inevitable entanglements » a.i. + l.h.

37

Ashton watched helplessly as Michael crumbled in front of him.

 

He had always been a fan of idioms, his melodramatic self thought it impossible to resist similes and exaggerated descriptions.

 

He had seen Michael ‘crumble’ when their father left him with the servants.

 

He had seen Michael ‘crumble’ when he treated Luke for the first time.

 

He had seen Michael ‘crumble’ when they carried Calum to his examination room.

 

But now he saw him crumble.

 

Ashton jumped forward, embracing his younger brother who seemed to fall apart, seeing him slip through his fingers. He desperately tried to hold on and piece him back together, but when a heartbreaking sob broke the silence that previously occupied the room, he knew that Michael needed more than a hug. He needed Calum.

 

But Ashton couldn’t bring him Calum, no matter how much he wanted to. He was left grasping Michael’s trembling hands, willing for them to stop and become warm and comforting again. His eyes were clouded with the misery he felt, the beautiful green laced with the bitter colour of hopelessness.

 

“It’s okay, Mikey,” he whispered softly in the boy’s ear, even though it was not.

 

It was not okay and it most likely wouldn’t be any time soon either. But Michael was hurt and in desperate need of something to hold on to. So lies would do for now.

 

“We’ll get him back.”

 

The boy shook his head vigorously, his fluffy strands of hair bouncing from side to side in a way that would have been amusing if Michael’s abusive gripping and pulling hadn’t been the reason for it being so fluffy in the first place.

 

Ashton was at a loss for words, he had ran out of lies.

 

Of course, there were more things he could say - Calum will be okay. Our father won’t hurt him. - but he couldn’t push them off of his lips. They were too untrue to even consider saying. It would only upset Michael more.

 

Luke witnessed everything with widened eyes, his back still pressed against the wall so intensely he could hardly breathe. Or maybe it was the lump in his throat, or the way his lungs seemed to have shriveled and incinerated. Tears streamed effortlessly down his cheeks, but he barely noticed. The itching in his hands was so strong it drowned everything else out to the point where all he could think of was pulling his hair and pinching his hands and scratching his skin off and with how his tongue felt out of place in his mouth he was certain that if he attempted to speak, he would be left in a mess of stutters.

 

Without a second thought, he silently got up on his feet, gripping the wall tightly to try and steady himself. Dark spots were dancing across his blurry vision, the mix of tears and dizziness making it nearly impossible to reach to other side of the room. He made it though, thanks to Michael’s heartbreaking sobs who shook every fibre of his being. He stumbled out of the door, his breathing fast and unsteady, but just good enough to keep him from passing out.