Disconnected | Michael Clifford

seventeen- Michael

Hangovers.

Michael was quite used to an old hangover every now and then, but the throbbing in his head that morning was something else. A pain he had never experienced before, he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes as even his retina hurt. Whiskey was in no way a friend of Michael Gordon Clifford. Neither was vodka, rum or gin... or any alcohol really.

He only forced himself up when he needed to piss and as he shuffled underneath his blanket, he realised he was completely naked and there was someone beside him. Turning to look at the sleeping girl, he didn't recognise her in the slightest. After a few moments of the remnants of last night's alcohol binge clouding his mind, Michael finally remembered her name. April.

He didn't recall ringing her, and he certainly didn't recall meeting up with her. But from the breeze hitting his groin area as he pulled the blanket off his body, and the used condom on the floor, it was clear that the two of them did a little more than meet up last night.

The walk to the bathroom felt like an eternity, Michael could barely get his feet to move. He began desperately searching through his foggy memories to remember at least some of the events that occurred the previous night, one thing was for sure; he had sex with a girl who wasn't Felicity.

That thought alone made him more sick than the alcohol still resting in his stomach, the second he reached the bathroom Michael found himself crouched over the toilet bowl, regretting ever kicking Felicity out of his house that previous day.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Michael almost laughed at how dishevelled he looked. Eyes red and sunken, face pale and hair dye dripping down his face since he clearly hadn't washed it out enough, despite how much he desperately scrubbed his hair to rid himself of that girl that took over every single thought he had, who was every feeling he felt and every wish he longed for; her. He found a pair of pants on the floor and threw them on, not really caring about the state of them.

He wasn't much of a coffee person but, damn, if there was anyone who needed coffee right now it was Michael. So, for the first time in his life, Michael trailed down into the kitchen and made some coffee.

"Tastes like the fucking ground." Michael whined to himself after one sip, promptly pouring the stuff down the drain.

"Hey," April walked into the kitchen a few moments later, wearing Michael's hoodie (the one Felicity loved wearing on tour). "Have you been up long?"

Michael didn't understand her behaviour, he was so used to one night stands (well, before Felicity that is) that he didn't know why April was hanging around. Did she expect something from him? He sure hoped not. He wanted her out of the house before the boys came back, and out of his life because he sure as hell didn't need something else stopping him from getting Felicity back.

"Not long." He replied, pouring the rest of the pot of coffee down the sink as he spoke.

"Aw, I was gonna pour a cup." April said, pouting a little bit as the liquid descended from the pot. Michael almost cringed at how whiny her voice was, questioning what made him want to sleep with her. Liquid idiocy probably, or maybe he was just so enamoured with Felicity that nobody would ever match up.

Though, of course, he would never admit to the latter so he was going to convince himself it was the former. Not matter what it took.

"You need to leave." Michael spoke abruptly, leaving April standing across from him furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "Now!"

He cringed as he spoke, his words reminding him of his confrontation with Felicity the day before, and the hurt on her face in those moments.

"Go fuck yourself." April stated, leaving the house immediately. She was still wearing Michael's hoodie, not that he wanted it back. It was tainted now.