I hated this.
I hated being here, I hated New York. I hated Michael and the way he treated me. I felt so stuck.
Based on what he told me about his family life, I got it though. He had an e xcuse to be that way. He said so all the time.
I couldn't go back to Ohio. It was the hurtful truth that I remembered every time I would hide in the bathroom to get away.
It was a new year, but nothing had changed.
I trailed along Michael, doing what he said, and what he wanted. From cheering his shitty band on in shows in local bars, to sex in the moldy bathroom afterwards.
Every few days he would remind me that I couldn't leave him. He always told me he loved me, and would be dead if I didn't stay. I always told him I loved him back.
"I don't know what I would do without you," he would admit, smoke whisping through his lips. "Something stupid, probably. Dead maybe. And that's scary."
He would offer the bowl to me, lighting it as I held the fragile glass. I didn't say anything.
But this wasn't love. Love wasn't staying with him just because I was afraid that he would do something stupid, or because he said I owed him, after staying here for so long. I wanted to go home.
I spent the whole month regretting ever going to New York.
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12 Months//michael clifford short story
FanfictionI thought that love was staying up all night with him drinking shitty black coffee and talking about what we were going to do once we had the money. Love was wishing he wouldn't come back to our shitty apartment, at least for one more night. Love wa...
