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.

The door opens from across the room and I open my eyes to see a lady with dark brown hair walk steadily into the room, going straight up to the front desk and speaking softly. She looks young, maybe around her early thirties, with strands of hair framing her petite face. The lady behind the counter averts her eyes from the young woman to look at me.

"Michael Clifford, this is your new guardian." Her monotone voice sends shivers down my spine as I watch the young lady turn around, her warm brown eyes meeting my cool grey ones. Her lips turn into a small smile, obviously trying to look as welcoming as she can to my slumped form. She hardly falters when I don't respond, staying completely still on the bench. My eyes are wide as I stare at her, my lips parted. I can't imagine living with a stranger, someone I don't even know. Why couldn't I have just stayed at Greenwood with Luke? Why did we have to leave the cave and return, just to be pushed into this whirlwind of torture?

The social worker taps on the young lady's shoulder, causing her to break eye contact with me and spin back around. I feel relieved once her eyes are off me, too warm and too kind to be true. I listen to the social worker lower her voice as she whispers to the lady.

"Before you agree to this, I think you should know that he has a series of emotional issues. Are you aware of what happened with his former family?" the social worker's voice is laced with doubt and a bit of disbelief, as though she cannot believe that someone would want to welcome me into their home. In all honesty, I can't exactly wrap my mind around it either. I can't imagine anyone who would willingly provide shelter for a boy with scars lining his arms, his hair thin and fading on his head.

"Yes, I am perfectly aware, thank you." The lady says, her voice a bit guarded. She grabs the file of papers and a pen with tan fingers, quickly scribbling her signature across all the documents without hesitation. I watch her, scrutinizing her movements with cautious eyes. The lady turns around and blinks at me expectantly, her eyes softening.

My breath catches as I slowly push myself up to a stand, moving carefully towards the woman. She is prettier up close, tan skin and dark hair. The complete opposite of me. Despite being fairly small, I am still several inches taller than her. I slouch slightly, shrinking back once I stand in front of her. She gives me a smile, and I feel like I want to throw myself in front of a train.

"Hi, Michael." She moves her hand forward, looking to rest it on my arm for comfort, but I shrink away from her, cowering away from her reach. She pulls back her hand immediately, her face contorting into an apologetic expression. "Um, my name is Linda."

I nervously chew on my bottom lip, looking anywhere but at the lady in front of me. I can feel her eyes drilling holes into my skull, watching me fidget with my hands, so I force a half-hearted nod that I hope suffices as a response. It seems to, because Linda picks up her bag from where it was strewn across the counter and gestures to me.

"Come on, now. My car is parked outside." She turns on her heel and walks over to the glass door, curling her fingers around the handle and glancing back at me, where I am still standing like a stone angel in a graveyard. I can't seem to get my feet to move from where they are seemingly nailed into the ground, my bones locked into paralysis as my heart rate picks up. I don't know if I can do this. I need someone with me, someone familiar that I can grasp onto as I take baby steps forward into this new life that could be heavenly or disastrous.

But I'm all alone.

So I trust my tattered converse, worn down from hiking through barren woods and stepping over broken glass, to take me over to the door, where Linda holds it open just wide enough that I can fit through. I hug my suitcase to my chest as I follow the lady out to a large Toyota sitting in the parking lot. The bag is fairly empty, full of plain t-shirts and jeans that aren't mine. A spare toothbrush and some soap. Necessities that I can carry with me and pretend are my own as I walk under the cloudy sky.

It's colder here in Europe than it is in Australia; I have not failed to notice. I suppose I am lucky that I wear sweaters all the time instead of tank tops, like Luke always did.

Linda has opened up the trunk of the car, her fingers carefully pulling my suitcase from my grip as she places it in the back so that it won't be a burden to me. My tongue forms the words of a thank you, but the sound doesn't leave my mouth, escaping my lips like everything else I never said.

Linda rounds the side of the car and opens up the driver's side, looking back at me.

