Invisible [Michael Clifford]

02.

Chapter Two.

For the rest of the day, time drags by at an agonisingly slow pace. Classes seem to take hours to end, and lunch doesn't come soon enough. When Michael does finally escape the confines of the classroom, at the beginning of lunch, the hallways are already crowded with rowdy teenagers. He forces his way through the crowd with his head hung low, trying to get to the doorway at the end of the hall.

Over the course of the school day, Michael had come to a conclusion about himself, and many others. People like him - and Tegan - don't matter, at least; not really. They're not as important as the other people around them, and Tegan's death has done enough to prove that.

Out of all everyone Michael had encountered that day, both teachers and students alike, only Mr. Dixon had made the effort to ask how he was; to even acknowledge that one of his students had died. And, although it hadn't seemed like it at the time; Michael was grateful.

He wasn't expecting every other person to stop him, and apologise for his loss; that wasn't at all what he was expecting. If anything, that was the last thing he would've wanted; but he would've liked it if people could have at least acknowledged the fact that Tegan was no longer there, because it felt as though Tegan had never even existed.

Once he finally reaches the doors at the end of the hall, he uses his weight to shove them open. The cold hits him square in the face as he leaves the building, and as he slows to a stop outside; he takes a moment to think about where he's going to go.

Usually, he spends his time at lunch with Tegan but that won't be happening today, or any other day for that matter. He would have to learn to adapt to this change, but he isn't sure if he'll be able to.

He scans the area for a moment, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket as he takes in his surroundings. There are four picnic tables set out in the courtyard, one for each corner; and usually, they would be overflowing with students but today; they were completely empty.

Michael sits himself down at one of them, his back resting against the table as he slowly takes a glance around; a small sigh falling from between his lips.

He feels so lost, and alone, but he doesn't want to admit it. It's easier to deny his feelings than to accept them because accepting his feelings means he must also accept that Tegan is gone, and he's not sure if he's ready to do that yet.

So, that night - when he goes home - he puts on a brave face. He smiles like nothing has changed, then goes upstairs and locks himself away in his bedroom for the rest of the night. His parents see right through his facade, though.

Michael's bedroom is situated in the attic of the house; a spacious room, with an en-suite bathroom off to the side. Despite his mother's pleas to keep it tidy, the room is a mess; there are clothes tossed on the floor, and old work carelessly scattered around.

As far as teenagers go, Michael's room isn't all that bad. Or at least, that's what he tells his mum.

There are fairy lights scattered through the large room, with an abundance of blankets on his bed; he enjoys a comfy atmosphere in his room, because it allows him to relax; even if it is just for a little while.

There are fairy lights hung around his bed; one consists of stars, whilst the other consists of an array of planets. On the other side of the room, he has hung up a string of tiny UFO-shaped lights, which hang across the entire wall.

Michael's bedroom had, at one point, been his safe space and had been for as long as he could remember; he would lock himself away from the world for hours, and feel at peace. But, now, it didn't feel the same.

Whenever he looks at the walls, he thinks about how he and Tegan had decorated his walls with an assortment of posters over summer. He can't lay on his bed without thinking about all of the times they had cuddled up together, to watch a movie, hidden beneath a tonne of blankets.

His father enters his room once that night, to bring him his dinner. He places the plate of pizza down in front of his son before taking a step back; he doesn't move away, but he doesn't say anything either.

The red head stares at the older man for a moment, sighing quietly as he picks up a slice of pizza from the plate. He knows that he's about to be lectured, he can sense it; but he can't complain. He knows that his father means well, both of his parents do; they're just worried about him.

"I know you're struggling to piece everything together at the moment, Michael," the older man watches his son for a moment, before taking a quick glance around his son's untidy room; biting the inside of his cheek as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, "but this isn't healthy. She wouldn't want you to be like this."

"How do you know what she would want," Michael lets out a scoff as he rolls his eyes; it comes out as more of a statement, than a question. He clenches his jaw as he waves his father off before turning his attention back to the pizza.

"Because, she loved you, Michael; and if you love somebody, you wouldn't want them to go through this. You'd want them to get help, and to move on."

His father doesn't say anything else after that, and he leaves the room in silence. Michael watches as his father leaves before letting out a small sigh, shaking his head as he places the pizza back down before pushing the plate away from him.

Michael knows that his father is right; Tegan wouldn't want this. She would want him to be happy. She would want him to fall in love with somebody else, and to live his life; even if she can't be apart of it. And, even though Michael knows all of this; he just can't bring himself to move on.