The next day, I skip all my classes.
I'm not trying to rebel; I just need some time to myself. More or less, I took a "mental health day," as my mother would call it, to get back in the swing of things.
But as it turns out, by the end of twelve long hours all by myself, I have not made any progress whatsoever and am more lonely and confused than anything else. There's only so many times you can listen to your All Time Low playlist without thinking about Ashton or Calum.
Or both.
Sighing, I finally pull myself from bed and dig out my cell phone from the bottom of my trashcan (earlier I tried throwing it away to make my life easier, but it didn't help) and switch it on, as a strange assortment of messages begin to roll in.
Luke Hemmings: hey where were you today? We got a new Econ assignment - I'll explain it later
Alexa Smith: do we hav any milk in the fridge?
Alexa Smith: nevermind
Unknown Number: Ik I fucked up but plz call me back soon xx
My screen goes black as I sigh, nearly throwing it back into the trash. As it turns out, there is nothing from the people I had wanted to hear from most.
Well, actually, no. It's better that one particular person didn't try to contact me. That would just make everything a whole lot worse.
The other one, however, should know better, being the only person who understands both sides of the story.
I don't even know who I am anymore--well, that is, if I've ever known. I can hardly recognize myself nowadays, with my blond hair messy and dull, favorite Nirvana t-shirt worn out and ripped, and sweatpants with at least two or three stains on them.
I don't know if it's just the stress of university, my strange social life, the wrecked relationships of my past, or all of the above, but all I know is that I'm completely lost. I need direction badly but can't seem to find it.
I nearly cringe as I dial the number, almost backtracking.
But I don't, and the call goes through.
Straight to voicemail.
"Hey, this is Michael's phone. Leave a message. Bye."
I sigh and leave what possibly could be the saddest (as in pathetic) message on Earth for Michael Gordon Clifford to listen to later, then flop back on the bed.
~
A few hours later Michael does call me back, but by then I'm nearly going crazy. I've been stuck in the house all day and am hyped up on the unmeasurable amounts of candy I had eaten earlier, trying to clear my thoughts.
But I've finally made up my mind. And that's all that counts.
When I find the address Michael gave me earlier, I nearly jump out of the car and trip over the cobblestone pathway. By now I must be absolutely insane, as I soon find myself marching right up to the front door and ring the doorbell.
His house is actually very nice and has a calming atmosphere, something his old apartment never had. The calming environment of perfectly manicured lawn, potted flowers, and hovering trees seems to soothe my senses a bit because when Michael finally opens the red-painted door, I'm slightly less angry.
Instead, I give him the best evil eye I can muster. "Clifford."
Michael smirks, cracking open the door a bit further. "Nice to see you, too, Nicks. So, what are you-"
