violet skies / michael clifford

i don't trust me either

28. he has trust issues, jessa

Michael doesn't seem to want to talk about his fear of love, although I would like to know the story behind it. Instead, I guess it's time I tell him about the things I fear the most. After all, he asked me first.

"My brother used to smoke weed with his friends," I say after a while. "He'd have parties when our parents were away."

"You never told me you have a brother."

"I don't. He died four years ago."

"Oh."

The temperature falls as my story takes a darker turn than Michael probably expected. He leans back against the car seat, refusing to look at me.

"Our parents were away that night, so he was having a party. He told me to stay in my room."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't safe there, even though he said I would be."

Michael glances over at me. "What happened?" he asks, and his voice is cracking, almost as if he's scared of the answer.

"I was– I was trying to sleep. And some guy, one of his friends, came into my room. The next thing I know he just. . . He held me down and I couldn't–"

I hear Michael exhaling sharply beside me. It's like he's been holding his breath.

"I can still smell the weed off his breath. Can still feel his hands on me when I close my eyes. I feel so. . .  disgusting," I say, not sure where my courage to speak up has come from. I always refused to talk about it, even to the therapist my parents signed me up with.

Michael stays silent, playing with the bracelets around his arm.

"My brother died that night. He found out about what happened, and there was this big fight. All I remember is him screaming and shouting, then it all went quiet. Living in that house will always remind me about it."

"Is that why you don't like being at home?"

I wonder how he knows. Maybe it's obvious.

"Mum left us soon after. They say losing a family member either makes a family bond stronger or breaks it apart. She couldn't live in that house. I don't blame her, I hate it, too."

My head hangs low. I don't know why I'm telling him all this. He probably thinks I'm some messed up person now. Maybe that's enough to make him stay away from me. But I still need him.

Michael changes the subject, thankfully. "We should get going."

"Where?"

"You know Cal was saying there's a cliff? It's pretty good for throwing things."

"What are we throwing?"

"Anything you'd want to see disappear into nothing."

I have a few suggestions.

He starts the car, and a short drive later, we're there. Michael helps me   out, and then holds my hand while we make our way over freshly cut grass  and sandy paths. It's quite high up, but I have to believe that it will be safe. Otherwise, he wouldn't have brought me here. Right?

When we get closer to the edge, I stop. My body refuses to take me any closer.

"It's okay, there's a fence," he says, reaching for me. "It's alright."