THIS SUCks so much im sorry i fail at everything and it took me forever to upload i suck im sorry
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Luke gets in at 9:30pm that night, smelling of the cold and cigarettes; he's been out all day, since about 1pm; and all I've been capable of doing is not worry that I've done something wrong.
Being honest, I always fuck up in one way or another.
He kicks off his shoes and walks into my bedroom, where I lay on my bed, similarly to I have all day, alone. Apart from the four hour visit from Ashton, and my dad popping in every other hour to see if I've broken down or not.
The blond doesn't say anything but instead he pulls me up onto my feet and wraps his arms around me, tight.
Tight tight tight tight tight and I never want him to let go of me because somehow I feel lost when his arms aren't around me.
I breathe in his scent, one I've missed all day, and he takes in my body that seems awful small against his, with my small shoulders and stupid everything. Stupid stupid stupid.
I feel Luke clench his jaw, and I wonder if maybe he's going to cry, if maybe tears will tumble down his cheeks and break my heart all over again.
"You're o-okay, L-Lukey," I say, and I think that's when it hurts him, when he can't hide his emotions.
And I hate myself for it.
Because I know when I'm trying to step myself from crying, when it's getting a bit too much, but I'm doing okay at hiding it, I know I hate it when someone asks if I'm okay, because truth be told, when that happens for some reason my mind tells me to be pathetic and cry.
I feel dampness on my neck.
Fuck.
"What h-h-happen-ned?" I ask, and wow, am I bad at this.
What happened?
Really Michael?
But when the boy talks, he's not answering my question.
The blue eyed boy pulls away from my grasp, and yes, his eyes are slightly blood shot and pained, but he's never looked at me so strongly, so harshly.
He takes my jaw into his fingers, holding it sternly, and all I can do is try to catch my breath.
"You are my boyfriend Michael, mine; and I will never let anything happen to you, ever." He says, and why is he so intense? What's going on in that head of his? "do you understand?"
I stay silent, and look to my feet, like a school kid.
Luke's grin on my face tightens.
"Do you understand?"
I nod, yes, and his eyes soften slightly, and I wonder if he had a few mad moments, or if there's something he's not telling me.
"Good."
There's a long silence after that while I look into his eyes and try to figure him out.
What's he doing, and why is he being so odd.
I chew on my lip, and urge myself not to cry because I know I've probably done something wrong.
"I'm sorry; I just need you to know that, Mikey." My eyes fill. "Oh come on baby, don't cry,"
Luke grabs my hands, and sits me down on the bed.
"R-Ray used to s-s-say t-that."
Luke suddenly looks intense and intrigued again.
"Say what?"
"T-That I was h-his, t-that I b-belonged to h-him," I pause, sniffling with I hiccup in my throat. "He w-would h-hurt me w-w-when I t-t-old him I d-didn't like i-it."
His face falls and I wish I hadn't told him, I wish I hadn't spoke because whenever I do I only feel annoying.
Truth be told, I'm that kid who just stopped talking, stopped trying just because I felt like I was irritating everyone. Like I was irrelevant.
And I guess I am.
"I'm sorry kitten, I didn't mean it like that- I'd... I'd never hurt you, like he did, not ever." He says, stumbling over his words, not knowing what to say after I've made him feel so bad. "You remember my promise, don't you?"
I allow a nod amongst my hiccup of tears.
"How did he hurt you, baby?"
I shrug, looking down before I take my shaky hands and fiddle with the zip on his leather jacket he wore outside.
My hands tremble unnecessarily.
"The f-first t-t-time h-hit m-me, was t-the first t-time I t-told him I d-didn't like it, he t-t-told me not t-to t-talk back, and I s-s-shrugged; h-he g-grabbed my wrist a-and s-s-slapped m-me."
"I'm so sorry," he pulls me further onto the bed, and wraps his arms around me, and I cocoon into his body; our curves working perfectly together.
His long fingers stroke my hair as I try to calm down, shaking in my skin as I think back to the misery. The pain. The heartbreak.
And don't get me wrong, I adore Luke.
More than words can describe, and yes, he's helped me.
He's saved me, to be honest; and oh, does it sound cliché, but he has.
