michael clifford imagines

You Kill Yourself (Warning Triggering)

You always liked the feeling of pain. Not like cutting or burning yourself but like feeling pain inside. You liked to make yourself sick. It made you in control. You'd take a handful of pill and throw them up or gag yourself. Things got pretty bad but, you met Michael. After a few dates and the beginning of a relationship he saw that you were troubled. He took it to himself to investigate.

He found some receipts in your purse for multiple bottles of pain killers. He finally started putting two and two together when you were calling out of dates and what not every few weeks due to a "stomach virus". Michael got you help. He got you to a therapist. You were checked into a rehab facility. He basically was too. He stayed all day most days. The only time he left was when his band went on tour for the summer. He was gone for five months.

You got better. You truly did. When he came back you were happy. Really happy. The happiest you'd been in a while.

"Y/N!!!" He says as you exit the hospital.

"Mikey!" You say running to him and jumping wrapping your legs around his waist. He kisses you. His band mates stand off to the side. You'd only met them a few times. You all exchange an awkward hello. You and Mike take your exit an hour later. You go back to Mike's apartment.

"I'm so glad you're ok." Michael says.

"I'm glad you're home." you say. You climb onto his lap straddling him. "You know all I could think about after you left was how much I wanted you." You grin.

"Y/N. I...."

"Do you not want me?"

"No! I just don't want to take advantage of you."

"You aren't. I'm ok now. I want this. I need this...you. I need you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." You lean down and kiss him. He attacks your body with kisses. He removes his shirt and your pants. Which is a hard task because, you have so many layers on. Michael makes love to you. Love. Not sex.

After you have both finished you lay in his arms. As he drifts to sleep you lay wide awake. Something tripped in your head. You were sad again. You had no reason. But, you were. You lost all emotion in 5 seconds.

For the next four months you pretended to be ok still but everyday you went on you just wanted to end it more and more each day. Finally you just did.
Michael woke you up for work and you complained about feeling sick. So when Mike went out to get you some medicine you took a hand full of pills. And not just the pain killers that get you sick but the good stuff, the stuff that makes you fall asleep and not wake up.

"So I got some pepto and...." Michael says as he enters. His eyes are on your lifeless body. He thinks you are just sleeping so he walks over and sits next to you on the bed. Running a hand over your hair and leaving his hand on your forehead he feels how cold you are. Then he notices a lack of breathing.
"Y/N?" He says. "Y/N!" He says in a panicked tone.

He rushes you to the hospital but it's too late. Even if they pumped your stomach you wouldn't make it. You leave Michael alone. Heartbroken. Wondering what he did wrong. But somewhere down there he knew that it wasn't his fault. You were sick and sad. A combination that is truly deadly.