𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

✿︎ 𝐂𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐲 ✿︎

─┈▨⃟⁕✺⃟ ݆݅༞ ✿°.•ꦿ•.°✿ ݆݅༞✺⃟⁕▨⃟┈─

─┈▨⃟⁕✺⃟ ݆݅༞ ✿°.•ꦿ•.°✿ ݆݅༞✺⃟⁕▨⃟┈─

Mike was out with his friends Jack, Bert and Bob filming his new film Head. I was starting to worry about him, as he would always come home very tired and had this weird smile on his face, but he wouldn't explain what was running through his mind. I sat on the couch, reading a book, when Mike came through the door, his hands in his pockets.

"Hi, Mike. How was your day?"

"Same as usual." He muttered and walked into our shared bedroom. I didn't think much of it, as this same thing had happened for weeks. I continued to read until I looked at the time, it was 11 PM. Mike had never came home that late before; he would usually come home at at least 8 every night. So, I put my book on the table and went into our bedroom. Mike was at his bedside table, looking through the drawer when I walked in.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He quickly turned around and gasped softly.

"Uh, nothing. I'm just gonna go take a shower." He quickly closed the drawer and picked up a spare pair of clothes off of the bed, then walked past me and went into the bathroom without saying a word. I was a bit confused, so when I heard the shower turn on, I walked over to Mike's bedside table and opened the drawer. My eyes widened at the sight in front of me. It was something that he promised me that he would never do, drugs.
I scoffed and picked up the small bag and saw that it was what everyone was taking nowadays (do I have to explain what type it was?). Of course it was 1968 after all. I was still shocked and angry that he had lied to me. He told me that Jack, Bert and Bob had taken this stuff, but he promised that he would never take it no matter what. I had no clue how long he had been taking it, but I sighed and sat on our bed and decided that I'd shout at him when he finished his shower.
I sat there in deep thought for about fifteen more minutes until I heard the door open; I looked up at him angrily. He looker back at me with a confused look on his face.

"What?" He asked. I sighed and stood up, crossing my arms as I stood in front of him. These past few weeks, we hadn't hardly spoken to each other at all, and if I tried, he always gave me an attitude. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know why." I said.
He looked at me with a confused look on his face, then he looked at the ground in deep thought. He tried to think of why I was so upset, and then it hit him.

"You didn't look through my drawer, did you?" He asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I did." I responded quietly.

"Y/N, you have no right to go searching through my private life! Why would you even do such a thing?" He yelled.

"Because I'm worried about you, Mike! Your promised you'd never take all those mind altering drugs, but here we are. You lied to me!"

"I couldn't have promised anything like that. It's 1968 afterall, but I lied to you only because I've been under a lot of stress lately and the drugs are what's getting me through it."

"That's what you think, but they are making your life worse. I'm here for a reason. I'm here to help you, to talk to you, not just an object to be admired whenever you feel like it. I have feelings too, Mike. And if you're so stressed out, why don't you just talk to me?"

"Because I don't have the time. I've got to get this movie finished and then, maybe, I'll talk to you. I'm just not in the mood to fight with you right now."

"No, I'm not done discussing this with you. Do you realize that because you are stressed, I'm stressed, too? You have been ignoring me since you started this stupid movie that doesn't even make sense. I love you and I'm here to talk to you, but you feel like your idiot friends can help you with this drug. Drugs are never the answer, talking it out is! And if you keep taking them, I'm leaving because I feel like I can't trust you anymore." Then, I left the room and slammed the door. I decided it was best to sit on the porch outside, hoping he understood what I said. So, I sat on the bench on the porch and waited. If he didn't come talk to me, I was really leaving.

Mike turned to the door as it slammed shut, wondering why I couldn't just understand that he took the LSD because of his stress (it really doesn't work that way anyways. It just makes you hallucinate). He scoffed and sat on our bed, thinking that I would soon come up later and forgive him, even though he had nothing to be sorry for, he thought, at the time. He opened his drawer and noticed that the bag was still there, so he picked it up and tried taking some of what was inside. He simply couldn't go through with it, and he didn't know why. Was he upset with me? Yes. But now, he started feeling bad about his decision. Drugs are never the answer, he thought as he looked down at the bag in his hands. Then, he remembered that I had said the same exact thing.

"Just great." Mike said as he shoved the bag into the trash. He stood up, opened the door and rushed down the stairs. Noticing I wasn't downstairs, Mike slipped on his shoes and practically ran out the door. He stood outside and looked around before he noticed me sitting on the bench on the far right of the porch.

"Good to see you back." I said as he sat next to me.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I do realize drugs are never the answer, and talking it out is what helps. I promise that I'll talk to you about my problems and not just ignore them, okay?" Mike wrapped his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek. I smiled and looked up at him.

"Thanks, Mike. That would help the both of us, and I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"Don't be sorry. It's my own fault, and it'll never happen again, darlin'. I love you."

"I love you too." We then went back inside and fell asleep.