I was wandering, lost; drowning in the world, stumbling over my feet and my words and this asshole just walked into my life and turned it upside down.
But the depression is still there. The urge to be self destructive and ruin everything around me including myself because no one could possibly care is still there.
The anxiety and the pain and the intrusive thoughts still gather in my mind because honestly, it doesn't matter if I have Luke and ashton or calum- yes, it helps, but depression will strike no matter how good my life is and the anxiety will always come even when it has no business with me, and when there's nothing to worry about.
"I d-didn't mean to bring it up like that, I h-had no idea Michael, I'm so, so sorry."
I shrug, snuggling into the duvet; Luke's arms lace around my torso, and a second or so later I feel a patter running up the sheets to my tear stained face; and I smile.
Toba.
His little legs and quirky face blossom happiness in my chest, and I forget about my misery for a second.
I bring my hand up and stroke his beautiful, grey fur; his head nuzzles against my stubby fingers, and all I can do is enjoy his presence.
"Hey, T-Toba," I scoop him up a little, and pull him under the covers; soon enough Carrie is up on the bed too, cuddling his new found son; someone to look after and someone to appreciate after her brother's death.
And soon enough sleep grabs the four of us, seeing as it's almost ten and I'm a sleepy boy.
;
When I wake up the next morning, my face is stiff from my precious tears and my throat is sore.
I pout, sitting up after glancing at the clock that reads eight o'clock; fuck.
I look to my right to try and find my boyfriend to find he's not there- I climb up onto my feet as quickly as I can, darting into the toilet, I lock the door and take of my sweater and pj pants, and wash my body in less than two minutes before changing into my school clothes, brushing my teeth, spraying some deodorant and running into the kitchen in a dash already only to find dad, Luke and calum and ashton sitting around the table, tucking into some pancakes.
"Easy tiger." Dad hushes me as I run into the room and he looks at me with worried eyes.
"Aren't we going to be late?" I ask, panting as my bag slips from my fingers onto the floor.
All their eyebrows furrow.
"It's only seven baby," luke says, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling my into him; his head leans into the curve of my hip; his head wresting there seeing as he's sitting and I'm standing up.
"B-But the c-c-clock s-said e-e-eight," I say, panting, and I try to make myself sound like I'm not mad. Try not to feel mad because maybe I am but maybe I'm not because truthfully, time is an odd thing that I can never seem to wrap my head around. My breath is still shaky in my chest and I feel unstable standing and I guess Luke can see that so he puts me down on the chair next to him.
His thumb strokes the inside of my palm, trying to discover the universe inside my mind as I stare at the galaxy inside his eyes.
"That clocks been broken for months, Mikey." He says, and I can hear the concern in his voice.
Not because it's anything unusual that a clock is broken, or that I fucked up, but maybe because I don't usual hurry like that; I would usually glance at the clock and lay back and refuse to move because the day's been ruined already, right.
I nod, almost like I'm distant; abandoned in my own mind- and truth be told I have been for days; in just one of those moods where I can't think of much but myself and think about how much I hate I'm thinking of myself because I'm not worthy of anyone's attention span. Especially my own.
Just one of those moods where I can't bring myself to talk without feeling tired or like I'm annoying and when I fuck up I guess I get bad ideas about myself.
"Come on," Luke begins softly, "why don't you eat something?"
I don't nod because I don't want to eat because I get fat when I eat and I don't shake my head because when I do that it's grown apparent to me that it upsets everyone.
So instead I just stare blankly ahead, not giving him an answer- uncertainly, he puts a few pancakes made by my dad onto a plate, drizzling some maple syrup and putting some raspberries on top just before he slides the plate over to me.
Calum and Ashton try not to stare, and dad keep sending me cautious glances and I'm not sure why bu-
"Luke told us what happened with Ray," Ashton begins delicately, placing his fork down and taking a sip of water.
I look into his eyes, and I don't smile or frown.
I don't do anything accept continue to poke at my pancakes that seem tasteless and disgusting in my mouth.
Food.
How miserable.
"Why didn't you ever tell me he was like that, Mikey?" dad asks, unknotting his apron and I'm not sure why I can't bring myself to look into his eyes.
Maybe I'm ashamed.
