lost without you {5sos au}

one

September.

I want to say that there were grey skies and bitter winds the day that Michael Clifford told me he had cancer. But really, it was bright sunshine, with birds chirping and people whistling and the poodles from next door doing whatever it is that they do.

It was supposed to be a good day. Me and my best friend tanning poolside, drinking root beer, talking about the start of eleventh grade. But instead, Michael showed up and uttered those three words, and my heart shattered, my world shattered, and my fucking soul probably even shattered.

"Winter?"

"Hmm?"

"I have cancer."

And that was that. It was said. My best friend was sick. Not sick, sick meant you could get better. My best friend was dying.

They said six months. That's all it would take. I only had six months left with my best friend, with the only person in the entire world -no, the entire fucking universe- who I loved completely.

And those six months aren't enough.

"Miss Wilcke," Mr. Gregory, my socials teacher, knocks my textbook off my desk, waking me up.

"Yes?" I try to blink the sleep out of my eyes and act like I'd actually spent the last forty-five minutes writing notes instead of snoring.

"I'm so sorry to wake you," he purses his lips at me, "But I was wondering if you could answer my question."

I stare down at my desk, since it's obvious I have no idea what he just asked, let alone the answer.

"I can tell you, Mr Gregory!" Luke Hemmings raises his hand. Suck up.

"That won't be neccesary, Mr. Hemmings," Mr Gregory says. "But Miss Wilcke, this is only the second week of school -give your head a shake and get ready to settle down. Summer is over."

Of course it is. Gone along with summer are my restful nights, my best friend and any sense of normality in my world.

The Clifford's haven't made it public yet. All of the teachers know, but no one else. Sometime soon, I'm sure. Maybe they don't believe it yet. I don't.

My days at school are lonely. Its only the second week and I already want to be home-schooled. All my life, it was me and Michael, Michael and me. We had each other, we didn't need anybody else. I had no one else.

I eat my lunch alone, at a table in the back of the cafeteria. Arzaylea Rodriguez and her dumb friends whisper and stare at me. I'm sure everyone wonders where Michael is -everyone likes Michael. Star of the soccer team, A+ student, all around golden boy. I've always wondered why Michael's my best friend. He has his pick of the entire school -everyone worships him. And yet, he picked me.

Back in first grade, Arzaylea Rodriguez had told everyone I had cooties, and Arzaylea Rodriguez's word was the law, so that was that -I was alone. Then Michael came along, beautiful, brilliant Michael, and he ignored Arzaylea Rodriguez's warnings and sat with me at lunch.

We'd been inseperable ever since. And to this day I still don't know why he sat with me. I feel a fresh rush of tears threaten to spill out of my eyes when I realize I'd better ask Michael these questions I have now -while I still can.

I leave my tray at the table and disappear into the handicapped bathroom because I know it'll be free of girls fixing their hair or applying their millionth coat of lipgloss. I dial Michael's number, a number I know as well as my own, and breathe a sigh of relief when he picks up.

"Hey," Michael says warmly, as if this is just a normal phone call and things are normal and he's not sick.

"Hi," I manage, squeezing my eyes shut.