cigarette butts ➸ michael clifford

10. Ruby

I do not own The Walking Dead and Orange Is The New Black, however I do own this piece of writing.

ALSO CONTAINS SPOILERS.

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Watching Ben storm off pulled the trigger in my brain. So many thoughts made themselves known, but none of them seemed logical. Why was he angry? What did Michael know that I didn't? Was I really a bad friend? He told me it was withdrawl, which could be true, however I knew there was more to it. I didn't want him to get in to trouble, because even though he was a dick, he had been there for me, as I him. I cared for him. When he picked the lock of my door at four am, which is weird and backs up my point of him being a sex pest, I had to console him as he cried about his dead mother, who apparently came to him in a dream. She had died of an overdose, something that scared Ben deeply, and he never quite got over it. He said "If I ever touch that shit again, I want my mom to beat my ass."

I told him I would join in.

Me and Michael were alone again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, boots kicking at the gravel. He looked angry, disappointed and upset. I wanted to tell him that whatever Ben was going through was not his fault. He wasn't to blame for his struggles and when Ben calms the fuck down and realises what he's doing, they'll be best friends again.

Our destination was unknown, the shops completely forgotten, both of us carrying two plastic bags full of crap. My mind was everywhere, just as Ben and Michaels probably were. I felt like my brain was overloading with a clash of pointless shit and important shit, which was totally inconvenient. Ever since entering this facility, I felt free. Free from my mom, free from isolation, free from me. I never thought talking would actually benefit me, Michael being my very own confessional. Counselling was not very important to me, creative writing was relaxing and music was great for Michael to open up and enjoy himself, which I secretly enjoyed witnessing.

It was like some form of weird porn.

He was important to me. This facility, as much as I didn't want to say it, has given me some of the best things ever. Freedom, happiness, a brother and Michael. I couldn't exactly pinpoint what Michael was to me. He made me feel good, adventurous and childish. Whenever I was around him, I wanted to be with him. The feel of him was odd. My skin burned when met with his. My fingers itched for that feeling. The only thing that worried me was the possibility that I'd replaced my self hating tendencies with my growing affection for Michael.

Ten minutes of walking took us to a large field with a basketball court, football pitch and a park. I couldn't help being excited about the discovery and me being me, picked up my pace. I ran across the grassy terrain and hopped on a swing. Michael lagged far behind as I pumped my legs, flying forwards, coming back down and swinging backwards. I closed my eyes, my hair flapping around me.

"Stop."

My eyes flung open and the bottom of my shoes skidded across the tarmac. I came to a halt in front of Michael, who stood with his head hung low. Scratching the tip of my nose, I stared up at him. He refused to look at me. Leaning forward, I grabbed both his hands and pulled him towards me. His hands were glacial, the cold piercing through the warmth of mine.

"I'm worried about him," he mumbled, still looking down.

"He's a big boy now, he knows what he's doing," I reassured.

He looked dead in to my eyes, "You didn't see his face though, Rubes."

He was concerned, something I couldn't blame him for, but did think he was going overboard with. Honestly, if Ben was in trouble and he couldn't handle it, he'd admit it. He wasn't one to suffer in silence.