Sad Imagines

"Runaway" (part two)

!! THIS PARTICULAR IMAGINE MAY BE TRIGGERING TO YOU. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU KNOW IT WILL AFFECT YOU. !!

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**Michael's POV**

I ran straight out the door, not caring whether I slammed it too hard. Opening the driver's door, I sat down in my car, and started the ignition. I can't fucking take this. I hit the pedal, probably leaving skid marks on the road, but I couldn't give less of a shit.

I'm such an asshole.

I know what I've done to (Y/N). I know how much I've hurt her. I know how wrong it is to abuse her like that. But the problem is, I can't stop it. And I know exactly why.

I'm turning into my father.

I promised myself I'd never be like him, like that alcoholic asshole I called my dad, but look where I am now. I hurt others, and then I run. Why? I'm a coward. A big fucking coward, that's it.

She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve me. I'm in love with her, but all I do is hurt her. Maybe this time I won't go back. I can't keep doing this her.

I drive, and drive, until I don't know where I am anymore. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm just a fucked up coward with a fucked up mind.

I pull onto the side of a random road, and turn off the car. Putting my head in my hands, I try to gather my thoughts together without bursting into tears and having a panic attack.

Should I apologize?

She hates your guts, dipshit. The voice in my head told me.

"Shut up," I mumbled at the nonexistent voice.

I don't think there's anything I can do at this point to show her I'm sorry or get her to forgive me. It's over. She hates me, and I'm a complete idiot.

I'm such a self-centred douche bag. I grow to hate myself more and more each day, and it doesn't stop. How could I ever love myself? I can't. I don't deserve to be happy with myself. I don't deserve anything.

My thoughts were cut off when I realized something.

"Holy fucking shit!" I exclaim loudly, hitting the steering wheel with so much force that I thought it would break.

(Y/N) has been hiding razor blades in the bathroom, and I already noticed a few marks on her skin. I didn't bring it up, though, because I didn't want to get in another argument, not that she'd tell me why she has them anyway. She doesn't know that I know about them, but I do. As pissed off as I am, I need to get to her.

I felt this hollow, deep pain in the pit of my stomach, and this feeling of something wrong in my chest. The razors. The fucking razors. God knows what she's doing right now. Something's not right.

I start the ignition. As much as I want to run away and leave her alone, I have to go back.

Starting to drive, the pain in my stomach gets worse. It's unbelievably strong, and I can't describe it. My head is swirling with so many things, I can barely keep my hands on the steering wheel. What the fuck is happening?

I don't know, but I plan to find out.

Hoping that there's no police around, I hit the pedal and go way over the speed limit. Our apartment is about 8-10 minutes away from where I am, and I'm just praying these 10 minutes isn't enough time for (Y/N) to do something too bad, because I already know something's wrong.

**Your POV**

The cuts are now so deep that they've bled all over the bathroom floor, but who cares? Nothing's worth it anymore, you told yourself. The fighting, the constant arguments, the accusations, the sleepless nights, the growing self hatred for yourself, it was all going to end. You could finally be happy.

But were you going to be happy without Michael? He broke you down, but he was also one of the only people who could make you smile at times. He abused you, but you loved him more than anyone else on this planet.

You let out a laugh, a painful, emotionless, empty laugh. Funny how you were in so much emotional pain that you couldn't feel the physical pain anymore.

Finally putting the razor down and leaving the blood where it is, you stumble weakly over to the kitchen where you grab a pen and paper, scribbling down 'I love you.' in very messy writing, drops of blood littering the page. You place the paper on the table, and slowly make your way to the door, where you lock it.

Grabbing 3 different bottles of pills from the cabinet, you pour out all the contents into your hands, and stare at them.

Could you do this?

Your mind filled with the happy memories you made with Michael, but there weren't many. Almost all of them ended in pain. Michael has caused you more pain and disappointment and grief than happiness.

Blood was still pouring from your arm, making a little puddle where you stood. You went back over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, and, popping it open, you swallowed the first few pills.

You wondered if your family would miss you, or if they forgot about you. Either way, you were leaving and not coming back.

You finally downed all of the pills, and your blood was littering parts of your floor. Your head started to spin a little bit, and your eyes were blurry, filled with never ending tears.

Suddenly, your legs collapsed under you, and you fell onto the floor. Your limbs felt numb, and you were drifting off, until a shattering knock filled your ears.

"(Y/N)! Open the fucking door!" A booming voice screamed. Michael. Why was he back?

Half unconscious, you lay on the floor, closing your eyes once again. Happiness filled your mind, soon this would all be over.

"(Y/N)! Fuck, answer me!" He screamed again, so loud you thought your eardrums would burst.

You couldn't think straight anymore, you didn't know your name, where you were, nothing.

The last thing you heard was an ear-splitting bang and crack, before you felt yourself completely drift into the unknown.

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{a/n} ohhh shiiitt. what's gonna happen?

leave a vote for me pretty please? thank you, angels! (⌒▽⌒)☆*:.｡. o