What Now ⇔ Muke ✓

[10] Please, Michael

(possible triggering? only a little but I thought I would warn you all just in case)

LUKE

My eyes open groggily the next morning, blinking through the darkness of my room, a line of light casting across the room from the slit in my curtains. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes with my fists before stretching slightly, a grunt releasing itself from my lips. I crack my knuckles before swinging my long legs over the side of the bed, standing up and flicking on the lights. I squint my eyes at the sudden brightness.

I shuffle across the bedroom floor, pulling on a random Green Day t-shirt and black jeans and converse before sliding in my familiar lip ring. I coat my fingers in hair gel and style my hair into its usual quiff until I'm somewhat satisfied with how I look.

I leave my backpack on the ground by the bedroom door, full of homework I didn't do over the weekend. It doesn't matter though, because I've decided that I'm going to skip today. I want to see if Michael will show up, and the thought of sitting through meaningless classes makes me want to throw up.

So I open the door, revealing an empty hallway of doors, and opening up to empty rooms. I trudge down the staircase and straight out the front door after grabbing my phone from where it was charging. Sliding it into my pocket, I stride out the front door, stepping onto the sidewalk and slipping into the woods. I push through the weeds and trees of the thick greenery. Animals scurry away from the sound of my feet, and I breathe in the fresh, damp air slowly, trying to calm my beating heart. I'm praying that Michael will be there, because if he isn't, it's obvious something is wrong.

The river gets louder and louder in my ears until I reach the familiar stone. I look up and feel my heart drop into my stomach when I see the smooth stone hopelessly and bitterly empty of a boy with colorful hair. I huff and breath in deep once again, filling my lungs with enough efficient oxygen to force myself to collapse into the bushes, pulling my knees up to my chin and resting it on top of the fraying holes in my jeans.

I'm so nervous about what could have happened to him, or what could be happening to him. I don't know enough about him to know where his house could be, or if he even has a home. Does he just live in the woods? Surely he has a mum or dad, or some siblings.

I push myself up to my feet and decide I should just start searching for a home or something, some sort of shelter he may be living in. I start walking in a random direction, not really caring as long as it led me to him. The sunlight peaks through the trees against the effervescent blue sky, shining in random spots on the grass. The air is crisp from the morning, but is warming up quickly as the morning progresses into afternoon. I try to get a grip of my surroundings, looking around for anything familiar, but the only familiar thing I can find is the sound of the river, which keeps me sane for the little while.

I reach the trail that leads back to the neighborhood of houses in town, so I turn around and quickly hike back the other way, figuring I went in the wrong direction. A voice chimes sarcastically in my head. Of course it wouldn't be over here. It's so close to the school back here. I can almost see the back door of the gym locker room through the trees.

As I push through the shrubs and bushes though, I notice the trees begin to thin, less of them and slimmer trunks until I stumble into a clearing, empty of trees and bushes whatsoever. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me.

A house. Not a nice one, but a house nonetheless. I am positive this is where Michael lives. I take a few steps forward, shielding my eyes from the sun as I take in the structure of the building. It's made completely of wood, three windows carved into the front of the house. A few of the panes are broken, and some pieces of glass are missing, as though something had been thrown at it and shattered it. The shutters guarding the windows are cracked and falling apart, hardly able to keep itself together. The front door looks thin and flimsy, barely standing at all. I take in the ramshackle building with wide eyes, trying to sort out the mixture of emotions inside of me.