Chapter five – Should've Done Yesterday

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After dinner, I clear the plates away, and wash them up. I'm so happy that I managed to make Michael happy with the mixed berry pie, because I know how much he misses his family. All this must be so hard for him.

"What would you like to do now, Michael?" I ask him.

"Uh ... gee, I don't know. It's getting quite late, isn't it?"

"It's six o'clock, that's all. You want to do something else to pass the time?"

He fiddles with his fingers at the dinner table, obviously thinking about something we can do. He jerks up suddenly, but then settles again – indicating that he had an idea, but he's not going to suggest it.

"What were you just thinking?" I ask.

He looks up, looking a little embarrassed that I caught his little light bulb moment, and swallows before answering.

"No, nothing ... nothing at all."

"Wow," I smile. "You're a very good liar, I'll give you that."

"Liar?" he chuckles. "I'm not lying."

"That's a lie in itself!"

He laughs softly, showing his beautiful smile again. I love it when he smiles, because it's a sign that he's actually happy with life, even if only for a matter of seconds. He eventually lets his laughter subside, and bites his lip before speaking again.

"Nah ... it's just a silly idea, that's all."

"What is it?" I question.

"Well ... I just kind of wanted to go outside, and ... lie on the grass, looking at the stars. I don't know why, but I feel like it'll make me feel more ... connected to my family."

"That's a beautiful idea, Michael. Do you really want to do that?"

He hesitates in replying verbally, so looks down and nods his head gently, indicating that he does. I join him again at the table, and give him a sympathetic smile.

"Then that's what we'll do."

He returns a shy smile, and gets up out of his chair, before walking over to the kitchen side. He lifts up his fedora, which previously had the berries in, then pauses on the spot.

"Citria ... " he starts.

"Yeah?" I answer.

"Wait ... no, no. Never mind."

"No, tell me," I request.

"I-I don't want you to think me strange. It's okay; it doesn't matter."

"Strange? Michael, anything you do now is not strange to me; it's most likely something I've already done, or have wanted to do myself. Tell me."

"I ... you know, like, if I cry again when we're looking at the stars ... I would just be ... really appreciative if you just ... hugged me. It would comfort me, I guess ... but you can totally say no ... "

I give him a sympathetic glance, and I stand up and walk up to him. I take both his hands in mine, and he shudders slightly at my touch.

"Of course I will, Michael. I've been needing a hug for quite some time, too, so ... it's something we both wish for."

Then, without warning, he pulls me in to a tight hug, wrapping his arms around my waist soothingly. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling the embrace closer together, and I inhale deeply, feeling a certain level of similarity between us both.

Despite the intended sweetness in the hug, I can't help but feel Michael tense up in my arms. Maybe he just hasn't hugged someone in so long, or he just doesn't know who he can feel safe with or trust, now.

I eventually pull away from him slowly, and we exchange soft smiles. My smile is to reassure him that I care, and that I'll be here for him no matter what. I like to think that's what his is trying to indicate to me, too.

"So ... " I start, "You're ready to go?"

"Wha—now?" he asks.

"Yeah, why not?" I smile.

He nods, and grabs his coat from the coat rack. He then turns around to look at me, and I walk over to him.

"I'll take that as a "Yes, we're going", then?" I chuckle.

"Yes," he breathes. "It's starting to get dark, now. Can we stay out 'til it's dark?"

"If that's what you want to do, then sure," I reply.

He heads to the back door, and opens it for us, and indicates me to go ahead of him out the door. I walk by him, thanking him as I do so, and he follows after, closing the door behind him. He catches up to me as we walk, shoving his hands into his pockets again.

"I can tell this is going to become something of a habit, now," I laugh.

"Well ... only until I find myself, and move out of your house," he answers.

My heart kind of sinks at those words: "Until I move out of your house". I can't imagine the idea of not having Michael around, being my friend and sharing his stories and time with me, and me doing to same to him. He's become a sort of ... dependency for me, and I would like to think I'm the same for him.

"O-Oh," I stutter, "Right."

"Citria, are you alright?" he asks warmly, "You suddenly seem a little upset."

"No, no, I'm okay," I lie, "I just ... I can't believe how much has happened since you and I met."

We continue walking, seeing our shadows being cast on the hedges as we walk by them, courtesy of the moon's glow.

"Right?" he agrees. "It's been ... so eventful. It's been the busiest twenty-four hours of my life."

