What Now ⇔ Muke ✓

[21] I like your hair

MICHAEL (I was not planning this so you're welcome)

My entire life has been rather solitary, empty woods and lonely nights filling the cavities in my brain. Everything has been slow-moving and still, no quick moments-blurred by the effects of the alcohol on my father's breath. That's how it has always been, and that is how I always preferred it.

Now, though, I am being thrown around in a hurricane, washed in and out with the ocean waves and trying to keep the oxygen in my lungs as I am moved from place to place. The policeman took me to the station for a while before they had shoved a plane ticket in my hand and wrapped my fingers around the handle of my suitcase, filled with a few garments of clothing and a couple necessities. They dropped me off at the gate of my supposed flight and hardly bid me a farewell before leaving me with faded purple hair and a lost gaze. I don't know why I expected any better. If anything, this is the most hospitality I have ever received.

The plane ride was terrifying, to say the least. I was placed in a seat directly next to the window, where my eyes got to feast upon the lovely view of being high above the clouds, nothing but air around me. I had never been on a place before, and the stiff business man beside me did little to calm my nerves. I didn't have anything to pass the time, either, and the plane ride lasted for hours. I desperately wanted a hand to hold, a hand that looks a lot like Luke's, but I kept them clasped in my lap instead. I learned shortly of my destination in the first few minutes of the trip: London.

I've read about London in books and seen pictures from Google but I never actually imagined I would go there. I don't think I really wanted to. The streets seem to always be so busy, filled to the brim of people with plain hair and plain faces and plain clothes all walking along plain streets under a plain sky. So many people. So many noises to fill my already loud mind with. I can't say I was pleased.

I can't say I am pleased sitting where I am now either, my back pressed up against the rough brick wall of some adoption center in London, watching people in suits and briefcases file in and out of the building, dropping off papers and speaking softly to the workers behind the counter.

They allowed me to sit in the front office instead of staying in the back, which I'm very gracious for. While it isn't nice having to sit in one spot and be left alone with my thoughts, it is better than the alternative.

I can't decide if I like it here or not. Everyone has a different accent than what I am used to- all smooth edges and perfectly pronounced syllables. I haven't spoken yet. I'm afraid to.

I haven't done much since I have arrived. I walked in and the people behind the counter recognized me as Michael, and they let me sit down on the bench by the front door, and I haven't moved since. They told me that my new family will be coming to pick me up soon. My heart throbs in my chest just thinking about it.

It's not that I don't want a new family, not exactly. It's just that I haven't really had a family in such a long time, since my mum died and left me with my fuck up of a father. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how they could possibly react to me and my broken form, all faded eyes and pale skin. I probably look like a walking corpse, what with the jet lag and my frenzied gaze and shaking hands.

It's been a week since I was separated from the blonde boy with the lip piercing. A week since I was pulled away from the weak home I had managed to build for myself in Greenwood. One week since I was forced to drop everything and succumb to the wild tide of the sea. It feels like longer.

I can't help but wonder what Luke is doing right now. Is he still in Greenwood with his cousins? Is he playing basketball with his friends? Is he back in Sydney with his family? Does he remember me at all? I can say with the entirety of my being that I remember him. He haunts my thoughts every moment of my day, his soft voice singing songs in my ear and his fingertips brushing against my cheeks. I can still feel his lips against mine; his fingers pulling my close to him as we sleep and making me feel like I have a purpose on this earth.