"You can get in the passenger side, Michael." She says softly before climbing onto the leather seat, yanking the door shut. I blink, slowly making my way over to the other side of the car. I run my fingers over the handle, feeling the smooth exterior under my skin. Our car ran out of gas after my father stopped using it and sat in our backyard collecting dust. It was old. Rusty. It was never anything nice so I didn't mind losing it too much. I lost so much other stuff that year that a puerile little car meant nothing to me anymore. It's not like I would drive anywhere anyway.

The car door opens at my pull and I scramble to get inside, all too aware of how Linda is waiting on me to get in. I quickly close the door and Linda twists the key, causing the car to roar to life. Behind me, the sound of a loud cry starts to project from the backseat and both Linda and I whirl around.

"Louise." Linda sighs, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching into the back, fumbling around for something along the floor of the car. I see two figures in the backseat. A child, maybe four. A baby, cradled in the embrace of a car seat, who is currently screaming her tiny lungs out. Linda looks exhausted as she runs her fingers over the floor until she comes up with a pacifier. She swiftly sticks it into the open mouth of the child and the little girl immediately shuts up, blinking wide brown eyes at us as we stare at her.

Linda smiles, sighing in relief. She turns back around and places her hands back on the steering wheel, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the highway.

"So, Michael, the screaming baby is Louise, and the quiet one is Hailey." Linda glances over at me, smiling gently. "Hailey doesn't talk much until she gets to know you."

I focus on my breathing, nodding slightly just to show the woman I am listening. I feel confined inside this closed-in car, the walls pressing inward around me to suffocate whatever oxygen I had left. I don't speak at all; nervous about what this small family might think about my weak voice, rough from tears and trembling from nerves. I'm afraid to project my voice in fear that once I do, I am trapped. At least with my voice still hidden inside, I can still grasp onto reality.

The rest of the drive is completely silent, other than a few noises from the two little girls in the backseat. Linda stopped bothering to speak to me when it became evident that I wouldn't answer, and let the silence fill the air like bricks. I can tell Linda feels a bit uncomfortable, like she wants to say something to break the silence, but I drown in it. I pull the silence around me like a blanket and suffocate myself in its cool warmth, begging to let it fill the empty cavities inside me until I am nothing but air. It feels normal to me. It feels right. Maybe that's not right, loving the silence so much like I do, but I have lost the ability to care.

Linda seems relieved when she pulls into the driveway of a fairly large house, tall columns lining the front porch to help support the weight of the building. It looks to be about two stories tall, the white bricks guarding the interior of the home. I nearly gape at the sight. It's not a mansion, no, but it might as well be compared to the home I have been living in.

The moment the car halts, Hailey unbuckles her seatbelt and opens up her side of the car, leaping out and running towards the front of the house. Linda pulls the keys out of the ignition and goes around to the backseat, taking Louise out of her car seat. The woman looks at me briefly as she cradles the child on her hip.

"Um, Michael--the father left. When I got pregnant with Louise. So, it's just us three. I hope that's alright with you." Linda hands me this information almost sheepishly, her cheeks tinted pink as she moves towards the back of the car to retrieve my suitcase. I quickly unbuckle and slide out of the car, going around to take my suitcase from her already full arms.

"I--It's fine." I say honestly, hating how my voice sounds in the open air. Linda looks relieved, whether from the fact that I spoke or my resolve with moving into a home without a father I do not know. It's only true, of course. I am actually relieved that I don't have to move into a family with a father in it, like a slap in the face. Look. Look at this perfect father who doesn't drown himself in alcohol. Look at him. Don't you wish you had a father like that?

I tug my suitcase over my shoulder, all drooping eyes and feeble bones, as I follow Linda up the long driveway towards the front porch. Hailey stands there, obviously waiting for someone with a key to open the door. Her light blonde hair is wispy on her head, falling just short of her thin shoulders. Her eyes are big. Blue. Sharp, like a sheet of glass.

