gone ✧*｡ luke a.u.

38: september 21 2011

ELLIE

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST, 2011

He was huddled up against the tree with his arms around his legs and his head on his knees, shaking, but whether from the cold or tears Ellie wasn't sure. She had never seen Michael cry, or even express anything but playful sarcasm or derision, and was suddenly at a loss for how to react.

It was as if he hadn't heard her say his name; he didn't look up, or even move. She stepped slowly closer.

"Michael, it's Ellie," she said tentatively. "Are you . . ." She trailed off. There was no point asking if he was okay; he obviously wasn't.

Finally, with bloodshot eyes, he looked up at her, wiping his cheeks. "Hey," he said, forcing himself to smile even though there were tears still running down his cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I haven't been here long." Ellie walked over and sat next to him on the ground. She had never really had a conversation alone with Michael, she realised now. What a way to start a friendship.

"I've smoked a lot of weed," he confessed, his voice clogged with tears. "And now I can't stop crying. Do you have any cigarettes?"

Ellie pulled her pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jacket and handed him one. She lit his first, then her own, closing her eyes as the familiar taste of tobacco hit the back of her throat.

"I don't even know why I'm crying anymore," Michael went on, breathing out smoke. "Life just sucks. I hate it. I honestly fucking hate it."

Ellie didn't respond.

"I have this theory. It's weird, right." Michael tapped his cigarette against his knee until the ash fell off the end. "I think everyone goes through life sad as all hell but we all cover it up in different ways and close ourselves off and pretend we aren't. But then we either go off by ourselves or we get high or both and we realise that life is shit and that the reality of it is that everyone is just playing a giant game of pretend. Like, the world's a stage, right? I never knew what that meant until now."

"I think you have a point," Ellie murmured. Her eyes caught on a point up ahead, where she could see Luke looking around aimlessly in the light from the toilets. She called out to him and he stopped still, searching for her, before coming over.

"Hey, Ellie," he said. "Hey, Michael."

"Hey, Luke," Michael said, at the same time that Ellie said, "Enjoy yourself?"

"I did." Luke sat down opposite Michael and Ellie. He seemed significantly more sober than he had earlier, which was good; he looked at Michael with eyes almost as clear as they would be normally. "What's going on? You alright, man?"

"Three's a crowd," Michael muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette. Luke scrunched up his nose when Michael breathed the smoke towards him. "I'm managing, dude. I'm surviving. That's what counts."

There was silence for a minute. Luke was the first to break it.

"We've all been really worried about you, man," he said quietly. "Ashton and Calum and I. Please just talk to us. To me. Tell me what's wrong."

"You're such a fucking loser," Michael joked, rolling his eyes, but the smile fell away almost immediately. "I dunno, to be honest. Starting this week I'm getting help, but that's not necessarily voluntary. Mum thinks I have problems. She found my pot stash and knows that my grades are in the dumps, and she says if I don't clean up my act she'll throw me out of the house to live on the fucking streets. Like, oh no, Mum, didn't expect that getting yourself breast cancer would suck for me at all? I'm just gonna chill and not react? Okay. That's how it works."