𝗧𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸

𝗘𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 | 𝗔 𝗙𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘁*

"𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 you 'don't know about that'?" she questioned.

"I just think I could get you into a lot of trouble."

"Trouble? Like, you'll go to the board about me yourself?"

Michael didn't want to look in her eyes. That was where trouble had started—when he saw the honesty in those warm, consuming brown eyes. But he looked down at Mallorie. Her eyes were wide and glossy, a fury so unlike her trapped behind them.

He looked into them because he was being completely honest, this time. "I would never do that."

"Then there's no trouble."

He inhaled slowly then looked down at his hand, taking hold of hers over the sheets before he continued. "I mean, I just think if we keep going like this, then one of us is gonna get hurt."

"You wouldn't hurt me, though."

It wasn't a question. Her certainty hung from every word. And that terrified him.

It was why he had slipped from Mallorie's hold during the early hours of morning once she fell asleep, replacing his presence with a stuffed animal he had bought and doused in his cologne for her. Now back in his hotel room, replaying the conversation on a loop, he wished he had never laid down with her. All his problems came into clear focus, but one was equal to none. Mallorie Powell was falling for him, and he was just a few besotted delusions away from feeling as though that wouldn't be so bad.

Searing pain radiated across the back of Michael's skull. Then he looked down at the small capsules and tablets in the center of his palm, emerging from his thoughts to find himself standing over the sink. Five pills were gathered in his hand, three of them being a combination of chemicals he couldn't pronounce yet in full control of the quality of his life. Gabapentin, diazepam and acetaminophen—a higher dose to replace what used to be morphine. Then there were the ones that Mallorie had prescribed him: magnesium, melatonin, a steroid and an immunosuppressant. He remembered the names of the strongest ones because he wanted to remember which one of them made him feel the best, and so far, none of them did.

It wasn't like they didn't work. They made the excruciating pain from where he lost part of his scalp ebb and his restless mind calm enough for him to function to somewhat of the same degree everyone else seemed to. But like the other turbulent parts of his life, they just never stopped. Like the hoards of flashing cameras, the requests and orders from other people, the screaming fans, the music and melodies, the burning in his scalp, mind and heart would never stop.

It was turning into a devout pursuit for relief. A constant need for distraction to be extracted from the hapless persistence of himself—his true self. And he couldn't bring Mallorie further into that, no matter how prepared she thought she was for it. The prison of his soul that he called a body, and the people around him that had abused it, gave him enough suffering to make him want to avoid making anyone else part of it.

"You wouldn't hurt me, though."

Michael shook his head to himself, patting dry the water he had splashed on his chin by drinking from the faucet to swallow down his medication. How could she know that when he couldn't stop hurting himself? She was so damn trusting, like a child. He loved that quality and the way it would bring about the urge to love and meet the hopeful expectations of who the trust was coming from. But from her, it was horrifying.

He didn't consider himself a deceitful person. Honesty was embedded in him as much as his DNA was, and it was strengthened each day by his prayers. At the same time, he couldn't be fully true to who he was. The business he had given his life to was relentless, stripping people of their humanity and filling them with greed. Eyes not privy to who was who, he was constantly surrounded by peers and colleagues that would do anything to get more from him in any way they could, whether at his expense or not. So many had feigned friendship to get close to him, and he was forced into only showing facets of himself. Mallorie wasn't one of those people, and it didn't take him long to figure that out. But she was still an outsider.