cigarette butts ➸ michael clifford

13. Ruby

The shattering of the bottle, metaphorically, was the shattering of my heart. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and even contemplated the good old fashioned pinching myself awake, but the sound of Michael emptying the contents of his stomach, off the roof, was enough to assure me this was reality. Grimacing, I continued smoking; waiting for him to finish and realise he wasn't alone. I felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment and I was surprised about it. Why should it affect me whether he wants to relapse, break the rules, and drown himself? Why should it matter to me whether he wants to ruin all the hard work and progress he made in becoming happier and healthier? Why should I feel like my fucking heart and lungs were slowly collapsing whilst I look at this broken, yet time consuming, and beautiful boy? Flicking my burnt out cigarette butt in to the dark, I crossed my arms, partly because I was freezing and mostly because I was annoyed.

He didn't move for two full minutes and I had nearly thought he had passed out until he flinched, making confused faces. I kicked him, hearing my toes crack and I cringed. I just wanted him to move and be alert so I could yell at him. He slowly sat up and squinted at me.

"Rubes!" he slurred happily. "What are--where am we doing?"

"Jesus Christ," I mumbled.

"I don't know... even end up," he muttered.

"Why were you drinking?" I scolded, crouching down next to him. "How did you even get fucking vodka?!"

"I don' even know - I was sad an' mean--Ben, the gap," he rambled, his hands gesturing to everything and nothing.

I groaned, my head rolling back. The fact I hadn't clued on to Ben being the one who could smuggle that kind of stuff in, was laughable. I was angry. Ben wasn't the person I thought he was. I had come to trust him - which I'm sure Michael did, too - and although Michael was the one to fall and become temptations bitch, Ben was the one that gave him the opportunity.

"Michael," I sighed, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're like fire and I touched you and now I'm sad," Michael shrugged, pushing himself to his feet, looking proud.

I had risen up, too, snorting, "If that was an attempt at a metaphor, I'm not impressed."

Putting my hand on his back, I steered him towards his window. Michael swayed heavily, a childlike giggle erupting from the man-child. There's no way I could have an actual conversation with the boy, so I thought putting him to bed would probably be more productive. He leaned in through the window, placing his hands on the carpet, and then he pushed off the ground with his feet; leading him to roll and cause an enormous bang. Scrambling in after him, I punched his arm and whisper yelled at him.

"I'm already going to get in trouble for not leaving my room all day!" I growled, trying to hook my arms under his armpits and pull him on to the bed.

"Felt shit, so I drank and you're still mad at me," he sulked, throwing himself, face down, on to his bed.

"I'm not mad, I'm disappointed," I huffed, throwing my hands up in frustration.

He groaned really loudly, "That's even badder!"

"Michael!" I kicked his legs, "I'm trying to help you, so shut up!"

He huffed, throwing his body around like a child - limbs flying around. Rolling my eyes, I pulled the hair tie from my wrist, putting my hair up and headed back towards the window. I had gotten one leg out, when the bed started creaking loudly.

"Don't go."

Turning around, I looked at Michael, who was now sat cross legged, with his hands locked together. His eyes were wide and puppy-like, not even giving my heart a chance. Swinging my leg back in, groaning, I traipsed over to the other side of the room. I would sit on the ground - that's it. I'd probably be yelled at like no other when they realize I haven't been to any activities today and not being in my room at all made things worse for myself.