"I would say the same, but there've been days just as eventful as today for me."

"I understand," he assures me. "But the past twenty-four hours for me have been ... there's never going to be a time like it."

"I guess there won't be," I answer. "But if there ever is, I'll be here to make sure you're okay, I promise."

I see the fields nearing with each step we take, and we begin to walk a little faster so we can get there quicker. Once we reach the fields, we enter through the gate, before finding a perfect spot. We find that perfect spot on one of the higher peaks of the field, and we head over there and settle ourselves down.

"So," he breathes, "Nice night, isn't it?"

"Yes," I agree with him, "Hopefully it'll stay this warm until we go back home."

"I hope for your sake it does," he chuckles, "You forgot your coat."

I look down at my arms, and see no sleeves. He's right – I did forget.

"Oh, so I did," I laugh softly. "Oh well; I'm sure the warmth will remain."

"Yeah; it's Summer, after all," he sighs. "So, what d'you want to talk about?"

"Uhm ... " I pause, "I don't know ... there isn't an awful lot to talk about, now we've spoken about you."

"What about you?" he asks.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. We've spoken about me for the past twenty-four hours ... can we not talk about you?"

"No, Michael, I don't think I—"

"Why not? I think it'll help you, Citria. Talking to you about my problems has helped me; maybe it'll help you to get your feelings off your chest."

I remain silent for a few moments, trying to think of a decent retort to his previous statement. He's told me everything in the past twenty-four hours; maybe I should get my feelings off my chest, like he said.

"Well," I start quietly. "You already know that my mother and my brother died already ... and that since that happened, my father has pretty much been dead to the world. Honestly, I don't think I've seen him in ... God knows how long. I've been trying to put my feelings aside for you these past twenty-four hours, because your feelings were more important, but—"

"Woah, woah, woah, wait. My feelings more important than yours?" he questions.

"Yes," I mutter.

"No, Citria. Both of our feelings are important. Just because you've had longer to deal with the pain of losing people you love, doesn't mean to say your feelings are less important."

"Yeah, well ... I just feel like my feelings don't matter right now, because you're so new to this pain. I want to help you with it."

He sits opposite me on the grass, and takes both my hands in his, before looking me deeply in the eyes, obviously meaning he wishes to be sincere in his next words.

"And you're doing the most perfect job in that, Cit. I cannot physically thank you enough for what you've done for me."

Without warning, tears begin to form in my eyes, threatening to roll down my cheeks. Michael spots this right away, and dries my eyes with his thumbs.

"I wish I could feel perfect," I frown.

He slowly pulls his hands away from my eyes, and edges himself closer to me on the grass, so our parallel bodies are closer together than before. Then, he pulls me into his embrace, and I bury my head in his chest, feeling his large hand stroke the back of my head. I wrap my arms around his waist tightly, feeling the urge never to let go.

But then, I feel him move his head a little, and I feel a soft peck on my forehead, which sends shivers down my spine. However, that single forehead kiss makes me feel a hundred times better than five seconds ago.

I lift my head up, and see Michael looking down on me, a small smile playing on his lips. This smile is ... different. It's indescribable. It isn't just a sweet smile, like a sympathetic one – no. It's more of a casual, cool smile, like one a typical high school bad boy would have.

"Citria, just because you don't feel perfect ... doesn't mean to say that I agree with you."

That sentence makes my heart beat faster, and I let out a breath that I didn't realise I was holding.

"I mean, after all you've done for me?" he goes on to say, "That, to me, is perfection; putting your feelings aside for others. Not a lot of people do that."

More tears form in my eyes, but before they've even fallen halfway down my face, Michael has dried them for me. Then, unexpectedly, his own eyes glaze over with tears, and a concerned frown forms on my face.

"Michael ... please don't cry," I plead softly.

He closes his eyes, and the tears that previously blurred his vision roll down both cheeks. He exhales a shaky breath, before drying his cheeks and eyes, and looking back at me again.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, "This isn't even because I miss my family ... it's because I don't like seeing my friend cry; it hurts me."

"You don't have to cry for me, Michael."

"But I am. What does that tell you? I've become so sensitive, I now cry for others' pain, not just my own ... "

"But that shows that you care," I force a smile. "It really does."

"Doesn't feel like it ... it just feels like I'm over-sensitive about things."

"Well you're not," I assert.

He looks down at the floor, remaining silent, before allowing his full top half to drop onto the grass, so he's lying down. I do the same, lying next to him – rest assured, in a friendly way.

