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It's a strange thing, Michael's mind. It's full of long, dark tunnels that burrow deeper than anyone cares to explore, while at the same time it's nothing more than a blank sheet of paper. It's a complicated mess of twisting thorns, yet it's as simple as the sun rising and setting each day. He doesn't understand why it's like this; it just is.
Some days are better than others, just like with any other person. But his bad days, well they're not exactly like the typical person's.
His dark days are like a storm. They start eerily calm and all he knows to do is hold his breath and wait for it. They each begin with a thread of sunlight- a promise that's just out of reach, a possibility of safety or happiness- only to end up in a whirlwind. He can almost always see the storm coming, he just doesn't always have time to seek shelter.
Tonight's one of those nights for Michael. His thoughts are crashing in on him and the wind has him spiraling further and further. The air is becoming hard to find through the penetrating downpour inside. He's gasping for breath, barely able to take in his surroundings. All he can see is the harsh storm barreling into him at full speed.
He drops to the floor, the cold tiles beneath his hands bringing him somewhat back to reality. His eyes are dazed as he finally sees the room around him, which in all actuality is the worst place he could possibly be right now: the bathroom.
Michael, upon getting to his feet, slams the door shut with unnecessary force. His fingers shake as he struggles to lock the door. He doesn't need anyone walking in on this.
And then his eyes land on what could be the death of him. The mirror before him taunts in his ear.
Suddenly, his tears are falling harder than the rain in his storm. The whispering reflection becomes louder than the thunder.
He knows what he's craving. He knows exactly what could release him.
Michael tears his eyes away from the haunted boy in the mirror to glance at his thigh. Hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans is his best kept secret. Delicate fingers roll down his pants and his breathe catches as the sight. He knew what he would find there, but somehow he was still unprepared for the purpling lines. Each gash in his milky-white skin is a reminder and a memory in one.
Guilt bubbles up in his throat as he thinks about his promise to Ashton. Their words ring faintly in his ears as if they were spoken years ago.
"You can't hurt yourself like this anymore, Mikey.."
"I know but.."
"Promise me you'll never do this again.."
"It's not that easy.."
"Well then promise to try your damn hardest to stop.."
Michael shakes his head to clear it of the soft kisses and 'I love you's that came after that. He has tried his hardest, so he's not breaking his promise right?
Then he falls deeper into his darkened state as his heart whispers, "Ashton broke his promise, so why can't you?"
At this point, Michael is gone. He's completely lost in his perfect storm with nothing but the memories of Ashton's gentle touch to guide him.
He swore he'd never leave and he fucking did just that.
The bathroom disappears from around him again. He's swallowed up by painful cracks of lightning and earth-shattering blows of thunder. He's overcome by the hurricane and he's not sure if he'll make it out alive this time. All specks of sunlight are gone.
He wishes he was strong enough to stand up an push back, strong enough to claw through the rain, but he's just not. It's too big this time and he knows that.
Everyone left and now he will too.
Michael's fingers are now closing in around the one thing he swore to himself he'd never touch again. A blank, untouched stretch of skin on his wrist is plotted out.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, praying that someone out there will hear it.
He clenches his eyes shut as the unforgiving edge of the razor presses to his vein.
Goodbyes aren't even bothered with; there's no point. It's just three.. two..
Ashton.
Confusion causes Michael to start, gripping the metal tighter while snapping his eyes open. Ashton's voice is floating through the door.
He cries out, trying desperately to block out what is no doubt his mind playing one last trick on him.
And then the door nob to the bathroom is turning and Michael's mind is spinning out of control as it swings open and Ashton's panting in the doorway with a bobby pin in hand and there are tears rolling down both their faces and Michael can't seem to process the situation fast enough.
"How..?" He croaks out.
Ashton drops down to his knees in front of the broken boy, his lips moving yet unable to form words.
They're both shaking with fear and sadness.
Then suddenly Ashton rushes forward to scoop Michael up into his arms. The razor blade is set off to the side so as to hold him properly.
The words that seemed so impossible to find before come tumbling out of Ashton now. "I was calling you and calling you and you weren't answering and I got so scared. I came down here as soon as I could and when you didn't answer the door I broke in because I knew what you might do. And fuck Michael I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Ashton's sentences turn into heaving sobs as he clutches him to his chest.
Michael's shaking refuses to stop and he buries his head into the shirt of the boy he loves so hopelessly.
He was so close to it. His mind is now filled to the breaking point with images of the razor doing what it was meant to do. Frustration is at the forefront of his emotions because Ashton has stopped him from doing it again.
Anger is released in the form of tears as Michael now tries to escape his grip, only to have his arms tighten around him.
"Shh.. Shh you're okay now. It's going to be okay," Ashton chokes out. Whether his reassuring statement was for Michael or himself, he doesn't know.
"But I wanted to do it!" Michael wails, muffled by the fabric pressed against his face. "Why did you stop me?!"
Despair erupts in the hearts of the previous lovers.
Ashton can only shake his head in a small, meaningless motion. Even his continuous 'I'm sorry's cease to come.
Although his determination has only been slightly tarnished, Michael makes no move to untangle himself from his arms. He still wants to finish it more than anything, yet Ashton's warm breath that's tickling his hair proves to be a decent distraction.
The two stay in this position, on the dirty bathroom floor with the door to the hotel room far too open, for a long time. It's not until Michael's breathing finally slows down when Ashton kisses him on his forehead.
Ashton's timing had been nothing short of a miracle.
Just then, another miracle takes place. "I still love you."
Michael's heart stops at the whispered words. Though he can't quite seem to believe them, he nods.
Ashton's fingers begin to roam across the cradled boy's back. They trace familiar and soothing patterns alike onto it. This old habit floods Michael with a new round of memories and tears.
"Hey," Ashton hesitantly pulls Michael's chin out so as to look into his emotion-filled eyes. "Don't do that ever again. I need you here, okay? I need you, I fucking need you.."
In Michael's head, the storm still rages on relentlessly, but that may be a glimmer of sunlight peaking out on the other side.