Linda twists open the door with a bit of difficulty, stepping inside with Hailey on her heels.

"Come on in, Michael." Linda offers, moving deeper into the house. I slowly lift my foot and step onto the smooth hardwood flooring, the warmth of the heaters immediately melting the ice covering my bones. I shuffle inside and carefully close the door, the light from outside cutting off. I turn back around to see Linda setting down Louise at a long, finely carved table. Linda glances at me and smiles.

"Dinner is actually ready now. I prepared it before we picked you up. Why don't you have a seat? Unless you aren't hungry." Linda rambles a little at the end, obviously still a bit uncomfortable around me and my quiet form. I am hungry, due to the fact that I have only digested airplane pretzels and snacks from vending machines in the last 24 hours. I blink slowly, carefully moving towards the table with small footsteps. Hailey pulls out a chair and plops down in it, staring up at me. She glances down at the empty seat beside her and nods toward it.

"You can sit there, if you want." She says softly as Linda carries two plates into the room. I gently pull out the chair and sit down, keeping my hands in my lap and fiddling with my fingers. Linda places the two plates in front of the girls and then disappears back into the kitchen, clattering some more silverware. I watch her through the doorframe of the kitchen. She looks like a regular mum. The type of mum you read about it books, wearing aprons and cooking dinner for the kids. I can imagine her helping her child with homework and stroking their hair when they are sad. I watch her with a bit of jealousy, although that isn't right. I'm here because of the fact that I didn't have a mother figure. I didn't have a father figure. This is supposed to fix that, this lady handing me a plate full of homemade food is supposed to be my new figure for a mother, someone I can go to and trust to help me when I need it. I know I should welcome this idea in my head, but she is still just a stranger, and I am an intruder.

Linda carries her own plate into the room and settles into her chair, the four of us sitting in a square of this dining room table. She helps spoon soft corn into the baby's mouth, the small girl's fingers struggling to wrap it around the fork herself. I watch with a stoic gaze. I can't help but wonder if my mother ever did that with me. I suppose she did. She seemed like a good mother when she was still breathing.

"Do you talk?" I hear a voice come from the right of me and I jerk my head towards it, seeing Hailey sitting there with her doe-eyed blue irises, her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she blinks.

I just sort of shrug, and Linda scolds Hailey from across the table. I bite my bottom lip, pushing the food around my plate. Why am I here?

Hailey looks back at her plate, taking a bite of her sandwich slowly. She chews for a little while, and then glances back up at me, up at my hair.

"I like your hair. It's a pretty color." She comments. I reach up and pull blindly at my hair, feeling the rigid strands between my fingers. I have begun to hate it. It reminds me of when I dyed in in my room at 2 am, only to suffer the consequences from my father in the morning. It reminds me of sitting at the stone alone, and it reminds me of sitting at the stone with Luke. I know Luke loved it. He loved how light and beautiful the color was, like the lilacs that sprouted deep in the woods near the cave. It reminded him of freedom. Maybe that's why I hate it.

After I fall silent once again, the little girl loses interest in me and initiates conversation with her mother while I watch, feeling like I am an audience observing a reality television show. I can't grasp the idea that I am supposed to live with these people. They're too nice. They're too welcoming. They haven't commented on the bags under my eyes, or the faint bruises on my jaw or the scars lining my arms. They haven't said anything that could be comprehended as rude, and the overwhelming kindness is asphyxiating.

So I let the small family talk and laugh, and I allow the toxic chemicals that seep from my skin stifle me until I can't remember how to breathe.

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A/N this surprised you and me both

a ton of you contacted me and was like "yo man whatchu doin give us michael's pov" so there you go you little shits

I have to rewrite the story plot but it's okay. I think this makes the story more interesting anyway.

hope you guys liked the chapter and sorry it's kinda late sigh. it's like 3,400+ words so maybe that makes up for it idk. pls vote and comment and stuff because im lonely and talking with you guys makes me happy

see you in the next update! have a fucking rocking day bye