psych ➳ muke

11

I wake in the early morning to my name being called several times. I blink the sleep from my eyes, rubbing at them with my fists. I let out a soft yawn and roll over, Marlene is standing in the doorway, her hand on her hip.

"It's time to wake up, Luke," She states, "Michael won't budge, try waking him, yeah?"

I nod in agreement, situating myself against the wall behind me. I turn to look at the sleeping boy across the room. He is laying flat on his stomach, arms under his pillow, blanket pulled up to the back of his neck. I stretch and stand from the bed, padding across the floor to Michael's bed.

"Michael," I hum, still blinking sleep from my tired eyes, "Michael."

He doesn't budge and although I know I'm not supposed to touch him, it hasn't stopped us before. So, I sit on the edge of his bed and shake him by the shoulder carefully.

"Mikey," I sing song, "You have to get up!"

He groans, rolling over into his side, facing away from me. He is stubborn, I've realized, and he despises early mornings.

"Come on, love." I coo, leaning to brush the hair from his face.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, eye lids fluttering to reveal emerald greens. A smile forms of his lips at the sight of me.

"What time is it?" He questions, rubbing at his face.

I shrug, having not looked at the clock yet.  I know it's early and we need to be up and preparing for the day.

"I need to go get my basket, I'm showering first," I say and stand from my place on the bed.

I leave the door wide open this time, the light pouring through will keep Michael awake. I collect my bucket and shower in the hall bathroom. By the time I am finished, Michael is just emerging from our room, grumbling down the hall to collect his own basket.

I trudge to the small counter set up in our room, there is a shiny metallic slab plastered to the wall in place of a mirror. We aren't allowed hair products, so my hair will be flat for the fourth consecutive day. I look terrible. There are bags under my eyes and my skin has paled. I feel like the living dead, dragging myself around these halls. Just as I'm finishing up, Michael comes in. Hair wet and sticking to his face.

Michael is beautiful.

"Good morning, sleepy head!" I chirp, tossing my toothbrush and paste into the white basket, "Sleep well?"

Michael's brow furrows and his nose scrunches up in distaste.

"No, actually, I didn't."

I dramatically roll my eyes at him and leave to take my basket back to the nurse's station. Louise is waiting there with a tired smile.

"Go on into the group room. We have some announcements before breakfast. Collect Michael?"

I make my way down the hall and around the corner to Room 7, just in time to bump directly into Michael's chest as he exits the room. I stumble backward but manage to catch myself before I fall. I'm embarrassed, to say the least. My breath is caught in my throat, my heart rate is accelerated. My words tumble out, barely coherent.

Wehavetogotothegrouproom.

They roll from my tongue at hyper speed, my eyes growing wide. Michael just nods and shuffles past me, around the bend and out of sight. I stand frozen for a moment, catching my breath. I don't understand why my body is reacting this way, it just is, and I can't control it. Maybe it's the way Michael looks today. Damp hair plastered to his forehead, emerald eyes glinting in the light, or his typical vanilla voice. I imagine the dampness caused by sweat rather than water. I imagine me being the reason Michael is sweaty. I allow myself to think of Michael's body above mine, but only for a moment. My heart rate has since picked up again and I think I'm panting. I check my surroundings, relieved to see that I am alone in the hall.