stockholm syndrome

chapter nine - infuse

the following morning…

// trigger warning //

“don’t fuck around with me, mike. tell me what you did.” liz snapped from her hospital bed.

i roll my eyes, “it’s your kid’s dumbass fault for letting you find out. merry goddamn christmas, liz. we needed money for your procedure and the only way we knew how to get it was by-”

“don’t remind me.” she shut her eyes and took a deep breath, “you broke the law. you dug my son a future that isn’t looking so bright right now. i trusted you, mike. you had great intentions, really, but this. this is absurd. do you understand how insane you are? you’re fucking ill. and i might as well be too for trusting you with my son.”

“your drug addict?” i chuckle, adjusting my shirt under my jacket slightly.

she doesn’t reply to my snarky comment, instead, she muttered, “get out.”

i remain in my position, cocking my right knee out and crossing my now shaking arms across my chest.

“i said get out. i don’t plan on seeing you again, michael clifford. stay away from my family. you’ve done too much harm than good. i thought so highly of you.”

the creamy blue hospital walls seemed to cave in before me as i begin to open my mouth to speak, but instead head myself out through the bleach white thin curtain that separated her from the other patients on the floor. my vision begins blurred as i back myself slowly into the elevator and press the first button i see, which lands me to ground floor, in my luck, the ground floor where i was parked. for the first time in what seemed like ages, tears swelled from my eyes, bloating my cheeks that have transformed into a cherry red. as i step out of the sliding elevator doors, a nurse approaches me from my left. “i’m sorry for your loss.” she smiles weakly, and my throat clogs completely during my current episode, however, i choke out,

“the only thing i’ve lost is the only fucking thing i had going for me. do you know how much pain you endure when your only light at the end of your personal tunnel flickers and beats you to a pulp until it’s gone completely? you don’t do you? yeah. you should be fucking sorry.” i slam my fist on the granite counter of the pharmacy, and bite harshly down on my lip, drawing blood. “goddamn.” i force my head down, hiding my face completely, sprinting towards the revolving door of the exit.

i fumble my keys through my shaky hands, twisting my doorknob and yanking my lanyard from the keyhole, chucking them across the entrance of my apartment, catching itself on a coat rack.

i lean myself forward, burying my head in my hands and folding my fingers together around my neck.

stumbling farther deep into my hallway, i quickly tear my bathroom door open, rummaging through every cupboard and throwing their contents to my feet, a migraine pulsing through my skull, intensifying my pain. “don’t do this, michael. don’t you fucking dare.”  i hunch my back over my shower cabinet, where i stored all of my hair products, shower gels, and shaving cream. razors. thoughts scatter through my head, and i stumble towards the door and twist the knob upright to lock me inside completely. lurching over towards my bathtub, i grab a disposable razor from my cabinet containing many, and jostle with the discharge button on either side with my thumb, until the cover loosens enough for my ability to yank it off with my hands, disposing of it in the wastebasket beside me. flicking my wrist upward, i free the blades from its handle, as three fall onto the counter before me. a deep sigh escaped my lips as i removed my leather jacket, letting it fall from my shoulders to the off-white tile floor, and roll my sleeves to little above my elbows. the tears pouring from my eyes, landing on my left palm were soon replaced by small drops of blood rolling down either side of my forearm in parallel streaks that ripped through my skin, opening old scars that i had onced closed permanently. muttered curses rose from my voice, echoing through the now seemingly empty space around myself.

the icy cold metal of the blade fused through my skin, woving with the heat of the blood that was soon following in its path like a shadow. “fuck. you idiot.” i banged my head against the back wall repeatedly, enraging my migraine to the most possible extreme, then sliding my back down against the wall, falling to my knees, and wiping my wrist clean with my shirtsleeve.

i woke up the next morning to the sound of my name ringing throughout the house. fuck, luke was home. i still had my pulsing migraine and the sunlight flowing through window wasn't helping. luke's footsteps were getting closer by the second and i couldn't let him see myself like this.

without bothering a stretch, i hop to my feet, the blood rushing from my head to my toes, and block the door before the knob began to turn. “mike?” he calls, “are you, in here?”

jesus christ. what am i supposed to do now? “y-yeah. i just used the bathroom. i’ll be out.” i lie, loosening the kink in my neck that kills from lying straight up. i turn my head to the mirror and notice the darkened stains on my once white shirt. “god, clifford. you look like hell.” luke swings the door open, his eyes soon travel to my surroundings. “what the fuck? were you out last night?” he asks.

“no. i uh- i was looking for a few ibuprofens for my headache and i slipped and fell and i’m all cut up now.” my cheeks turned a rosy shade of red. lying was never my forte.

his eyes trail to the counter behind me, and his face seemed to tighten angrily, as his stare returns to mine.

“michael.” he gasped, taking a step forward to me, lifting my arm from my jacket sleeve before i could resist.

“these are fresh, aren’t they?” his hands grew shaky as he backs himself farther away from myself, backing against the bathroom door, gently closing it.

i nod my head slightly, avoiding his eye contact.

“what the hell?” he starts, “you were eight months clean. i can’t believe you.”

“it’s hard, okay, hemmings? it’s difficult. i feel like a goddamned zombie right now. you’re not making this any better.”

“do you know what your problem is? you can’t learn. you never fucking learn. blaming others solely for your shit life is not ever going to improve yourself. you’re disgusting. jesus christ.”

“it’s the only thing that changes everything, luke, when you’re the only one to blame for that shit life. you’re just in too deep to turn yourself around. don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise.”

authors note - this was incredibly difficult and sensitive for me and for kali to construct. no offense was intended at all.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxo - riley