living or existing | mgc

twelve

Michael's POV.

I was awake. All I could see was darkness, but through my eyelids I could see blinding lights above my head, and I could hear someone's breathing, and a few beeps of what sounded like a monitor.

I tried so hard to open my eyes, but it almost felt like they were sewn shut.

Finally, after a minute of trying to lift them, my eyelids fluttered open slowly, and I was met with a mostly white room surrounding me. I looked around; there was a white clock on the wall, a sheet with my name on it, a little TV and a monitor. I watched the monitor and I realised it was my heart beating steadily, and I remembered last night. I nearly died, and I was in a hospital. Fuck.

My eyes dropped from the pinging machine and to my arm, a needle sticking out from underneath the surface of my pale skin. I traced my finger across it, around the bandages of my left arm and over my chest, and then I realised I was wearing a white night-gown-sort-of-thing.

I sighed, my head stirring against the hospital pillows as I did. I glanced across the room, and my eyes fell on Darby, sitting on one of the hospital chairs, her nails were painted a dark blue and her hands were pale and folded neatly in her lap with her feet resting out in front of her. She was sleeping, and she still looked absolutely breathtaking.

I wondered what was she doing here, and my bandaged fingers drummed along my blanket softly, not wanting to disturb her, but also waiting for her to wake up.

After about five minuets of staring at the medical posters on the wall, I heard her mutter something and then yawn, and I watched her wake from her slumber.

"Michael! You're awake!" She spoke when she suddenly realised I was awake, and she got up from her chair and into the one next to my bed.

Her warm hands immediately found my cold ones, her thumb running over my palm as she looked into my green eyes, my heart fluttering. I stared back her hazel ones, acknowledging her freckles that were scattered across her nose, her perfect cheekbones, her dark brows and naturally long lashes at the same time.

She was so lovely.

"Oh, Mikey," she murmured, her fingers gently squeezing mine as she scanned my face, no doubt she was looking at my bruises and scars all over myself.

"Hi," I whispered, and she smiled softly, squeezing my fingers again, and she leant in and hugged me.

Her warm face pressed against my chest as I saw some tears appear in the corner of her eyes. It was hard to hug back because I was obviously laying down, but my bandaged arm draped around her body and I pat her back softly as I heard her whimper against my body, and I felt her tears on the hospital gown.

"Michael," she whispered again as she pulled away, wiping her tears on her sweater.

"W-what are you doing here?" I asked, my throat hoarse.

"I found you on your bathroom floor," she said and I flinched at the thought.

"Y-you didn't tell me you had problems, Michael. I could've helped you," she sniffled.

"I-I'm sorry," I murmured, looking down at the hospital blanket. "I usually call the suicide hotline, but I didn't have enough energy to do that, and although they do help, I just wanted to end it all," I spoke, glancing up as I willed myself not to cry, but the tears didn't listen to me and spilled out.

"What hotline do you call?" She asked, her thumb still tracing my palm and knuckles.

"Oh, um," I sniffled, using my free hand to wipe my tear-stained face. "Just the local one, the Sydney Suicide Hotline," I said, my hand fiddling with the white bed sheets.

"Oh yeah," she spoke, looking down at our intertwined fingers. "I work there."

I nodded, my head moving restlessly against the pillow. I don't know what exactly happened, but something clicked. Something must have clicked inside her, too, because her grip on my hand tightened as our heads snapped up to look at each other.

"Oh my god," Darby started, reaching across the bed with her free hand. Her soft fingertips traced my bandages, and I gasped.

"It's you," she whispered, and I nodded and repeated her.

"It's you, too."

Her gaze drops back to mine, and I swallowed. "Mikey, why do you call the hotline?" She asked, rubbing her thumb over mine again.

"Because I don't have any friends to talk to," I murmured, glancing away from her and to the clock on the wall.

"Michael, I don't want you to feel that way. Okay, Mike? You have friends. You have me, Tilda and Ashton. We're all going to be here for you. Don't call the hotline anymore, Michael. Call me. Talk to me. I'm going to be your best friend, Mike," she spoke, hugging me tightly, and I stared crying again.

"I'm going to be your best friend."

How beautiful is it, the thought that someone can make your heart beat so fast when you don't even want it so beat at all.

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OMG this was so emotional ily all and have a nice weekend :)