Stay Together For The Kids - Michael Clifford Fanfiction

A Change of Plans.

Eventually, I walk down the hall, opening my room to check on Ruby and Calum, who stayed over last night.

Ruby has fallen asleep in her cot, and Calum is still asleep in my bed. He looks peaceful. Maybe he's dreaming of a world where Michael is still alive. I decide to let him sleep longer. Let him have his dream.
I close the door, walking back out to mum. "I need to get out of the house." I tell her.

Mums face instantly turns to one of worry. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I can't stay in here, thinking of him all the time." I say. "I just need to leave."

Mum hesitates, but nods.

I don't say anymore to her, and I grab my coat and keys and head out the door. It's a cold day, and I tug my coat over me tight. There aren't any reporters in sight, but I don't want to wait around to find out.

I quickly get in my car, and let myself feel the engine roar to life. It makes me feel alive. I wonder if I'm in a good enough state to drive.

I ignore it and pull out of the driveway, and start driving away from the house.

I hadn't intended to start driving towards here, but as I pull up I feel like it's something I should do. That I'm ready for it.

I turn off the car engine and look up at my old home. It hasn't changed. The gates still are shut, the windows and curtains closed, the flowers over blossomed. Nothing's changed.

I take a deep breath, before getting out of the car. I slowly walk up the front door, taking in everything. I want to be sure not to miss a thing. This is my house now, I remind myself. I wonder if I will move back here. Probably not.

I realise I have gotten to the front door, I hesitate, before fumbling for my key, and putting it into the lock. I pause as the key reaches the door. And then the panic sets in. I first feel it reaching to my chest, a sharp pain that panics me more. Then I feel my chest tightening, seeming to cut off my throat. I'm gasping for air, trying to talk to myself. It's only anxiety. It's only anxiety. It's only anxiety.

I finally manage to calm myself down long enough so I can run back to my car. I slam the door shut and lock myself in, my head bent over the steering wheel. I can hear my breath, coming out in short, sharp, raspy tones. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down.

I take another deep breath, the tightening feeling disappearing, air filling my lungs again. I start to feel ok. So I burst into tears.

"Stop it." I tell myself out loud. "Get yourself together."

I wipe my eyes and try to focus on anything else. I don't want to drive. I don't want to move. Coming here was a stupid idea. I couldn't be near his presence. Not now. Not ever, I think.

"What the hell are you doing to me, Michael?" I scowl out loud. I'm still sobbing but I'm trying not to.

I'm distracted by my anger towards my dead husband by my phone ringing. I recognise the number as work.

"Hello?" I say, sniffling.

"Lily?" I hear Roberts pained voice on the other end of the phone.

"Hi, Robert." I breathe.

"How are you holding up?" He asks softly.

It takes all my energy not to start laughing into the phone. How am I holding up? Really? Just great, Robert. Just fucking great.

"Fine." I lie.

"We're all very sorry to hear about Michael. He was very dear to all of us." He says.