she slipped ; malum

peace

WARS WERE GOING ON INSIDE HIS HEAD, BUT HE KEPT SMILING. He held hands with Michael, kissing him occasionally. He loved Michael's lips. What a pretty, pretty red they were. He nearly kissed them raw.

"So, what are we going to do today, baby?" Calum asked, although already having their day planned out in his head.

Michael shrugged, looking at their hands, a hesitant look in his eye. "I w-was just going to do some homework. I'm so behind, and everything."

The Maori snorted. "That's what boring people do."

Michael pouted, crossing his arms. "Shut up."

Calum rolled his eyes. "I have our whole day planned out, Michael. It's gonna be fun."

Fun was a loose term for something enjoyable. Calum was going to have fun, but Michael probably wasn't. He was probably just going to be dragged around all day. At least, that was how he saw it. Their definitions of fun tend to not match.

"Please, can we just stay in?"

"Okay." The Maori sighed, looking genuinely upset. "But we have to do one thing. It's a surprise."

"A surprise, huh?" the redhead asked. "I really don't like surprises."

"It'll be a good one. You'll love it." Calum said, looking to Michael's covered up wrists.

Michael turned around, walking to Calum's couch. Jersey and Mali were cuddled up, half-asleep as they watched some cops show. Mali handed them the remote and closed her eyes, holding her girlfriend against her chest. It was the first time in ages Jersey was back home.

They sat there for a couple of hours, the two boys holding hands. Calum tapped his leg impatiently, looking at the time. He wanted to do something.

"Come on, Michael. It's time for your surprise."

Michael stood up, curious as to where they were going when he saw his boyfriend grab the keys. Michael hated surprises. But, he was sure Calum would've thought out something nice for them.

They got in the car, and there was nothing on the radio, so Michael snooped around their CDs. When seeing one messily labelled, 'roadtrips' he put it in. Calum tensed, noticing it was Avery's playlist, but didn't say anything. He bit his lips together as they were driving out of town, listening to Michael sing awfully.

He grinned, "You're such an idiot, Michael."

"You are." Came his childish response.

Calum shook his head before looking over his shoulder to the backseat where his bag laid. He kept his eyes on the road, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he smiled. He hadn't been so content since –

Avery.

He sighed, driving up to a look-out.

"Calum, is this . . ."

The Maori nodded, pulling a hand through his hair. "Yeah, baby." He said as he parked.

Calum couldn't get out of the car. He felt glued to the seat. This was where his girlfriend died. He unbuckled his seatbelt, looking at Michael.

"The . . . The sunsets are good here." He found himself saying, repeating the same words he said to Avery.

Michael looked at him with pity. "Cal, it's an hour off sunset."

Calum stared straight ahead, the very spot where he stood right in front of him. He wanted to get out and see if there was anything left to prove that the past few months weren't a dream, but he remained sat in the car.

He opened the car door, tears in his eyes. He stood up, almost forgetting Michael was in the car. The redhead got out as well, feeling the ghosts of the cliff create a lump in his throat. He had never felt so uncomfortable in one place before.

Calum sat on the bonnet of the car, ushering Michael over. "Just . . . Just wanted to get over it, you know?"

Michael nodded in understanding. "Healing process?"

Calum held the boy's hand, barely looking at him as he nodded. He was replaying the whole situation. Having sex in the car. Talking. Falling. He let a tear fall from his cheek, his guard crashing down. He looked to Michael, but could still see a gun in his pocket.

Luckily, he had a gun in the backseat. A real one.

He laid back on the windshield, closing his eyes from the old battleground. He could still smell the blood. He could still hear the screams. He couldn't get Avery out of his head.

He tried hard to get rid of her, but who was he kidding? He never would be able to.

"You know, I haven't come up here since." He said. "I wanted to, but I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Throwing myself off the cliff."

Michael's breath caught on the lump in his throat, and he widened his eyes. "Oh." He answered, weakly, because he didn't know what to say to his boyfriend's suicidal thoughts.

"When you were talking to Luke the other day, what were you really saying?"

"I told you." The redhead rolled his eyes, finding it ridiculous that Calum just wouldn't believe him. It wasn't Calum's fault. He'd seen too many people work for the other side while saying they would never hurt him.

"I don't believe you. Why would you bother? You don't protect me, I protect you."

They both left it at that. They both felt right in their minds.

Calum listened to the silence. He was far away from any current battlegrounds, only opening old wounds, saying he was healing them. He didn't have anyone fighting him. It was just one against one. Michael and Calum. The traitor and the soldier who should've just stuck to himself.

The sunset came, and the Maori found the courage to go near the edge, holding hands with his boyfriend with a light smile. The bright orange stuck to Michael's face, and Calum never thought he looked so pretty.

"Have you figured out what you were going to do for your final piece?" Michael asked, staring at the sunset. "Because this – this is art."

"Baby," Calum grinned, holding Michael's shirt in his fists, "you are my final piece."

"W-What?"

He barely had time to say it before he was pushed down the cliff. Calum watched as his screams only last for a second. Far, far down, he could see Michael laid in a pile. The Maori widened his eyes, sobbing.

He'd killed the traitor, now. Why didn't he feel okay?

Why did he feel everything was still versing him? Still challenging, still waiting for him to explode, even though he'd clearly hit his breaking point.

Why could he still feel the looks? The eyes. Those beady eyes of self-destruction were holding him captive. They were clinging to him, telling him everything would never be alright.

Why could he still hear the bullets, the screams, the voices?

There were too many guns against him. And now he had his own pressed to his head.

Maybe you should believe what people say.

Maybe she didn't slip.

Fin.

*cries*