psych ➳ muke

22

An entire week passes by in a blur of colour and sound. I solemnly leave the comfort of my bedroom, surrounded by the galaxy plastered the to ceiling.

I eat a few times, only small amounts in scattered intervals. My mother worries that I'm purposely starving myself, but I'm not. I just cannot bring myself to feel hunger, to feel anything except for pain.

My heart aches and I wonder if it is love that I am feeling. Love hurts, I've realized, but it is so worth it.

On this day, I decide to pull myself from bed and have a long, hot shower. My silent tears mix with the spray so well that I barely realize that I'm crying.

Today, I'll walk to the bus station in order to collect a schedule. It's a short walk, but I haven't been outside in days. I haven't walked any more than short distances in weeks. It will be a strain, I think, but it's worth it.

Michael is worth it.

I stand in the shower for quite some time, my eyes closed, my head lulled back. Eventually, the water runs cold and chills my skin, so I turn it off and exit the cubicle. I dress slowly, tugging my jeans on one leg at a time. My shirt seems to hang off of me, flooding down around my bum.

My mother is in the lounge when I descend the stairs. When she sees me, she is quick to stand and rush over.

"Luke, you're all wet, you've showered? That's great. You look great, dear!"

Her voice is too cheerful and I am automatically annoyed with the sound. I just offer a small smile and a nod, brushing past her and into the kitchen. I have survived on water the past week, no longer having the urge to drink anything sweet. So, I grab a bottle from the refrigerator and then search for my shoes.

"Are you going out?" My mother calls from behind me, "Where are you going? Do you need a ride?"

I shake my head, declining her offer, "Just for a walk, I think the fresh air will help clear my head."

Her smile is so wide I think her face may crack. She has been worried ever since I've come home. Something about her demeanor has changed entirely, as if she suddenly cares, and I cannot fathom as to why.

Had my hospital stay sparked something inside of her?

I could only hope that maybe she would finally become a true parental figure again.

The air outside is warm, a dull breeze blowing, making my wet hair wisp about. It doesn't take long to reach the wrought iron gates which guard Shady Hollow and soon I am turning onto West Elm. The station is a mile away, at my current pace it will take me twenty minutes to reach it.

My hands feel lost just dangling at my sides, so I tuck them partially into my jean's pockets. They don't fit particularly well, but I manage.

By the time I reach Carson Street Station, a few beads of sweat have formed on my forehead. The sun is beating down immensely and I am not dressed suitable to the weather. Luckily, the building has air conditioning and allows me to cool off. On the right wall, there are several stacks of bus schedules situated in a clear display case. I take three, just to be certain, and make my way back into the heat.

I trudge home, dragging my feet along as I attempt to decipher the schedule. I know I should not be reading whilst walking, but I stick to the sidewalk and the road is not overly busy.

I make it home safely, not a single scratch, and when I enter the house my mother rushes to me once again. I flinch, not used to her sudden abruptness.

"You're back so soon, is everything alright?" She questions.

I roll my eyes, "Yes, I'm fine. I'm going to my room now."

She frowns at that, her eyes going soft, but she doesn't protest. I'm pleased with that, I don't feel I have the strength to argue with her.

In my room, I close the door and turn on my bedside lamp, the room illuminating in a dull glow. I lay out the bus schedule, examining the times and places. With a green high lighter, I mark down each bus that will be going into the city and near to Flo's Diner. There are several, all spread out in intervals throughout the days. I know I will have to find a time convenient for Michael - I'm always available, so it all depends on him.

Just as I am tucking the pamphlets  into my desk drawer, several notifications beep in through my cell phone. I am not expecting any text messages, I don't have any friends, so the noise confuses me. I pad across the room and scoop up the device, unlocking the screen.

My heart stops.

Skips several beats.

My breath hitches in my throat.

And I begin to cry.

Michael Clifford has accepted your friend request.

lifeofmichael is now following you!

michaelgclifford is now following you on Instagram!

You have a new Tumblr follower: punkrockmikey

And in that moment, I realize that Michael is out of the hospital.

He is alive.

And he is okay.

• • • • • • • • •

There are like four more chapters of this at absolute most.

Just giving you a tiny input as to what Luke has been up to, how he has been feeling, and of course: Michael is back!

So, Michael is back, how do you feel about this?

Also, Happy New Year!
Be safe!

• Nevada •