Idiot Chat ➳ m.c

Drown

With the swinging of the heavy front doors the oppression of being inside was upon me once more. The hallway was eerily empty, the one downfall of being late to class. My footsteps were the only thing I could hear as I turned each corner. I almost lost myself in my thoughts again but something caught my eye. Something familiar yet distorted at the same time. It was a picture hanging in the hallway. Framed by the art department. I noticed how there was sketches of hands. The tattoos stood out the most as the artist had used a darker shade for them.

Anchor on the thumbs, an 'x' on the middle fingers. They were Michael's hands. I reached up to grab the picture frame, to pull it off the wall, to smash it against the floor. Instead I found myself pressing my hand against the glass, wishing the sketches were real. Wishing they were his hands and I could hold them once more. I remembered everything about them, the calloused pads, the small scar on his right palm. He had got it when we were baking together once, he was pulling the cookies out of the oven and burned his hand on the tray. He insisted it was fine but I had dragged him to the hospital anyway.

I pulled back my hand to realise I had left a print of my own hand on the glass. I started to feel shaken so I turned away from the drawing, before I actually did smash it. I started walking again, trying not to think about it too much. I wanted to go back and steal the drawing, just because it was of Michael, a part of Michael; and I knew I was never going to have a piece of him ever again. Not after what I did. My walking started to get more brisk as I felt a stinging sensation come to my eyes. I knew I had to make it to class before it got worse. Before I cried.

I didn't make it to class. Something stopped me... or rather two someones. As I was about to turn another corner a door opened right in front of me. It was the door to the boy's bathroom. Two people stumbled out, giggling and kissing. They both had messed hair and dark red marks all over their exposed skin. The one with the milky white skin and green eyes stopped. He stared at me as the blonde girl began to kiss his neck — still not noticing my presence like her boyfriend had.

His jaw dropped and guilt flooded his eyes. It had been my suggestion so I didn't understand why he looked like that. It had been a two weeks, two weeks to move on from something that has lasted for almost twelve years. The small girl tugged on his hand to pull him down the hallway further. She was still to attached to his skin to notice me. However as she pulled him down the hallway I couldn't help but to let the stinging sensation turn into tears. As Michael turned back to take one last look before Lana pulled him around the corner he saw me crying.

x x x

At home it was even worse. I always found myself running into Michael at the worst of times. I got home after having an exhausting day at school. Thinking I'd run a bath to clear my thoughts I checked to see the house was empty. Ashton hadn't exactly planned for me to act out like this and cause a rift between Michael and I. I felt bad for my brother, he'd got me to move out from Luke's because there was too much drama and he couldn't trust him. It was all my fault. If I'd told Michael sooner then things might be so different right now, it might've calmed down by now. We might still be friends.

I knew it was always me causing all these problems but I just didn't know how to stop. I turned on the tap for the bath and walked back to my room to grab some clothes. By the time I had picked out some pj's and walked back to the bathroom the bath was full.
I turned off the tap and wondered for a moment. If it was really that easy to control something like water and turn it off, why couldn't I do that with my emotions? I shut the door behind me with the bottom of my foot, not noticing the front door banging.

I tied my hair up into a bun to keep it from getting wet. I stared down at the steam coming off of the body of water. I remembered the sketches, the boys bathroom door opening, Michael and Lana, crying, I remembered the hurt. I pulled off my shirt and jeans trying to distract myself from seeing red. The deep red of the bruises on his pale skin, the deep red of my bra, the deep red of my underwear. The red was discarded to the tiled floor. The floor that Michael had sat on while hugging Luke. Then I remembered this was the bathroom we'd hugged in.