im literally so nervous writing this chapter my hands are shaking
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14/08 - the day i kill him
I AM ARMELLE. I SHALL KILL HIM.
I woke up with Michael's hips on my back, his arm tight around my waist and holding me closer than he had when I fell asleep. My shirt pooled around my stomach, which had its hairs rising on end with the breeze of cool air hitting the flesh of my lower belly. He wasn't awake yet, though he stirred, moving his nose up and down the curl of hair hidden by my neck. I didn't move. I didn't want to move, only stay in the curve of his body cradling mine. It was the minute that I thought it was too early, or the house was too cold, or the duvet was too comfy. It was the minute where I tolled an excuse through the cash machine of my brain to trick myself into staying in bed a little longer than I really should. I rolled over, wrapping my arms around Michael's torso and feeling the cotton of his shirt press into my cheek.
I might have fallen asleep again, but I didn't remember when I opened my eyes again. Looking up, a blade of sunlight slanted across Michael's face. His chin met my forehead, then his lips; an innocent kiss, a kiss I knew he didn't mean more than care. His heartbeat flooded my right ear, the steadiness rooting me to the mattress, the duvet softer around my shoulders as soon as he adjusted it, and the pillows comfier underneath my untidy hair as soon as he leaned an arm between my shoulder blades and the bed.
"Good morning," he said, his voice gruff and worn out. "Did you wake up again in the night?"
I slung a leg over his hips, pulling him closer. "Not that I remember."
He hummed, pressing his palms between my hips and tugging me towards him. I waited for him to say something else, so the silence could be broken under his call, not mine. His chest rose with a breath, then fell again. His fingers split my hair on either side of my neck as the birds sang to the sun outside the window.
"What's the date today?" I mumbled into his shirt, my lips warm against the cloak over his skin. "I haven't been marking my calendar."
"Fourteenth." My heart jumps into my throat, but I don't say anything. "We're going on that date, aren't we?"
Suddenly, I couldn't bare to be next to him anymore. "Uh, yeah." I sat up, moving my hair from my face and swinging my legs off the bed. I button up the opened buttons on my night shirt, then stand up.
He propped himself up on an elbow, watching me. "Where are you going?"
"I just--I need to use the bathroom."
He rubbed his shoulder, tilting his head to the side before scratching the stubble dusted across his chin. "Okay. But, come back to bed, after. Please?"
I was in the bathroom and locking the door before I could respond, then I was hunched over the toilet and pushing my hair from my face, retching until my stomach ached and last night's dinner was nothing more than a messy puddle in the commode. I flushed it all, displeased at the bitterness in my mouth and the hot tears running down my cheeks. I sat there, on the cold tiled floor, my legs outstretched with sunshine streaming between them, and absolutely overtaken by a bullet of pain so immense, no drug could win it over. It spread from my chest to my fingers to my brain to my toes. It went everywhere because, goddamn, it was doomsday. It was the day I marked on my calendar, and wrote about in my journal, and planned to every minute detail for the past month.
It was the day I lost Calum for. It was the day I apprehended week after week. It was the day I fell I move for -- it was the day I sacrificed myself to be able to carry it through. I hiccuped on a sob and grabbed the tow hanging off the bathroom rack, biting into it to numb my weeps. Michael was dying, today. I was going to kill Michael.
