18 Months -- Michael Langdon x Reader

Chapter Eight

When you woke up the next morning, alone in the bed you had just been sharing with Michael, you knew something was off. You thought- no, you hoped, that what had happened between you and Michael last night wouldn't be a one-time thing. You didn't think you'd be waking up in a cold bed, with your skin on fire. But, it was whatever, right? There were a few moments of passion between the two of you, but that didn't mean Michael felt the same way. It became very apparent to you that the kiss the two of you shared, was simply a stress-relief for Michael. So, with a clenched jaw and a heavy heart, you pulled yourself out of bed.

Dressed in your typical, black skinny jeans, tank top, and leather jacket, you exited the guest room. You were going to need as much armor as you had available in order to face Michael this morning. Rounding the corner and into the living room, you were startled to see Michael sat on the couch between two young girls from the night before. Madelyn was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, and there were a handful of others scattered around Michael. You didn't miss the way one of the girls placed a delicate arm on Michael's shoulder, or the way he flashed her that stupid, smug smile of his. But, it didn't matter. Michael wasn't yours, and you weren't his (regardless of the purple bruise he had left on your neck last night). So, whatever he did, wasn't your problem.

You walked into the kitchen, not saying a word to Madelyn, as you made yourself a cup of black coffee. You had yet to unclench your jaw since awaking, and by the side-eye you were being given by Madelyn, you had no doubt that she was about to start asking questions.

"So-" yup, there it is, "-I guess you and Michael didn't make-up last night?" She questioned, continuing to keep her focus on the french sticks in the pan.

"Guess not," you shrugged, leaning your back against the counter and holding the burning cup in your hands. You knew, that drinking the hot beverage was more than likely going to make you sick because of how hot you already were, but you didn't care. You'd rather be sick than tired at this point.

"Don't be too hard on him-"

"Why, because he's your 'Lord'?"

"No. Because he's your best friend and he loves you. And, you love him just as much. Don't let a petty fight get between that," she said, pausing her cooking to look over at you. "I see the way he looks at you, compared to the other girls. Don't be so insecure."

"I'm not insecure, I'll have you know," you snapped instantly, gaze hardening. "I know my worth, and I know where I stand beside Michael. So stay the fuck out of my goddamn personal business." You slammed the cup you had been holding down onto the table, coffee instantly sloshing over the edge and onto your hand. You bit back a hiss of pain, instead turning on your heel and storming out of the kitchen.

And straight into Michael's chest. "What happened?" he asked instantly, grabbing at your hand even though you had made no indication that it had been injured.

"Don't fucking worry about it. Move," you growled, yanking your hand out of his grasp. You silently regretted it, missing the cold that had washed over your burning flesh, but you weren't about to tell him that.

"What has gotten into you? You've been awake for what, five minutes? Calm down, fox," Michael soothed, in an attempt to calm whatever rage had been sparked inside of you.

"Do I have to get it tattooed on my forehead? Don't tell me what to do." You shouldered past him with an angry hiss, storming your way back to the guest bedroom you had just left.

As you sat down on the bed, elbows digging into your knees and head cradled in your palms, you suddenly realized just how horrible you had just been. Ever since you opened your eyes you had felt... furious. It was at nobody in particular, not at first. But, you couldn't fathom not having a reason to be angry, so you found some. Michael not waking up in the same bed as you; not as a big of an issue as you just made it out to be. Michael had business he needed to take care of, and you had no right to hold that against him. Even if you had just confessed your love to one another the previous night. Madelyn trying to help your friendship with Michael; she just wanted the best for her Lord and his companion. You had no right to get mad at her about that, either. Michael swooping in to cradle your burnt hand; the two of you have a bond- you should've known he'd feel your pain and uncalled-for rage. You had no right to yell at him for caring. You had no right to do any of the things you had done. You'd only been awake a few minutes and you were starting hell for no goddamn reason.