. He’s slowly fading and I don’t think I’m going to get him back.” I choked and Michael had his arms around me in a second. It was a strange feeling, crying into the arms of this boy I barely knew, yet I felt totally safe. “I’m sorry.” I stuttered, trying to control my breathing. “You shouldn’t have to be dealing with my emotional outbursts. You can leave if you want.” Michael only pulled my tighter and rested his chin on top of my head.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” I smiled through the tears and held onto Michael for a little bit longer before pulling away and wiping my face with one of the tea towels on top of the microwave. “Are you okay?” I had never seen anyone look so beautifully concerned in my entire life. I nodded slowly and picked up the bag of M&M’s I had bought.

“TV.” I mumbled and waddled out of the kitchen to plop down on the couch 5 meters away. I flicked the remote to ITV and tapped the spot next to me for Michael. I snuggled into his side and popped a handful of M&Ms into my mouth before holding the bag up for Michael who had snaked his arm around me.

“Coronation Street?” Michael chuckled as I set the remote down.

“My mom watched it.” I shrugged, realising that my TV viewing had been severely restricted as well. Jesus, did I even have a personality of my own? “It was her favourite.” A half hour passed in silence, the whole time spent deliberating whether to just fuck it all and tell Michael the entire story. A part of me knew that telling him would lift a huge weight off my shoulders. That it would give me someone I could talk to that wasn’t family. But the majority of me was terrified. Haunted by the idea that this new found friend I had become so fond of in so little time could up and leave and I’d never see him again. “Michael?” I started, chewing on my bottom lip, not sure how to spark the conversation.

“This TV is shit.” I couldn’t help but crack a smile as the episode drew to a close.

“Yeah.” I wiggled around so I was sitting up facing Michael and crossed my legs under me. I took another handful of M&Ms and placed the bag down on the coffee table. God, his smile was infectious and even though what I was about to tell him was the complete opposite, I couldn’t help but let his contagious enthusiasm for everything take over. “Do you really want to know?” I asked seriously, not taking the subject lightly. Michael mimicked my position and leaned against the arm of the couch, his smile disappearing into a look of total severity which seemed out of place on his soft features.

“Tell me.” I squirmed a bit and placed my hands in my lap, giving them my full concentration. I took a few deep breaths before launching into the story which was either going to make or break the budding friendship between us.

“My mother died shortly after I was born, right? And my dad coped quite well with that. He managed, we were a happy family of just him and me. But as I grew I slowly started to look more and more like my mother and because he had repressed all of his emotions when she died so he could look after me he slowly began to crack. He saw a bit of her in everything I did and somewhere around my twelfth birthday he started to get worse. I didn’t see much wrong with it then, only him being a protective father, but he started to restrict the things I ate, the things I watched on TV, what I wore. He narrowed everything I did down to what my mother did in high school. I took all the same GCSE’s. I took road running as a sport because that’s what she did. She was a national level runner and I thought that if I got that good he’d finally be happy with me and stop moulding me into another version of my mother. I won the nationals in year 10 but that only made it worse. I started to notice that all my birthday and Christmas presents were things of my mothers. Her clothing, her makeup, her jewellery.” I looked up to see Michael to see his mouth hanging slightly open and his hair a mess from where he kept running his hands through it. “Uh, he started to call me Carla, instead of Allie. And that’s where it started to get bad. I finished my GCSE’s early and stayed at home. I made dinner, I cleaned the house. I became my mother.”

“He didn’t” I shook my head before Michael could voice his assumption.

“No. God no. He never tried anything. But that’s why I had to leave. It was getting so bad that he completely forgot, or refused to believe who I really was. I corrected him one day when he called me Carla and he flipped out. He started smashing cups and yelling that Allie had died and how dare I pretend to be her. I was his wife, Carla, and our baby girl had died. I was delusional, confused. I ran off to my Aunts and we started to plan to get me out of the house as soon as I turned 18. And we did. Two nights ago. I packed up, snuck out and was shipped out here to Manchester so he couldn’t find me if he tried looking.” Michael reached into my lap and took my hands out, wrapping them in his own. “And that’s what the phone call was about. He turned up at my Aunty’s and started acting crazy and tried to attack my cousin because he couldn’t find me. Well, he couldn’t find Carla.”

“And your dads why you dyed your hair?” I nodded slowly.

“And why I cut it. My mom had always had this beautiful long brown hair down to her hips and I was never allowed to cut or dye it. Because if I did it wouldn’t be her hair. So I cut it all off the morning of my 18th and dad went mental. I had to calm him down by promising that I was Carla and that I would never leave him and then I ran away.” A tear flowed over at the mention of my broken promises to my father. “It killed me to leave, it really did. He’s not okay and he needs someone to look after him but I couldn’t stay there anymore. I couldn’t pretend to be her. I had to leave to keep myself sane.  Had to be able to move on with my life.” Michael pulled me back towards him and I climbed into his lap, resting my head in the crook of his neck and letting another round of tears fall.

“And he came looking for you and they got him into a hospital.” Michael concluded and I nodded as he stroked my hair. “Sh, everything will be fine now. You’re safe away from him and I know you love him but this is what’s best for you and sometimes you have to put yourself first.” I closed my eyes and tried to stop the tears. I lay there in Michael’s arms for god knows how long until I drifted off to sleep.

I felt myself being lifted up and carried towards my bedroom. Michael laid me down on the double bed and pulled my shoes off. I felt the blankets get tucked around my shoulders and fell back asleep instantly.

(A/N: Who ships Mallie??? Cause I do >< Thank you guys for reading this! It’s my first 5sos fic so I’m kind of experimenting. Please comment and let me know what you think!)