Give Me Love (Muke)

Did I Say That I Need You?

In the morning, Michael wakes to overwhelming sunlight and scratchy eyes.

Apart from the splitting headache, Michael doesn’t immediately remember the previous day. It hits him like a sledgehammer when it comes back to him that his mother’s dead.

He sits up slowly, tired, completely drained. He doesn’t want to remember too much of what happened from about 9 PM on last night, but he knows it shouldn’t have happened, because he’s already feeling like a screw-up and it’s not even midday yet.

He doesn’t want to leave his room. Doesn’t want to face Luke, especially, after last night. Most of the night is a blur in his head, but certain things stick out, and unless he really is crazy, he remembers Luke taking him home.

Every time he thinks of his mother, his heart starts racing and his palms get sweaty. He has to pack for his flight tonight. Michael thinks this is probably the end. After last night, he can’t face anyone anyway. Luke’s probably told them all about what happened. If, of course, Michael’s remembering correctly. And seeing as he was wasted out of his mind, his memory may not be serving him too well.

Michael crawls out of bed to take his meds. He slips across the hall and locks himself in the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He searches the drawers and finds a bottle of aspirin, grateful it’s here and not in the kitchen. Then he takes his meds and prays that he’ll be stable.

Michael’s mother is dead. She is dead. She is not coming back. Michael keeps feeling like he can pick up the phone and call her. Or that she’ll call him. Keeps reaching for his phone before remembering, and then a fresh wave hits him.

His eyes are dark, sunken in, sleepless and sad. Michael feels cold all over. Everything’s a mess, and it’s all his fault.

All his fault.

The second Michael steps out of the bathroom, he feels eyes on him. His head turns to see Ashton sitting on the couch, head resting on his hand, elbow propped up on the armrest, looking at Michael. Calum sits in the armchair opposite, which Michael can see when he moves further down the hallway.

Michael’s mouth goes dry and his heart seizes.

“Hey,” Ashton says, watching him. “Feeling better?”

Michael nods tentatively. He wants to be numb for this. But it faded away with the alcohol and left him cold and aching. And now Michael has nothing left but anger and grief.

“Did something happen between you and Luke last night?” Ashton asks, legs curled to his chest. Calum watches He looks worried, Michael thinks. What did Luke say? Michael doesn’t want to talk about it with Ashton, or Calum, or even Luke.

Michael doesn’t directly answer the question. “Why?”

“He left this morning,” Ashton says, shrugging.

“What?” Michael says, mouth falling open slightly. His head throbs.

“Yeah,” Calum says, lifting his head from his phone. “Just left. Hasn’t texted us where he is, when he’s coming home. We thought, maybe you knew.”

“No,” Michael says, heart plummeting. Michael shouldn’t have even come home last night until he was sober, shouldn’t have let Luke see him that way. Seems like Luke always sees him at his worst. Now he’s scared Luke off. This is definitely because of him.

“He didn’t tell you?” Ashton says, face falling. “Damnit, I hope he’s okay.”

“This is stupid,” Calum says. “Like a Luke council, or something. He’s eighteen now. He can take care of himself.”