The sky begins to grow darker, and I look up as stars just begin to become visible.

"There we go," I say.

I point up at the stars, and Michael looks up too. His eyes reflect the light from them, which creates a beautiful glow over the top of his pupils and irises.

"The stars are so pretty," he states quietly.

"They are," I agree.

Then, a breeze hits, and I shiver. However, because of how close to Michael I currently am, he feels my shivers, and averts his eyes from the stars, to me.

"You're cold?" he asks warmly.

"A little," I breathe.

"You want to go back to your home?"

"No, no, I don't want to ruin your night."

"We can go back if you like," he repeats.

"No, Michael ... I'll be okay."

"But you're shivering."

"I know, but it's okay," I state.

I look up at the stars, just admiring their beauty, until I feel Michael sit up, bringing me with him.

"Michael, no. Let's just look at the stars, okay?"

"Sure we will," he agrees. "But I'm not letting you go cold."

He then removes his jacket, and places it on both of us, so we have one sleeve each. I smile up at him, because when we're sitting down, he's taller than me.

"Thank you," I smile.

Due to the fact that we both have one arm which is sleeveless, and the fact we're so close, I can feel the warm skin from his arm pressing against mine.

He then moves that arm, and places it around me, pulling my head into his chest. I look at him, slightly confused, and he chuckles a little.

"Just trying to keep you warm, sorry."

"It's okay," I reply, "Would you like to say any words to your family whilst we're here alone?"

"Please," he answers in a whisper.

And then, we watch the stars together, and Michael begins to speak to his family:

"Guys ... I miss you. I don't think it takes a genius to work that out, but it's true. You have no idea what I would do to have you back ... but seriously, it would be close to anything ... " he begins, "And, um ... yeah. I'm ever-so-slowly getting back on my feet, physically, with the help of Citria. I'll never be the same mentally ... and I'm trying to be strong for you guys ... and ... "

He trails off, and I already know why. With each word he just spoke, I could hear his voice breaking more and more ... so it's no wonder why he's crying now.

"Shh," I comfort him, patting his back, "Let it out."

"All I've been doing is letting it out!" he sobs.

He inhales deeply, and lets out another loud sob, before removing his arm from the one sleeve he has and burying his head into both hands. I take my arm out of the one sleeve I have, and, without speaking, I just hug him.

No words, just a hug, like he asked.

He buries his head into my chest, obviously not caring about dignity or pride, and clings to my shirt tightly. I can already feel the wetness of his tears soaking the front of my shirt, but that's not what I care about right now ... his feelings are.

"It's alright Michael, just let all of this out ... " I continue to soothe him.

His cries seem to echo in the field, and I feel my heart break for him. One minute he's so happy, the next he's a crying mess. This must be awful for him.

I can't help but allow my hands to run through his curls as part of my comforting ... and my, they're so soft. It may seem rude, as this isn't really the time to be thinking about that, but it's still something that has come to my attention.

Michael then pulls his head away from my chest, and stands himself up, before running down the hill I'm currently sitting on. I stand myself up, deciding to follow him wherever he's going. I grab his coat from the grass, and run after him, trying to find where he's gone.

I run through the field, coming towards the trees, and I run through them.

"Michael!" I call desperately, "It's late! We don't know what could be out here!"

"What's the point in life!" he screams out at the top of his voice.

I can't see him, but I heard that loud and clear. I run around aimlessly, until I come to the river that runs along through the trees. I look downstream, finally seeing Michael.

However, he's kneeling by the water, dangerously close to the edge.

"Michael ... what are you doing?" I ask calmly, a hint of fear in my tone of voice.

"What am I doing?" he repeats my question. "Well ... something I should've done yesterday."

My eyes widen with fear as he brings from his pants pocket, the last thing I would've wanted him to pull out.

"M-Michael ... where did you get tha—what are you planning to do with that gun?" I ask in a frightened whisper.

"I can't live this life, Citria!" he cries. "I just can't!"

"No!" I suddenly realise what he's saying. "No, Michael, no!"

He fiddles with the trigger, before lifting the gun to his temple, and closing his eyes briefly. He remains dead still, and a single tear escapes his right eye, rolling down his face slowly.

"Close your eyes, Citria. This isn't going to be a pretty sight for you."

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Oh gosh! Michael wants to shoot himself! What will Citria say to this? Will she sway his decision? I hope you enjoyed this chapter!