What Now ⇔ Muke ✓

[24] Fights

Warning: Violence. Briefly mentions words/phrases that may be triggering.

LUKE

I see Michael a lot around the city.

Not his actual body form. No, unfortunately not. All I get are flashes, secretive glimpses of things that remind me of his fading hair, his pale eyes, his smooth skin. Catches of light that whisper about his cherry red lips and his small nose. A silhouette standing against the bridge having a smoke that reminds me of the curve of Michael's shoulders. A teenage boy laughing with his friends on their way to school that remind me of his light voice. Bits and pieces that fall into my trembling hands, slipping through my fingers before I can capture them.

I should have moved on by now. That's what my mind tells me. That's what my mother tells me. I know it's true, I should have let his face fade from my memory. I can't though, not when his name is engraved into my skin like a piece of unworthy art. I can't get him out of my mind, like a toxic disease that seeps through my brain with the thick element of honey.

My mum reminds me of how I need to get my self-control back every time she sees me in the house, which is why I have resigned to staying out on the streets, struggling not to be pushed back with the crowd like a fallen leaf. It's surprisingly hard, especially when your mind isn't totally intact with your actions and you aren't fully aware of everything happening around you. Like you're in a drunken daze without a drip of alcohol in your blood. It's confusing, but lately everything has been confusing.

My lungs ache, writhing with discomfort at the lack of smoking I have given it. I'm trying to decrease my intake of cigarettes, but it's gotten difficult. It was so much easier to stop when Michael was with me. He was a distraction. Such a beautiful, beautiful distraction.

I rub my eyes, my feet failing to walk under me. A few people shove me forward from behind, and a guttural apology leaves my lips before it gets lost in the storm of the crowd. I am pushed to the side, roughly might I add, as the impatient crowd gets put up with my inability to cooperate. I frustratingly glare at the rude crowd passing in front of me. I hate this city. I hate it with every ounce of blood in my veins.

I used to love it, of course. I used to enjoy the fast lifestyle of the city, cherish the way the lights shone late at night. I used to fit in so well, before I adjusted to the routine of Michael's world.

"Hey friend, we were looking for you!" says a voice from behind me. I turn around, my chest deflating when I see Simon and Miller smiling sarcastically from behind the shadows. I clench my jaw.

"Leave me alone. I'm really not in the mood today." I mumble.

"What fun is that?" Miller says, and they walk closer, stopping just a few feet in front of me. "Look, we don't mean any trouble. We just want to know if the rumors are true."

Anger boils inside my chest and ignites my heartbeat, sending rapid pumps of hot blood throughout my body. I clench my hands into fists and cross my arms.

"Is it true that you're gay?" Simon says in an annoyingly innocent voice. "That's all we want to know."

"Why should that even matter?" I say lowly.

"It does matter." Miller interrupts. "Because we overheard you were hanging around with some fag back in Greenwood."

I tense. "Don't call him that."

"So it's true?" Miller says. "Which makes you one, too."

"Shut up."

"I think a little fag like you deserves to get a little rough treatment, shouldn't he?"