Words (Muke)

Eleven: Hope

"Still feel sick," Michael muttered.

Michael didn't look to see if Luke believed him, but he felt an arm curl around him and he was being pulled into Luke. Michael didn't think Luke believed him, but he knew Luke wasn't going to push it with Liz right there.

"Alright, Luke. Let's go," Liz said after nearly a half an hour.

Luke placed a kiss on Michael's forehead and grabbed his bag following his mum to the door.

"Bye Luke. Bye Liz," Michael said as they left.

Michael shut and locked the door behind them and didn't move. He had nothing to do, but the one thing he was trying to avoid for Luke. But Luke wasn't there and he didn't have to find out.

Michael was in the bathroom with no pants and no shirt. Just his skin and the blade in his hand. Michael began to carve.

This time was different. There were no fresh horizontal cuts being made. Michael was carving out letters, he was writing. His blade was his paintbrush and his skin was the canvas and Michael had a story to tell. His left arm said UGLY. His right arm said FAT. His left thigh said STUPID. His right thigh just barely managed to fit WORTHLESS.

But Michael was not quite done. He carved his stomach this time. Four large capital letters. This word was not harmful like the others. It was not designed to hurt, not designed to bury itself somewhere in Michael's brain where it would haunt him constantly.

Scrawled across his stomach in his own blood that seeped from cuts he had made, was the word HOPE.

And then Michael sobbed.

He dropped the blade in the toilet and flushed it. He fished out gauzed and covered his wrists, thighs and stomach. He taped thick squares of gauze and he cried.

Michael cried for hours until he finally ran out of tears and got dressed. And then Michael sat on the couch and stared at the turned off TV screen watching a slideshow of wicked words slay across the black screen.

Michael was in Luke's arms the second the blonde got home and he was crying again.

"Mikey? Baby? What's wrong?" Luke asked stroking Michael's hair and holding him tightly.

"I'm sorry," Michael gasped though his sobs.

Liz side-stepped the two and tore her pain-filled eyes away. She was not one to intrude on a private moment like this one.

"Michael, kitten I don't understand why you're sorry," Luke muttered in Michael's ear.

Michael couldn't find his words. He couldn't say it. No. Michael wouldn't. He was sure he could have if he really tried, but Michael didn't want to.

Instead he let the blonde lead him into his bedroom.

"Go on Mikey. It's okay babe,"

"You're going to be angry," Michael twisted his sweater paws nervously.

"I promise I won't be,"

"Then you'll be disappointed," Michael concluded.

"I promise I won't be angry or disappointed,"

"What would make you hate me?" Michael asked quietly. He was sure that this was one of those things. He was so very sure.

"Nothing, Mikey. Absolutely nothing. Why are you asking me this?" and now it was Michael's turn to answer questions.

"Close your eyes," Michael whispered.

Luke obliged and Michael squeezed his eyes shut slipping out of Luke's sweats and Luke's hoodie.