roommates ♢ muke ✔️

xvii

memories haunt me.

how could michael be thinking about suicide? he may not be the most happy person on the universe but he's still far from depressed.

at least that's what i think.

i peek my head behind the corner and michael's shaking a few pills into his open palm. the worst thoughts occur to me and in seconds i'm rushing over.

"stop trying to kill yourself!" i gasp, knocking the bottle of pills out of michael's hands.

"i'm not trying too," michael says slowly as he watches his pills scatter across the floor.

"why were you trying to overdoes on pills then?" i ask accusingly.

"will you locate your chill please? i need these, they calm me down. they're kinda like my happy pill. i'm suppose to take two a day." michael explains, shoving me away angrily.

"oh. i'm sorry," i apologize meekly.

"and just stay out of my business, alright? stop following me around, i don't need protecting or whatever." michael glares, stomping away.

"i just happen to enjoy your company, that's all." i shrug nonchalantly, following him.

"that's what i don't like about you, you're always trying to play things off cool. i know what you're doing so stop," michael purses his lips.

"do you think i want to waste the night creeping on you? no, i don't. i'm only worried about you, that's the only reason i'm doing this." i reply hotly.

"just carry on with your life and leave me alone with mine." michael huffs annoyedly.

"bitch, if i leave you alone, you won't have a life." i say harshly.

"gods luke, is that what you're worried about? i'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're thinking." michael states simply.

"you- you're not?" i ask, my speech faltering.

"no, of course i'm not. why would i?" michael asks rhetorically.

"but the painting i saw! what was that about?" i exclaim.

michael sighs and crashes down onto the couch. his head is buried in a mountain of pillows; he seems to dread hearing my question.

"i have nightmares alright? everyone has bad dreams, mine are just worse." michael answer half-heartedly.

from the tone of his voice, i can tell that he's holding back from giving me the full story.

michael's giving me a deadly look that probably means 'if you ask me to talk about it, i will literally
punch you in the gut'. i gulp and decide to not ask about his so called 'nightmares'.

"if they get too bad, just wake me up and i'll talk you through it." i comfort, squeezing his hand.

my heart trembles when he shakes my hand off. "talking isn't going to help me the slightest." he clenches his jaw.

"you never know, i can be a great therapist." i smile.

my comment is more of a casual joke to clear the air but it seems to do the exact opposite. michael gives me a look of pure disgust and his pale skin flushes from raw anger.

"i don't need a therapist," he states in a deadly silent voice.

"what? i was just kidding-"

"there's nothing wrong with me! i don't need a fucking therapist! i'm not a fucking freak, i don't need a damn shrink!" he screams, sounding more determine to convince himself rather than me.

"i didn't mean it like that-"

"i don't need another person telling me that i need help! having a mental illness doesn't stop me from being a regular human, don't treat me differently!" michael tugs a hand through his hair as he paces around the room.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean for it to come out like that!" i rush to say before he can interrupt me again.

michael doesn't seem to hear and if he did, he probably didn't care. he seems on edge, completely overwhelmed. it was as if suggesting him to get a therapist angered him.

i didn't mean to come out as insensitive; i mentally curse myself. of course michael would take it the wrong way; he's probably been pestered to get help often. he doesn't want to be treated differently just because the way he was born. i would get fed up to; if people constantly insisted that i go and get help because something was supposedly wrong with me.

michael's hair is wild now, his breathing is ragged and short. his green eyes are watery, it looks like tears may come pouring out at any possible second.

i know words won't help him; only actions will speak out to him. that's strange territory for me; as a language major, i've always been reaching out to words to be able to get my message across.

instead of blurting out a whole paragraph about how he's perfect in his own way, i reach over and hug him tightly.

he seems to be taken off guard and he stares at my arms grasping at his body.

slowly, he tugs at my waist and pulls me closer. i'm in a safe cocoon of michael's warm and heavenly arms.

as his breathing goes steady, he slowly let's go of me.

"maybe .. maybe i will wake you up next time," michael stumbles awkwardly over his words.

michael seems to be fighting with himself but i guess he gave up. he bends down slightly and presses a delicate kiss to my lips.

but before i can savour the moment, he turns around and walks away.