Burning Bridges // muke

chapter twelve

can't stay away from you - i try, but you got a grip on my mind

Everything was shattered, broken, discarded and or discardable. But that's quite alright. They can all be replaced. Every shattered lamp. Every broken china plate. Every discarded hope and discardable dream. It can be replaced. Everything can be replaced.

But him.

God has Luke tried to replace him. Famous brunettes after model blondes left his house one after another after another, famous male musicians and even random youtube guys joined the party. None of them could fill that void Michael left, and it doesn't help that he sees him every day but can't hold him like he used to. It doesn't help that Michael's so clearly happy and he isn't.

He ran his hands over his face and then grabbed his glass, downing the warm shade of liquor before tossing the glass on the floor. It burned as it passed through his throat and his stomach rumbled but he didn't care. This grip on his heart that was squeezing and tearing the organ's tissue hurt far more than an empty stomach full of nothing but liquor. He could feel every curve of every finger and every muscle of the hand as it tightened and tightened, not daring to let it beat for someone else or even for himself.

He fell, his figure slumped in a chair with his head in his hands as he tried to recount what his next move would be. The bottle of whiskey was pretty tempting, so was the handful of rolled joints on his counter, the powdery substance already cut into thin lines looked just as pleasing, but the lamp on the table behind him was just screaming his name. It was intoxicating. It was practically begging to be flung across the room, glittery and shiny as the sunlight hit the glossy surface.

It's hollow. It'd break so easily if he just threw it right now. It'd shatter like nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He could feel it. It was clawing at the column of his throat and pulling on his vocal cords. It buried itself withing his bloodstream, finding adventure and excitement within his veins and within his body. It pulsed through every inch of him, and he just wanted to rip every bit if it out. Every single cell that cried and begged for destruction, he wanted it out. He needed it out.

It's not even heart over mind anymore. Once upon a time it was, and he followed his mind, but now it's not. In fact, it's not even a fight or a war. That would mean he had a chance, even a sliver of a chance, to win. But he doesn't. He's losing this battle. He's losing control over himself bit by bit all because of a boy with green eyes, blond hair, and one hell of a personality.

All because he can't wake up and bring himself to cut out the poison that's killing him ever so slowly. A prt of him wants to but a bigger part of him doesn't want it enough to actually do it. It's like a game of tug of war inside of him and he can feel each and every pull.

He laughed. It was cold, heartless, lifeless even. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle and then took a drink, wallowing deeper and deeper into the freezing cold waters of self pity and anger. It shook him straight down to his core. His bruising bones were begging for release but he couldn't give it to him. The pain within him was agonizing. It was chewing him up and he could feel every little thing that happened. Every single detail that would otherwise go unnoticed. He felt it and it hurt like a million knives in his heart.

He snaps. Like a rubber band being pulled too hard. Too far.

He reaches behind him and then curls his fingers around the body of that damned lamp with ease. His knuckles are white, and his shoulder aches as he pulls it back and watched it launch into the wall across from him. The light blue paint was chipped and the drywall was dented, but he didn't care as shards of glass and splinters of wood covered his floors.

He wanted destruction. This perfect little lifestyle didn't fit with the storms of emotion he bottled inside of him. His privileged life didn't fit with the poison he carried inside of him.

He was poisonous, and he could feel everything around him dying.

He didn't deserve it. He's the fire from the darkest pits of hell and the light from the brightest sun in heaven all wrapped up into a ticking time bomb. He can feel it. He can feel himself ready to explode.

He let out a shaky breath and then held his shoulder as he picked up a half empty bottle of  liquor. He drank straight from the uncapped top before slamming it down on the table. It rattled his bones but he ignored it.

His jaw clenched as he tapped his nails against the glass of the bottle, wondering if he truly deserved the help his friends offer him. He's tired. He's drained. But he can't let go because he's stubborn and naive and doesn't know how to.

How do you let go of five years worth of love and pain? How can you just forget about it luke it was nothing?

Michael's not his. Maybe once upon a time he was, but not anymore. He keeps clinging to the past and it feels like thorns of a rose digging into his skin. He can feel the blood drip and he can feel it pool by his feet but he keeps offering the flower to a boy who doesn't want it. Who doesn't want him.

He ran a hand through his hair and then looked at his phone, his mind fuzzy as he reached for the device. He dialed an all too familiar number and then held it to his ear, his chest heavy and hands shaking as he waited for voicemail.

It never came. Instead he picked up.

"Luke?"

God his voice sounded like heaven, and as bad as Luke was, as damned to hell as he was, he just wanted to walk up to those pearly gates. 

"Mike..." Luke whispered, his words slurred. "I... I miss you."

"You shouldn't."

He's right, but Luke doesn't care. He misses him, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it.

"But I do." Luke replied. "Can you come over?" He asked and it was silent.

"Are you sober?" Michael pressed and Luke bit his bottom lip so hard he could taste blood.

"Do I have to be?" Luke tried and Michael paused. "Mikey?" He asked and there was a sigh.

"I'll be over in ten minutes."

And just like that, Luke was caught up in an even deeper web of toxicity and dependency with Michael. It was tied around their throats and they were no longer in control of themselves, with little care to their own health and the health of those around them. It played them like puppets, and puppets they felt like as they always bounced back to one another no matter how much it hurt. No matter how guilty they felt for continuing to drag the other along, they couldn't stop. They didn't want to, even if they thought they did.

They probably need help, but the thought makes Luke laugh.

Luke doesn't want help. He wants Michael. He needs Michael. He doesn't need help. He knows it will help soothe the wound that's been bleeding for months on end but he keeps picking at it anyways. After all, a self inflicted wound will always stay to remain a scar.

Bridges can be burned, but it's 2017, Luke doesn't need bridges when he can have a car or a plane or a helicopter to get to Michael, who's never felt more important to someone as Luke desperately tried keeping him in his life.

Their relationship isn't love driven, and they know that since the first mistake where Luke decided to count strikes instead of calling it quits.

It's obvious that it's never been love. It's obsession. It's addiction. It's dependency.

It's toxic, and as far as they're concerned, it's never ending.

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should i do another fic like this but based off of another song? if so, drop a song and i'll see what i can do! i really hope you liked this as much as i enjoyed writing it. thank you so much for reading, i love you all tons!