Mirrors | Malum

21

Calum

Today I wasn't waiting at the train station for my sister. I decided I'd live a little and go out with my friend, Michael. It's starting to feel weird labeling him as that because I've only ever known family my entire life. But he somehow has become my golden day and he gives me a million reasons to smile. It's like he's the light that's never going to fade and he's the sun that make all of the grey in the cloudy skies disappear. He's the one person who makes me want to do risky things and I'm almost certain that hes going to be my person.

We were sitting in the parking lot across from the supermarket. Michael was consistently mumbling about things that didn't make sense at all and every now and then, he'd say a pick up line or two. I would be lying if I said he didn't put a smile on my face. It's somewhat weird to me, how you can have a paper and a pen that is used to jot your feelings down or you can have a crumpled one that's thrown away in the bin. It's like I'm the paper and Michael is the pen. He's not afraid to tell me how he feels and that makes me extremely happy, because nobody ever tells me how they feel because I've always been invisible.

"You know something, Calum?"

"What?" I pursed, leaning into his shoulder because he was so comfortable and I was so cold.

"You're hard to reach."

"I don't understand."

It was the truth. I didn't understand, simply because I've been more out there towards Michael than I ever have been with anybody. I didn't feel like telling him my real name because I was afraid he'd find out all of the terrible things about me and realize how unimportant I am. But he's not like that, because he's not judgemental. He doesn't look at me like a ghost or a creature. He looks at me like I'm his whole entire world.

"You didn't let me finish," Michael said without anger, but out of pure softness and love. It was almost as though he were afraid to raise his voice at me, because I was too precious in his eyes and I loved that.

"You're afraid to tell people who you really are and it doesn't make sense to me why that is. I've only known you for only a portion of my life and I can already tell that you're scared to grow attached to somebody that you think is going to leave you."

"How did you figure that out?" I mumbled, slowly removing my body off of his but still closing the space between us because he was so warm and I loved feeling his temperature and his soft, overly large sweater against my torn thin one that was getting old.

"You may be hard to reach, but you're easy to figure out. I can tell you're afraid because of the way you look at me."

This is the part where I've messed up, isn't it? You always mess up, Calum. Always.

"The way I look at you?" I questioned again, not understanding where he was coming from and what direction he was trying to take. I was just a message that had yet to slip out of his mouth that contained hopeless words that he wouldn't remember saying the next day. I'm just a brewing cup of coffee that burns his tongue and makes him hate the after taste of everything because it hurt and it ruined his morning. I'm just the burnt, golden brown bread that popped out toaster and he threw away because it was useless if it tasted bitter. I'm just Calum, and I'm not as important as he says I am.

"Yes, Calum. The way you look at me is the way I look at caskets. It's sad and your eyes are full of fear. I can see the pain drowning inside of you and the anger tugging at your sleeves everyday. I can tell that there's so much to dig out of you and I know that you want to vent but you're afraid I'll walk out of your life as if I didn't make an effort to get into it in the first place."

I felt my eyes watering and begging to release the pool of tears its been holding in, but I willed myself not to cry because I had to be strong before he figured me out. But I could feel my lip quivering beneath my nose, and I could tell that blinking ten times in a row wasn't going to work this time and the second he gave me the look of pity was enough to make me explode.

"You don't know anything."

One tear.

"You don't know me like you think you do."

Two tears.

"I am sad and afraid, and you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Too many tears to count.

"Calum," Michael said softly as he moved closer to me. He's always seen the depressing side of me, but never the one that would actually cry. I'm ashamed of myself for digging into the hole that deep because now I'm stuck here, in Michaels' arms. And even though it's incredibly comfortable, its not where I want to be. Because I'll grow used to it, and he'll leave me even though he will promise he won't. I guarantee it will happen.

"I know more than you think I do."

And that might be the case. He might know me more than I know myself and that terrifies me.

"You don't," I whispered, trying to convince myself that I didn't let give into telling him every single detail of my life. He knows I'm sad and that's the one thing I tried to hide from him, but perhaps it was obvious from the beginning. And that makes me realize I can't hide things from people forever, because as Michael said, I'm easy to figure out. And that makes me more terrified than ever.

"Then I'd like to."

His words were always so comforting and I loved that more than I should. I felt ashamed of myself for labeling him as a friend, because I was taking advantage of him and using him as a shoulder to cry on, when he got absolutely nothing in return. And that made me feel pathetic.

"I don't deserve you," I whispered as I filled the gap between us again, and I smiled into his warmth because his arm around my waist felt so right even if it was wrong and I loved hearing the sound of his breathing and seeing it fly into the air because it was cold. I loved spending every minute with him because he always knew what to say and could make me feel like I was floating on ice. As though I were a tree that he wanted to climb or a swing that he wanted to play on because it made him so happy and excited. And as much as I hated labels, I knew I could label him as a friend. But a friend was somebody you saw as a person you could communicate with and laugh with without feeling like the sound of their heartbeat was the one thing you were meant to wake up to most mornings, and without feeling like their hands were meant to hold yours. And I can't label Michael Clifford as a friend, when I know within the short period of time I've known him, I've fallen in love.

"You deserve everything the world has to offer you."

"Do I?"

"You do."

"I do," I repeated after him, trying to process the information through my brain because I know he'd be proud of me if I grew more confident and I desperately wanted him to be proud of me because nobody is ever proud of me. I've only ever been "honoured" or "celebrated" when I had a fake accomplishment. It shows how nobody pays attention to me. But Michael, he pays attention to me, to every little detail and he remembers. Because I'm important to him and it feels so great to feel important.

I watched as Michael smiled and his smile was the reason I smiled. And we just sat there, in the empty parking lot and we talked about stupid ,things that weren't really stupid and we spoke about the things that made us happy and a while ago, I would have said nothing made me happy. But now I'm certain that that nothing has turned into something and that something is Michael Clifford.

And Michael Clifford is the person I'm certain that I'm falling in love with and the person who makes me feel like life really is worth living.

And for that, he's everything to me. And I never want to lose him.