Decode // Michael Clifford

Chapter 9

5 . 25 . 2009

I didn’t talk to Michael for a few days. It was killing me to distance myself from him, but I couldn’t stand to be around him at the moment. Once I’d found out that Haley had safely made it home after first making a stop at the bartender’s house, I made a call to her parents. It was nerve-wracking, and the guilt I felt after was so incredible that all I could do was sit on the couch with my mom for an entire day and fight back tears. I knew it was the right thing to do, to let Haley’s parents know about their daughter, and I knew that in the end it would be best for Haley, but I couldn’t help the guilt that overwhelmed me and clawed at my insides. 

A few days after the incident at the club found me alone on my couch, holding a bottle of gin that my mother thought she’d stashed well in the bottom of the fridge in one hand and the tv remote in the other. I didn’t actually drink much of the gin, mostly because it tasted disgusting and burned my throat, but for some reason I kept holding it. My mom was at work, per usual this late on a weekday night, which meant I was by myself tonight. Usually on a night like this I would have Michael come over and spend the night, but that wasn’t an option tonight. 

Part of me regretted telling Michael to give me space, because part of me knew that I wanted him to keep fighting for me even when I knew he would respect my request. Maybe it was the fact that neither of us knew how to act during an argument that we had just decided to ignore it for now. When we got angry at each other, we usually didn’t say much to each other. We were usually too scared of making the other angry or overwhelmed. Perhaps this was a bad idea - it meant that when we finally did argue, everything would come spilling out and blow up in our faces. Maybe this was the interlude, the calm before the storm. Maybe it was best that we weren’t talking, otherwise this would turn out to be bigger than either of us had originally thought. 

A sudden knock on the door of my apartment startled me out of half-musing, half-watching whatever Hallmark movie had just come on the tv. Knowing my mother never got visitors, I felt my heart flutter in my chest. Maybe it was Michael. Maybe he missed me so bad that he just had to come over and apologize and work things out and plead for me to forgive him. I got up, not caring about my ratty old clothes, and hurried to the door. 

It wasn’t Michael. 

Ashton stood on my doorstep, soaked from head to toe, his curly hair dripping rain water onto the doormat. I didn’t realize that there were tears mixing into the water tracing down his cheeks until I noticed his body shaking, and how red his eyes were. I was so used to Ashton being the happy one, so used to the easy smile everpresent on his face, that I stood with my hand on the door for several moments, just staring at him. 

“Ash?” I finally found my voice, a questioning, worried tone threaded into it.

He looked for a second like he was going to speak, but the words got caught in his throat and he bit his lip. His breathing was labored, and I could tell, from my own experience, that he was desperately trying to hold onto the pieces of himself, to stay together. I also knew that it wouldn’t last long.

I stepped back to let him inside. He ducked into the house and shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry - I, I’m getting water everywhere,” he muttered softly. 

“It doesn’t matter, it’ll dry,” I assured him. I paused, unwilling to pester him with questions. I could tell he wasn’t going to be up for telling me what was wrong just yet, but I had to know why he was here instead of at Michael’s or Calum’s. Why did he come to me, of all people? We were close, but Michael and Calum knew him better. “Ash, what’s wrong? Why are you here?” 

Ashton sucked in a shuddering breath and struggled for words again. I waited patiently, standing there in ratty old shorts and a lacy pink tank top with holes in it, next to a soaking wet, broken boy. Finally, Ashton passed a hand over his face and shook his head. “I can’t - I -”