Decode // Michael Clifford

Chapter 12

7 . 23 . 2010

In the few years I had known Michael and the others, my anxiety and stress levels had gone down considerably. I still had anxiety over many, many things, but I had managed to keep attacks - extreme ones, at least - to a minimum. Of course, that wasn't doing me much good just then. Tears blurred my vision, making it nearly impossible to see even though it was the middle of the day. My nose was running, my hands were wet from wiping at my face, and my breathing was hitched to a high octave. I was also attempting to drive. Bad combination. I was probably swerving all over the road, and heard honks and angry yells at least a few times on my way. I drove blindly, trusting the subconscious part of my brain that wasn't focused on the racing, panicked thoughts currently flashing through my mind to steer me to the place I wanted to go. 

I hadn't believed it. Not in the beginning. In the beginning, it was just the small realizations here or there that slowly began to add up. And still, I didn't really believe what the signs were pointing to. It didn't actually hit me until I took the test, and stood there in the bathroom, staring at the two thin, damning lines proclaiming what I had so stubbornly refused to accept as any sort of possibility. I had taken the test as a precaution. That's what I'd told myself. Turns out, it was more like my ticket to temporary insanity. I'd lost it right there on the bathroom floor, shaking and hyperventilating. After what felt like forever, I'd finally dragged myself out of the apartment and to my car. 

I was on autopilot now, and my subconscious seemed to have one destination in mind. It drew me out of my car once I had parked sloppily in what was probably handicapped parking, up the stairs, and to the apartment where I knew the one person who could possibly help me through this was. I rapped on the door three times, nearly slumping against it in my exhaustion and relief that I had finally made it. 

However, the person who opened the door wasn't who I had been originally expecting. I had to practically crane my neck backwards to see the blond boy, staring down at me with confused, bright blue eyes and a half-formed scowl. The scowl on Luke's face faded as he spotted me, probably looking like a mess straight out of the depths of hell, to be replaced with utter shock and confusion. "Uh, -" he began, taking a step back and nearly tripping over his oversized sweatpants. "Shit."

"I'm so-sorry," I hiccuped. "Asht -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get Ashton. Fuck, uh, come in. Um - do you need some water?" he asked as we walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

It was a futile attempt on his part to calm me down in any way, but I appreciated it all the same. I knew the poor kid had no idea what to do. After all, some girl he barely knew from Eve had just shown up at his doorstep covered in snot and tears in the midst of a mental breakdown. I had to give him a break. I nodded my head. "Water would be great." 

He fumbled with a glass for a moment before shaking his head and muttering, "Fuck. I should get Ashton first - I - shit." 

I took a deep breath, taking the glass out of his hand and dragging myself to the sink to fill it myself. I couldn't bring myself to say any more words to him, and he took that as a sign to go get Ashton, who was probably in his room with his headphones blasting. He disappeared, and I was left with myself again. I took a half-assed sip of the water, and then set it down on the table, feeling nauseated. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, feeling it churn and bringing a fresh wave of hot tears to my eyes. 

"Jesus, Quinn, what's wrong?" Ashton's voice, immediately soothing even though it was laced with worry and confusion, entered my senses. It took all I had not to fling myself across the room and into his arms. That would freak him out even more, and I knew he didn't need that. I glanced up at him through watery eyes, meeting his own almost fully clouded ones. He squinted. "Luke said you look like a mess. What happened?"