Maybe I'm embarrassed and that's probably why I didn't tell him in the first place.
Dad only saw him hit me once, but he didn't know the half of the abuse.
Tears begin to build in my eyes, and shrugging my shoulders, looking away.
"I d-d-didn't w-want you t-to get h-h-hurt."
Golden eyes melt.
"What about you, Michael?" dad's voice is pretty loud, desperate. And I'm almost scared he's going to shout because dad never shouts. "What about you getting hurt? Why didn't you tell me? You can always tell me stuff, Michael!; he was abusing you!"
Now he is shouting.
Shouting shouting shouting and I can't stand the shouting.
Warning signs run around my mind, panic alarms around my chest and sirens ring in my ears because my father is loosing it and he hasn't done that since mum left; mum leaving was the first time I saw him cry, the second was when I woke up after killing myself and the third is now.
Liquid pain tumbles down his smooth skin, and he wipes his eyes under his glasses that are pressed up on his nose.
"If I t-t-told y-y-you, y-you w-w-would of c-confronted h-him; and h-he w-w-would of h-h-hurt y-you t-t-to, or h-hurt m-me e-even more." I begin to sob, my shoulders bobbing up and down- my boyfriend wraps his arms around me whilst everyone watches me break. "E-E-Emily t-tried t-t-to t-talk to him a-and a-all he d-d-did w-was h-hit her, t-too; h-he slapped her l-like it w-was nothing, a-and I had t-to watch while m-my boyfriend h-hurt e-everyone a-around him!"
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit; the tears are hot and heavy, my throat is tight and my heart is beating even though I wish it wasn't.
"He hit Emily?" Dad shouts, his voice cracking and Luke is torn beteen comforting me or him. All I can do is nod and think about the girly; I wonder what she'd think if she saw me now, with a boyfriend, but without her and still completely heartbroken. "Why didn't you leave him? Why did you stay with him?"
"I l-loved him."
I cry because I fucking loved him and he fucking ruined me.
I gave every single part myself for him and after time I realised that he simply didn't care.
Because he made me think that he loved me.
He took my hand into foreign land and made me believe.
Believe in him, believing in my self and believe that love was real. Believe it was okay; I ripped my own heart out of my chest before he got the chance and handed it to him gently only for him to slaughter it with the squeeze of his palm.
Luke's face falls, and it kind of hurts to see that.
"You didn't love him," Luke says, shaking his head, tone firm all over again. "No one could love him."
I bow my head only to bring it up and shake it.
He doesn't understand.
Of course he doesn't.
Nobody gets abusive properly until you've been trapped in one like I was; because every time their palm meets your cheek or their fingers wrap around your throat, you tell yourself that they didn't mean it.
The worst part about the whole thing wasn't even that he made me feel like shit.
He made me think I deserved it.
"He w-was d-different a-at the s-s-start." I stutter out, thinking back to the first time I saw him and how everything about him was different. His accent was thicker back then; he didn't wear dark clothes like he does now, but he wore bright pinks and oranges; thinking of it, the sadder we got, the blacker his outfits got. He didn't have his nose pierced or his hair cut short, and he didn't smoke or drink.
When we first met I was Barbie and he was ken.
Accept I was a boy and a lot less pretty than Barbie, and Ray looked nothing like ken and ken was straight.
Tragic.
"He w-w-was b-believable... we w-w-were t-together f-for a f-few m-months before h-he began to c-change," I shudder thinking about how confused I had been when things weren't so easy again. "he g-got into d-d-drinking, a-and smoking and h-he w-wasn't r-ray anymore."
Dad breaks down into a sob before covering his mouth.
"I'm so sorry Michael, I wish I had known," that's all he can say before walking off into his bedroom, and disappearing.
I don't get to see him again before I go to school.
;
sorry i suck at life fam
i wrote a load of this listening to lana del rey bc she's great but her music always makes me cry pmsl
i really hope i'll be able to update more in the summer holidays whicH IM STILL NOT FUCKING ON BECAUSE HERE IN ENGLAND THEY LIKE TO KEEP US FOR AN EXTRA 5 BILLION WEEKS AFTER EVERYWHERE ELSE BREAKS UP
sorry lol
ill talk later and remember to take care of yourself